#for context. anxiety brain is not fucking helping

[2dou]

on a scale of one to ten how weird is it for someone to ask you if you're dating anyone and if you prefer being big or little spoon on the first shift you work with them. also when told you're late bc of your brother and then naming your brother when you explain the being late, them asking you if he (your brother) is your boyfriend

#shoosh vale #i keep describing this as freak behavior to my siblings and friends and theyre all like 'uh yeah thats weird' #i asked my sister today bc she works with him more if hes just as. like That to her or if hes just particularly Weird to me like that #and she said hes Extremely Weird to me specifically so now im like. i need to collect data to decide of hes be #being weird to me specifically especially since ive worked with him exactly Once. #i can count the number of conversations ive had with him on One Hand #sorry for crossposting about it but i am just sitting here like ?????? The #for context. anxiety brain is not fucking helping #like i very much do not think hes interested in me but i have never had interactions this baffling with anyone ever and my brain is having #anxiety about it

[v-iv-rusty]

well. I feel slightly better now at least

#misc.txt #ocd+anxiety+chronic stress fucking sucks btw #gonna rant about it a bit #was literally in the middle of an Episode(tm) when I made the last post #currently watching that yt channel with the guy that makes fucked up sausages and somehow that's helping me take my mind off it #it's like. a little issue or question will pop up in the back of my mind #(for no real reason. or if something external triggers it) #and I try to ignore it but it gradually gets louder and louder #until I give in and start thinking about it constantly and it just gets um. completely consuming? #I will sit there and ruminate and google things for HOURS on end constantly feeling like I'm about to explode the whole time #just looking for answers my shit idiot brain will never be satisfied with #like #idk how you can mindlessly ruminate but that's what I do. just the same anxious thoughts over and over and that's all I can think abt #it doesn't go anywhere it's just thinking in circles #and then I'll get like. moments of clarity? where I realize 'wait I don't need to worry about this wtf' #but it's only for a second #(because things that make me feel better must be lies right? /s) #when it's really bad I lose my appetite and forget to eat/drink/do anything which makes me feel 10x worse obviously #and the fact that I feel physically bad doesn't register as hunger for some reason? I end up taking it as 'SEE the anxiety is right' #this probably doesn't make much sense without full context but whatever. anyway #talked to someone and I feel a lot better. trying hard to ignore the 'issue' and tell myself not to worry abt it but it's really hard to do #hopefully I don't have literal nightmares about the obsessions tonight because that's uh. a thing that's been happening lately

[13uswntimagines]

Spiral (Alessia Russo X MMA!R)

Request: Could you maybe do something where less isn’t around to help r through something and r is spiraling more and more while needing someone to bring her back. One of Alessia's teammates has to kind of shout at r and tell her to kneel or something for her to be grounded featuring Mary (and Lucy slightly)

Part of The come Down universe

Warming: D/s elements. Blood and violence (mentioned but nothing graphic- R punches a wall several times).

It was easy for people to believe that you had an easy life, filled with nothing more than champagne problems and affluenza. 

All they saw were the press conferences and interviews after fights where you were riding high on your success. They didn’t see the weeks where you trained upwards of 18 hours a day and ate so strictly that even your water content was measured. 

They didn’t see how difficult it was to balance your career and Alessia’s, and the weeks you sometimes went apart. 

They didn’t see the nagging injuries that followed you like old ghosts. 

And they thought the 1% of your life they saw was enough context for them to make assumptions about the rest of your life, including your relationship with your girlfriend. 

You had never been big on social media, but that didn’t mean you were entirely shielded from it. 

Especially not when the date for your title fight against Justin Gathje was announced. 

Dana wanted you to hype the fight, to make a comment about how wild Justin was in the cage, and how your far more technical style would be a good match. 

And you thought the spare moments you had sitting in Alessia’s national team cubby while she did her final lap around Wembley for the fans was the perfect moment. 

But as you flicked through your Twitter app, you, realized very quickly that it was a terrible idea. 

Justin had already commented on the fight and accompanied his post with pictures of you in the stands a Wembley dressed in your girlfriend's jersey and one of him sweating in the gym. 

I think a championship contender should at least be putting in the work instead of fucking off with a bitch who deserves better. #gonnasilencethegolddigger

You knew that it was a stupid post. It made no sense because the fight was 20 weeks away, and starting training camp now, three days post-fight, would only lead to burnout and injuries. 

You knew that it was completely untrue considering you had met Alessia at UNC where you had a nice wrestling scholarship and she had a soccer one. There had been no gold to dig. 

But that didn’t stop the general public from hopping on the hate train. 

There were thousands of replies, and mentions and posts clogging your feed about how undeserving you were. 

About how awful of a fighter you were. 

About how Alessia deserved someone who could support her. 

But it wasn’t the comments from the general public that bothered you. 

It was the ones from her former teammates that dug into your brain and stuck. 

Her own family didn’t want her so much they shipped her off to America, so it’s sad she’s dragged a stand-up baller like Lessie into her mess. She didn’t deserve her state championship either. #alwaysridingcoattails.

Her own family didn’t want her

Dragged Lessie into her mess

The words burned into your mind, so you saw them every time you closed your eyes, getting more and more bold each time the number of interactions went up. 

1000

15,000

300,000

2,000,000

You launched your phone across the room, uncaring how it smashed into a million pieces on the stone like it would smash the image on the screen. 

Like it would shatter the tweet and the shots coming from people who had never met you. 

Like it would change how right they were. 

You breathed in deeply, trying to quell the growing ache in your chest and soothe the feelings bubbling in your stomach. 

Alessia’s scent surrounded you, filling your lungs and coating all of your senses. It was normally like a balm on an open wound or ice for a burn, the remedy to your anxiety and a promise that she was there for you. 

That she would always be there. 

That promise was part of the reason your relationship took the dynamic it did. 

Except this time, her scent didn’t loosen the knot in your chest. 

It just reminded you how much you took from her. How much better off she would have been if you had never run into her at UNC. 

You shoved yourself out of Alessia’s locker, you didn’t deserve to sit in it and paced the small room. 

The walls felt like they were getting closer together, and the air felt too heavy. 

You couldn’t breathe.

You needed release. 

You paused at the far end of the room, staring at the white concrete. 

Your fist hit the cold concrete before you even thought about it, and you relished in the pressure of the hard surface on your exposed knuckles. It was more than when you hit pads, more than when you hit someone else. 

It was perfect. 

You did it again. 

You weren’t enough. You hadn’t been for your parents. You wouldn’t be enough for Alessia either. 

Your fist hit the wall again. 

That’s what everyone had been saying for months. That’s what your father told you when you tried to make amends. 

You could see how right they were. 

Stupid worthless 

You hit the wall again. 

How much better off they would be without you. 

“Y/n?”

You didn’t even blink at Ella’s voice. 

You weren’t good enough. How could you ever be?

You had been birthed by two drug addicts more interested in their own highs than in raising a child. Your neighborhood MMA gym was the only place you had ever found food and safety. How could you ever be enough for Alessia who had been raised by loving parents? Who didn’t have to scrape and claw for food scraps? 

Who didn’t crave the freedom you found in total violence. In the destruction of a human. 

In the destruction of herself. 

“Y/n stop,” 

Hands gripped your shoulder, trying to prevent your arm from moving as you launched it again at the slightly pink wall. 

It didn’t work. 

Your hand slammed into the wall again. 

It wasn’t enough. It didn’t hurt enough to ease the volcano in your chest. 

You needed more. 

“Y/n please,” 

Ella’s voice sounded very close to your ear and stinger arms wrapped around your stomach, trying to force you away.

A guttural sound left your lips as the arms were finally able to pull you away, and Lucy stepped between you and your only solace. 

You needed it. 

“Calm down,” Mary hissed, her arms tugging you again. 

You were too out of it to wonder when she had gotten there. 

“Go get Alessia,” Lucy said, looking over your shoulder towards who you assumed was Ella. “Now,” 

You fought against the arms restraining you. 

Keeping you from the only thing that would make the ripping feeling in your brain go quiet. 

The door slammed shut and you were forced back another step by strong arms. 

“Y/n you need to relax, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Lucy held her hands up as she took a step towards you like you were a wild animal. 

And you supposed you were. 

Wild and out of control. Spiraling into oblivion. 

Lucy Met Mary’s eyes when you fought harder in the keeper's hold, your eyes wildly flickering as your limbs flailed. 

This was well out of their ability to fix. 

“We have to do it,” Lucy said, and Mary instantly knew what she meant. 

Mary nodded once. 

She knew you better than Lucy did, so she knew it had to be her if they wanted it to work. 

It was the only thing she could think of to help you. 

The thing that Alessia would do for you 

They had only seen it happen once. 

It was the only time the keeper had seen your dynamic's heavier side. The only time Alessia looked truly dominant, and you looked submissive. 

Mary squared her shoulders, drawing up to her full height, picturing in her mind the way Alessia had touched you and the tone that she had used. Soft, but dripping in authority that had shocked Mary. 

She tried to remember the words your girlfriend had used, the way her fingers pressed perfectly into your skin to make you melt. 

She pulled away from you slightly, drawing her hand from your stomach to land heavily on the space where your shoulder met your neck. 

“Y/n,” She said mimicking the sheer dominance that Alessia’s voice held that night. “I think that’s enough darling. Kneel for me,” 

You froze. 

A shiver ran the full length of your spine at the familiar words, and your shoulders rolled like a physical weight had been added to them. 

You blinked as the order filtered through the fog in your brain, registering that though it was familiar, the voice that had given it was not. 

Her arm loosened around your middle as all of the fight left you, but she kept the grounding hand on your neck. 

You leaned into it, breathing in through your nose and very slowly releasing it through your clenched teeth. 

You sagged with each exhale, sinking very slowly until you were kneeling at Mary’s feet. 

Your head bowed, and you rested your hands palm up on your knees as another rattling breath left you, pressing back into the hand still on your neck like it was the only thing keeping you from floating away into oblivion.

Mary stood frozen, staring at you as you fixed your posture (Alessia hated it when you slouched) and all of the tension, her eyes darting up to meet Lucy’s. 

She hadn’t been sure that it would work. That you would listen to it because she wasn’t Alessia. But now that it had, she wasn’t sure what to do. 

She didn’t know what came next, or how to navigate it without crossing your boundaries. 

“Good job Y/n,” Lucy said, keeping her voice as soft as Mary’s. “We’re just going to stay here and calm down, alright?”

You let out another shuddering breath, more ripples quaking down your spine, and Mary very gently ran her thumb in circles at the back of your neck, hoping it would help to keep you settled. 

She knew it was the touch Alessia always took when you were anxious or nervous, but she was also very much aware that she was not Alessia. 

“And then we’ll get one of the trainers to look at your hand after Lessie gets here,” The defender continued, her eyes trained on where your jeans were slowly turning red with the blood from your hand. 

“But for now, we’re going to just stay right here,” Mary repeated, letting her thumb graze the nape of your neck. 

*******

“Less,” Ella’s voice cut through the sounds of the fans calling for Alessia’s attention, the panic in it drawing the strikers eyes before the midfielder skidded to a stop beside her. 

“What’s happened?” Alessia asked, passing the shirt she was signing back to the young girl who had handed it to her. 

“Y/n,” Ella panted, her eyes wide, afraid despite the cameras pointed their way. “I’ve never seen her like that,” 

Alessia frowned, turning away from the fans and wrapping an arm around Ella’s shoulder to give them some semblance of privacy. 

“Seen her like what?” She asked, her tone low with something… darker lingering under the surface. 

Ella shook her head, unable to describe it with words. “I need you to come, quickly,” 

“Ok,” Alessia agreed, following after the midfielder with little question. 

She knew that whatever had happened had to be bad to cause that look. To have Ella say it in front of the fans. 

Ella sprinted back towards the tunnel with Alessia on her heels, weaving between equipment people, and players until they reached the locker room. 

Leah stood outside the door, directing players to the other showers. 

Alessia’s frown deepened. “What’s going on?”

“We thought a smaller audience would be better,” Leah murmured, stepping aside for them. “Looks pretty brutal mate,” 

Ella patted her back and she stepped towards the door, steeling herself for whatever was inside as she pressed it open. 

Her breath caught in her chest as she took in the scene in front of her. 

It looked like something out of a slasher film. 

Red covered one of the white stone walls, dripping onto the gray floor in dime-sized circles to where you were sitting. No kneeling between Mary and Lucy, a dark patch forming from where it had soaked into your jeans. 

Her jaw clenched at your position. 

It was hard for people to understand but kneeling was something… intimate between the two of you. It was a show of the trust that you had for her to take care of you. A way to reinforce the power dynamic in your relationship. 

It had taken you a long time to feel comfortable enough to let yourself be vulnerable enough to kneel for her, and she treasured how willing you were now. How you seemed to… crave the position. 

For someone else to put you there didn’t sit well with her. 

Neither did the way Mary’s hand was holding the back of your neck. 

“What happened?” She grit out, her eyes flitting between your form and the two women on your either side. 

“we’re not entirely sure. We just caught the tail end,” Mary murmured, her thumb rubbing soothing circles onto your skin. 

Your eyes were closed, but Alessia could see the tension in your posture. She could see how on edge you were. 

How close you were to subspace. 

She snooker her head. “And you thought that this was the solution?”

She wanted to scream at her friends. To give them a lecture about consent and safety and trust (even though you wouldn’t be kneeling for them if you didn’t trust them). 

They didn’t know your boundaries. This hadn’t been discussed. What if it went wrong and they didn’t recognize the signs of you passing the point of consent? 

She knew you often leaned into the dynamic you shared to calm down. To let go, but she knew your limits. She knew your safe word. 

She knew all of the signs to look for, because you craved pain when you felt unstable (a habit that had lingered from your childhood), and you wouldn’t always vocalize your limits. 

She worried how far backward you would slip after this. 

“It was the only way I could think of to get her to calm down. She wasn’t responding to anything else Less,” Mary explained, her voice very soft and gentle. “I tried to do exactly what you do,” 

“We also stayed away from honorifics,” Lucy added. “We knew we were overstepping a bit as it was and didn’t want to push further than we had to,” 

Alessia wanted to snort that overstepping was an understatement, but she didn’t. 

That wouldn’t help you. 

Avoiding honorifics had been a very thoughtful touch. 

That would have sent you careening into sub-space, and she doubted either of them could have handled that. 

“Alright,” She said, taking a deep breath. 

She would need to talk to them later, but right now, her priority was you. 

And getting to the bottom of what happened. 

Of what changed in the 10 minutes you had been left alone. 

She settled herself on the bench, placing her sweatshirt on the ground near her feet to act as a cushion for you, and taking a deep calming breath before she let her eyes fall on you. 

“Babygirl,” Her voice came out stern, but not angry, and for the first time, you raised your gaze from the floor to meet hers. “Come here,” 

She gestured towards the spot at her feet, and without hesitating, you carefully pulled out of Mary’s grasp and crawled to her. 

Her fingers weaved through your hair, and she guided you to rest your cheek on her thigh once you settled on the sweatshirt. “What’s going on sweet one? Talk to me,”

You nuzzled into the soft skin of her leg as her nails dragged against your scalp, trying to remember how to speak. 

How to form words that would accurately describe the tearing feeling in your chest. 

“Not enough,”

The words were horse as they left your lips, heavy and wet like they had been pulled from the depths of your soul. 

Alessia hummed, her nails digging more deeply into your hair. “What’s not enough?”

Your breath rattled in your chest, shaking through you to your core. 

At the depths of it, you were not enough. 

You would never be enough. 

“I’ll go get a doc,” Lucy murmured before you heard the sound of the door. 

“What is not enough,” Alessia asked again, more insistent. 

“I’m not enough, Miss,” You said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Alessia tutted. “We both know that’s not true,” 

You groaned. 

It was true. The whole internet believed it. 

“It is,” You insisted, pulling away from her warm hold to meet her eyes. “Everyone believes it,” 

“Who is everyone?” Alessia pressed, staying calm and even. Being your stability. 

“I think this has something to do with it,” Mary said, and your eyes snapped to her, where she was holding your demolished phone, the tweets still lighting up the screen. 

You had forgotten she was still here. 

“What is it?” 

Alessia held her free hand out for it, using the other to settle you back against her thigh. 

“Bullshit,” Mary answered, passing the phone to your dominant, moving slowly around you, like she was afraid to spook you. 

Alessia hummed, flicking through the images on your cracked screen. 

The room was silent as she read the words that had set you off, and you let your eyes slide closed, enjoying her closeness. 

Enjoying the ability to let go, and trust that she would take care of it. 

You ignored the sound of the door opening again, and feet approaching you and Alessia. You didn’t care if people saw you. You knew that she would defend you if you needed it. 

“Sweet girl,” Alessia said, fingers tightening in your hair, and you opened your eyes to meet hers over the phone. “Let them look at your hands,” 

Your eyes flickered towards the medics, kneeling in front of you, Lucy standing protectively behind them with Mary. 

You hummed, slowly lifting your dominant hand and holding it out towards the medic. 

He took it gently between his own and began to examine it with a frown. 

“I think she needs x-rays,” He said, looking over you towards Alessia who was still scrolling through your feed. “And I can wrap it after that,” 

“Alright,” She said, putting your phone down. “We’ll meet you in the training room in just a moment. Can you three give us a second?”

The medic nodded, retreating with Mary and Lucy.

“Take your time,” Mary paused in the doorway. “Me and Luce will get cleaned up and meet you,” 

Alessia let out a sound of agreement. 

She waited for the door to close before she very gently pulled you up from your knees and into her lap. 

You rested your cheek on her chest, tucking your nose into her still-sweaty jersey. 

This time her scent didn’t set you on edge. It joined the feeling of her warm arms wrapped around you and her chin on your head, making you feel safe and warm and cared for, even when you didn’t think you deserved it. 

“You know all of those tweets are bullshit right?” She asked after your breathing had evened out. “They’re just trying to get under your skin,”

You made a low noise, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. 

“You are deserving because you are amazing. You are an incredible fighter, and a good human despite the shit hand you were dealt,” She continued. “I love you, and I will always be here for you. Whether you are the world champion, or we’re eating spam and crackers on my bedroom floor,” 

Your eyes slid closed and you buried your face in her chest, your lips lifting just a bit at the mention of your favorite snack from college. 

From when you were too broke to afford dinner on the weekends. 

It didn’t entirely fix the crumbling feeling that accompanied each beat of your heart, but her words were like a tether holding you to reality. 

She had loved you before you were a UFC star and she was England's Star Girl, and she would love you after. 

That was all that mattered. 

She squeezed you tightly and kissed your head. “Let’s go get your hands fixed and then we can go back to the hotel and watch Love Island before bed, alright?”

You hummed again. 

You knew a talk about your coping mechanism, about the wall you had destroyed, would also be included after you had come down. 

But you didn’t mind. 

You and Alessia would get through it. Together. 

#woso imagines #woso x reader #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #the come down universe

[m1dori-eyes]

Disco Elysium has legitimately helped me understand my own internal monologue and the way that intrusive thoughts function in real life so much. You always have a voice in your head that's telling you to have sex and do drugs, and you always have a voice in your head that's telling you the correct thing to say in social situations when you want to appear neurotypical, and the key to life is being able to filter out the garbage that your brain is telling you from the useful stuff.

Some context for people who haven't played the game; you play as a character who is HEAVILY affected by intrusive thoughts 24/7, and this isn't portrayed as a fault but rather as an obstacle that he has to overcome every day. Each voice in the protagonist's head is a 'skill' which you can level up, I.E. Electrochemistry, Drama, Authority, but each skill also has its own personality, and will tell you to do different things. If your character is really good at breaking things and fighting people, then your Half-Light skill will try to get you to fight people all the time, even when it's objectively the worst course of action, and a big part of the game is knowing when NOT to listen to the voices, even the ones that help you most of the time. Both in the context of the game, and for people who suffer from intrusive thoughts in real life, all of this is a maladaptive survival instinct, and while it may theoretically be helpful to you sometimes, it usually isn't. Being able to view your own mind as a compartmentalized myriad of components, some of which have your best interests in mind and some of which don't, is so helpful from a mental health perspective. Because my shitty ass brain tries to sabotage me all the time, it can be hard to trust myself, so I take a lot of comfort in knowing that while the Anxiety part of my brain hates me, the rest of it is on my side.

Also when you want to do creative writing, always listen to the wrong voices, and then your short story will come out just the right amount of fucked up in all the best ways. Also play Disco Elysium it's great.

#disco elysium #creative writing #electrochemistry #drama #intrusive thoughts #mental health

[rottenpumpkin13]

Out Of Context Shit Heard On The SOLDIER Floor #6

Previous: #1, #2, #3, #4, #5

Angeal: No, Genesis, you spaghetti-noodle-spine-having-ass bitch.

Sephiroth: I identify as a tonberry *chases Cloud with a kitchen knife*

Zack: Ra Ra Rasputin *kicks Sephiroth over*

Genesis: Unhand me you cretin *alone, talking to no one*

Angeal: Zack just showed me a picture of the Grinch and said "hear me out"

Lazard: No, Sephiroth, you cannot have a human-sized cat bed in your office "for enrichment"

Cloud: Parkour time *crashes through the air vents*

Sephiroth: I'm the biggest lesbian ally in this department, actually.

Angeal: For the sake of my sanity I'm gonna pretend I didn't just see Zack twerking to One Winged Angel.

Luxiere: I would commit unspeakable atrocities for a crumb of Zack's attention.

Lazard: That stripper pole better be gone when I get back or so help me, Genesis, I will return you to the goddess.

Sephiroth: *does a single pump of sore throat spray* This is enough for sustenance for the day.

Kunsel: Care for a deep-fried cigarette?

Angeal: You look like an AI-generated twink.

Sephiroth: I've grown so tired of Genesis's voice that we now communicate solely through interpretive dance.

Lazard, over the speakers: Whoever heated fish in the break room microwave, please come by my office so I can break your knees.

Zack: Aww, I forgot to feed the Roomba :(

Genesis: I don't know why me and Angeal are being judged. Simulating a birth with a watermelon is a perfectly normal activity for two people.

Kunsel: Hopefully this office party won't end in accidental weed use.

Angeal: WHY IS THERE A FAMILY OF RACCOONS IN THE TRAINING ROOM?

Genesis: I noticed some homosexual subtext in your screams, do you want to talk about that?

Angeal: *sniff sniff* Ooh~ who's barbecuing? OH MY GOD IT'S AN ELECTRIC FIRE.

Roche: Every time I think about chopping my hair short I think "Sephiroth wouldn't want this for me" and the feeling is gone.

Genesis: I made a friend *drags in a skeleton with a Sephiroth wig*

Cloud: *points at Angeal, Genesis and Sephiroth* Pure of heart, dumb of ass, big of tit.

Lazard: I told Zack to use Excel and he started sobbing.

Angeal: WHAT DO YOU HAVE AGAINST SEASONING YOUR GROUND BEEF?

Sephiroth: It's extremely rude to ask someone why they're eating a salad bowl of udon at 8 AM. Mind your business, Zack.

Cloud: Genesis likes Loveless so much because the title resonates with his love life.

Zack: You keep your anxiety pills in a takeaway to-go box? Dude that's so fancy.

Lazard: Why is Sephiroth the only one wearing a shirt??

Angeal: Common sense has chased Zack all his life but he wears wheelies so he's faster

Sephiroth: I personally don't use the peace sign because I haven't had a day of peace since I was 12.

Kunsel: I'm never going out in public with Zack again. A child's balloon popped when it went near his hair.

Angeal: No I'm not giving you an aspirin. Last time I gave you one you crushed it and snorted it like cocaine.

Lazard: An overwhelming majority of you peaked in kindergarten.

Sephiroth: Zack, I'm becoming increasingly concerned by the amount of potatoes in your pants right now.

Zack: This year I want an A/B/O themed birthday party.

Sephiroth: Please don't commit tax fraud, Genesis. You won't thrive in prison.

Genesis: Does anyone have an extra ramen packet to give Sephiroth? The 64 he consumed this morning weren't enough.

Roche: Commander Rhapsodos and his emo fringe is our culture.

Zack: I'm at my fucking limit! I'm about to eat a vegetable!

Genesis: He's a son of a bitch Sephiroth: That implies he has a mother, so I don't see how that's an insult.

Zack: Fuck around and find out *said with a chunk of Genesis' red coat hanging from his pocket*

Cloud: Does anyone have an extra brain cell? I lost my remaining one when Genesis spoke to me this morning.

Sephiroth: Damn.

Kunsel: Zack owes me so much money that if he sold his box of random shit he stole from Angeal, he still couldn't pay me back.

Angeal: Why are you guys playing Queen's Blood in the closet? is this a metaphor?

Genesis: Have you prayed to your Sephiroth cardboard cutout yet today?

Sephiroth: Alert me once Rufus Shinra arrives so that I may greet him adequately *said while building a pipe bomb*

Lazard: It's all fun and games until the timeout cage that I ordered online arrives.

Genesis: I will atone for my sins by becoming a nuisance to the environment.

Cloud: If Zack were a scented candle he'd smell like ADHD and crayons.

Sephiroth, standing on a table: DO NOT. EAT. THE CHEESECAKE. IN THE FRIDGE. It's mine.

Angeal: *with a bucket while it's raining hale* Free ice baby.

Zack: I finally have enough gil to buy a sixteen bouncy castles.

Genesis: Being overcome with the desire to eat pasta and call your mother at 2 AM and wondering if you're having a mental breakdown or are possessed by Sephiroth.

Lazard: I can't fire any of you, but I'm about to start setting things on fire.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #ffvii crisis core #genesis rhapsodos #ff7 crisis core #angeal hewley #ff7r #crisis core #incorrect ffvii #roche ff7r #kunsel ff7 #lazard deusericus

[somethingsomethingwords]

Hello guys (gnc). Do any of you remember, or even care anymore, about these three bad boys? Yeah, this is the sequel. They are not really needed for you to understand this, but they do give context. As always, thanks to everyone who reads. Enjoy 💜

Ok, so maybe the distance thing wasn't as smart as initially thought.

It did give Lance the time to think clearly and the space to breathe. It also gave insomnia and the feeling of lack of warmth.

So, desperate times call for desperate measures. After that hellish race, 14 hours of travel and barely 36 of being in Canada, he was being driven to the airport, the sun already set and the lights on.

He was fidgeting with his phone, unlocking and relocking it, thinking about sending a quick message to the object of his thoughts.

Fernando had told him to let him know when he landed in Spain, but his thoughts were telling him it would have been a bother to the older man.

Logically, he knew he was going to Spain for the sole purpose of being with Nando, that Nando himself had invited him, but his brain stilled his hands.

So he took the time of the ride to calm himself.

A phone call wasn't exactly in his mind. Nando would have heard his distressed voice and the last thing Lance needed was to appear more pathetic than what he was already feeling.

So, after having passed the security line, he arrived at his gate. He still had half an hour before the flight, so he sat down, anonymous clothes and baseball cap firmly on his head, and started typing.

"hi, sorry if this is last minute, but I'm leaving Montreal, I'll be in Madrid in 12 hours"

Ok, that didn't sound horrible, nor too forward. Just informational enough. Good, safe.

Knowing Fernando, who was never apart for long from his phone, Lance expected him to answer in a few minutes.

When he stopped to think, he realised it was currently 2 in the morning in Spain.

Fuck, he'd already fucked up. He didn't want to wake up Fernando for something silly as his flight, but the thought of Fernando waking in the morning and finding his message and being exasperated, maybe even annoyed by it was just as bad.

He was spiralling so much that didn't notice both the ping from his phone and the last call for his flight. In fact he almost missed it, but was lucky enough to see the hostess almost closing it, and ran towards her, shoving his phone in the back pocket of his jeans.

She took pity of his sorry state, and made him board anyway.

Lance was so stressed by the situation that he only really settled when the plane was already flying.

Only then he took his phone out of his pocket and saw the message notification.

This is a nightmare he thought, as he read the message Fernando had sent him not even five minutes after his own.

"u 📗 the ✈️ for Asturias?"

The emoji were hilarious and helped calm him down.

Fernando could be silly, but most importantly, he understood Lance. He understood him better than Esteban, than his sister and sometimes even better than himself. He knew how hard words could be for him, how a mix of shyness and anxiety could hold him back.

He knew, and still accepted it. Still accepted him.

Despite the altitude and the locked doors, it seemed like a kaleidoscope of butterflies had taken residence inside Lance's stomach.

With a smile on his face, a little bit redder than before, he let himself doze off at the thoughts of bright days and warm arms.

-

Lance used his stopover in Paris to buy some sweets and wine for Nando. His mother had taught him well, and he was already invading Fernando's house, he wasn't going to show up empty-handed.

After finding and sitting at his gate, he quickly unlocked his phone.

On the screen appeared a new notification for a message sent 6 hours prior.

"Lancito? U ok?"

He giggled at his nickname, and quickly responded.

"yeah,sorry,just completely fell asleep on the plane, I'm in Paris, one hour and I'll leave"

Not even 5 seconds later, the phone started ringing. Did this man even have the time to read his text?

He settled in his seat, a smile spreading on his face while he brought the phone to his ear.

"Hola Nando. ¿Cómo estás?"

"Ahora mejor. Buenos días Lancito. How was the flight?"

"I slept the whole time. How is your morning going?"

"Well, stayed up too late. But woke up with your message, so is all good"

Lance could feel his cheeks growing redder and hotter.

Before he could even begin to find a reply, his flight was called.

"Ok, so I'm boarding right now, and I'll land in Madrid and then I'll take the plane for Asturias. I'll see you at the airport?" He asked, praying to see the other man as soon as possible.

"Of course, cariño. I'll see you there"

They said their goodbyes, both dying from the necessity to be near each other.

-

Fernando had always been impatient. With a personality like his, and a job where speed was the most important requirement, nobody could fault him if he didn't like to wait.

What the years had taught him, though, was that sometimes, there are some things that are worth waiting for.

Like that damned 33.

Like a long hot shower after a busy day spent in the mountains, surrounded by snow.

Like Lance.

He could admit to himself that, after the Qatar incident, he had been slowly losing his mind.

Lance had been so vulnerable and honest, it had pained him to leave as if nothing happened. But he understood and respected Lance and his choices.

And most importantly, he knew that even if they didn't see each other during the two weeks break, they would still find each other.

So he spent the first 36 hours being restless, then scolding himself for being so impatient, and then getting lost in his thoughts of soft brown hair and even softer brown eyes.

The cycle was getting to him. He found himself sleeping only a few hours the previous night, and even then he was easily woken up by the sound of the wind passing through the branches of the trees outside his window.

So it wasn't a surprise, when the light vibration of his phone on his night stand roused him.

After managing to not blind himself, he smiled when he saw the sweet update from Lance.

After sending one massage and not being responded to, he sent another one.

He was now fully awake, going back and forth between his bedroom and the kitchen.

When he started calculating how long the trip would be to the Madrid airport, and simply go and pick up Lance, he realised he was becoming insufferable even to himself.

So he forced his body to stop and inhale a deep breath.

There were a million reasons why Lance wasn't answering him. It didn't mean he was ignoring him (he was literally coming to his home to... hang out and stuff, question mark) or something bad happened (unknowable, but no news channel had reported any plane crush; he had checked multiple times, in at least 4 different languages).

Lance was probably sleeping. A bit early if his timezones calculations were right, but at least in this way he could avoid being jetlagged and too tired later on.

Smart boy he thought to himself, fond and proud in equal measure.

Reassured by these thoughts, he finally went back to his bed, and enjoyed the rather few but at least restful hours, before being woken up again by his phone.

When he read the message, he put together that Lance must have landed for his stopover and was now free.

So he didn't waste any time, and thanking his quick reflexes, he pressed the call button.

Lance's voice was like honey for his ears. He sounded well rested and impatient to see him, and Fernando couldn't help but feel the same.

He couldn't wait to have Lance in his arms again.

-

The two successive flights passed in a blur of nervousness and impatience.

When he finally landed to the Asturias airport, he could feel the vibrations running through his body.

He waited anxiously for his luggage on the baggage carousel and took it with shaky hands.

He really should calm himself, but he just couldn't.

The Spanish man was ecstatic to see him. Lance had to control the urge to run to him.

Then he stepped out of the doors, and the first face that he saw, already staring in his direction, was Fernando's.

Oh, was the only thought in his mind, now still and placid like the sea in a calm day at the beach.

He walked at a normal pace, but allowed himself to engulf the shorter man in a long and heartfelt hug.

With every second, he could feel his body relaxing more and more, the nerves leaving him with only the gentle flutter of wings in his stomach.

He disentangled his arms, and really looked at the man in front of him. He seemed to shine with the power of a thousand suns, his smile blinding and his eyes warm. Lance couldn't look away, taking long seconds to enjoy the view and the presence of the other.

They stayed quiet, until Lance's stomach grumbled, evidently empty apart from the butterflies.

As Lance blushed slightly, Fernando grinned but held out his hand.

"Come, lunch is ready. Let's go home" he said, smiling gently.

"Yeah, let's go home"

#strollonso #lance stroll #fernando alonso #grumpy cat boy x besotted old man #another case of the scene i wanted to write is not here #maybe I'll write it #but who knows #not me that's for sure #random facts about the writing process #way too much time on flying companies to figure out the flights #and i kept confusing this story and another wip and let me tell you #the whiplash was strong

[trickstarbrave]

“No one owes you, an autistic person, an explanation of why something is a social faux pas. If they say they don’t like it all you should do is shut up and accept it”

Okay have you considered I can’t turn my autism on and off and I don’t owe them to act allistically???

Like for context this was said to me bc I explained to other autistic ppl why pointing out things especially to strangers is considered rude. Like “you have diabetes neck, you probably have diabetes” is a statement an autistic child might make and to them it’s a neutral statement of fact akin to “oh wow it’s really cloudy it might rain soon”. But to other ppl it’s invasive and rude whether they know they have autism or not and regardless of if they’re right. And the explanation I gave was “it’s rude to point out things abt ppl that they can’t fix in 5 minutes bc it makes them feel self conscious and anxious”

Does someone owe some random w autism an explanation? No. Hence why I decided to look it up and research it myself. Social rules do not come naturally and intuitively to us. Just saying “don’t do x bc other ppl don’t like it” ISNT FUCKING HELPFUL. I don’t like ppl insisting on direct eye contact and I don’t like not being able to stim, but guess what? My boundaries are constantly violated bc our society has deemed my comfort as optional. Just not liking something is clearly not a good enough reason.

Having a reason helps autistic ppl understand the problem better and evaluate the next steps to take, especially if were low empathy (I’m not I usually have inappropriately high levels of empathy). Explaining that being out in public and having things abnormal or “wrong” about you pointed out you can’t fix immediately makes you feel anxious and like you shouldn’t be around other ppl at all even if you have stuff to do outside and thus ruins your day might help and autistic person go “ohhhh I see. You have things to do outside and I pointing this out might not be giving you a solution to a problem but just making it harder for you to complete basic tasks by producing anxiety. I will point stuff out in other people less, even if I think I might be correct”

Also like. Where the fuck did I say someone owes me an explanation to this problem??? I provided my own explanation so other autistic ppl don’t have to demand answers from an allistic or not get one bc they think the social rules are intuitive and don’t know how else to explain it. “Well regardless of the explanation you should—“ how about allistics stop demanding fucking eye contact w me when I’m trying to buy a fucking coffee or else that is supposedly a “clue” I am secretly a sociopathic serial killer who personally hates them or whatever the fuck their brains make up as an explanation for simply not wanting to make eye contact bc it makes me uncomfortable

[bus-ghoul]

Stranger Things Femslash Week

Sunday, April 16 - Free Choice

@strangerthingsfemslashweek

A Ronance drabble, in which Robin is not a morning person.

Robin has always been a deep sleeper.

Her mom would complain about how getting her to get out of bed, ready for school and out the door was a herculean effort.

Without an alarm, parental yelling or a nightmare to speed things up, Robin wakes up slowly. The build up to complete consciousness like swimming through treacle.

Right now, she's starting to wake because of light streaming into the room.

This registers as more of a feeling than an observation, a dim frustration with herself for not closing the blinds and curtains to her cave-room.

The next thing she feels is the weight of an arm across her midsection, not her own. Skin to skin.

Unusual, but not unheard of. Doesn't register as anything that would force her heavy brain to kick into gear any quicker. Robin has fallen asleep in dog piles over the months of running around dealing with supernatural shit. It's most likely Steve, and when she's fully alert she'll shove him away and beg him to just get a girlfriend and stop cuddling up to her, it's embarrassing.

A sound comes from the person the arm belongs to that sounds distinctly not like Steve and Robin vaguely registers the daintiness of the body next to her as Nancy.

Nancy... Robin ruminates, trying to remember last night.

Nancy calling and inviting her over late. Nancy's head facing hers on the cushion after they switched the lights off. Nancy's eyes closing as she leaned in. Nancy's hands on her... Robins hands on Nancy...Nancy's hand under the waistband of her shorts...

Robin feels her heart skip as her mind catches up.

She had a sex dream about her straight female friend, her only female friend, while they shared a bed. The shame rushes her body and she feels herself flush.

Nancy is clearly is unaware or they wouldn't be cuddled up right now... but Robin knows herself, and her embarrassments have a way of revealing themselves, and while she's still groggy she is at high risk of being a fucking idiot.

She peeks her eyes open, and sees Nancy, already awake, looking back at her.

"Good morning" Nancy whispers and her smile makes Robin forget why she's paralyzed with nerves for a second.

Sensing something is wrong in the blank panicked stare she gets in response, Nancy pulls back and shrugs the comforter up her chest.

"Is it... you don't... Robin I'm so sorry, I thought..."

Robin is not used to Nancy babbling and it's not helping her anxiety.

"What?" She blurts, accidentally harsh, with her heart thudding so loudly she's sure they should both be able to hear it.

Nancy straightens and looks at her in the eyes, jaw set.

"Do you regret it?" She asks calmly.

Robin gapes at her in confusion, willing herself to just shake the fog enough to speak.

"For the record, I don't" Nancy adds pointedly.

It isn't until this point that Robin takes in some further context.

Nancy's hair looks crazy.

Her shoulders are bare above where she's holding the blanket.

There's a light pink bruise under her jaw and a darker one on her neck.

Robin herself, she realises, is ass naked.

She also kind of aches all over, but in a kind of awesome way.

"Oh thank god."

She's laughing and pulling Nancy close and Nancy is smiling and confused and laughing with her.

"What the hell!?" Nancy admonishes, pushing Robin down by her shoulders "I felt like was about to throw up!".

Robin only laughs harder.

"I'm sorry," she gasps "I thought I dreamt it and I was about to have a panic attack". She wipes her eyes. "Oh my god".

"But we're..." Nancy gestures to Robin's now exposed chest which makes them giggle even more. "Did that not strike you as odd?"

"This is why you're going to college to be a fancy investigative journalist and I'm looking for somewhere new to sling ice-cream Nance. "

"Shut up." Nancy grins and their lips are touching but they both can't stop smiling, Robin isn't even sure it counts as a kiss but god it's perfect.

Robin reaches up to hold Nancy's face in both hands. "When I'm not comatose," she begins, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you 100 questions".

Nancy touches their foreheads together and their eyes are closed but Robin feels Nancy's face smiling.

"We have time."

#ronance #robin buckley #robin x nancy #nancy wheeler #nancy x robin #stranger things femslash week #is ok ? #fic

[machinesbleedtoo]

Cluster B personality disorders are manageable, actually

it's always really awkward trying to explain to people how i manage antisocial + narcissistic personality disorder well. people have a really hard time wrapping their head around the concept that We Are People and like any disorder, we can manage it with help. there's this belief that if you're a narcissist or a psychopath you're unworthy of love and a lost cause, which is what made me a monster in the first place. other people kept telling me to just be empathetic, to stop being a dick, etc; i didn't know what that meant, and so i decided other people were the problem because they did nothing but explode at me for what i thought was no reason because no one helped me understand the reason. I was meant to just "know".

i was diagnosed retroactively at 20-fucking-7, when i'd started to work out how to live like a normal person (very patient and loving friends were to blame for that). when i was thirty years old, a psychiatrist said to me: "you obviously have feelings, what do they look like for you? how do they feel?" - i didn't know how to answer him. other people had convinced me i didn't have feelings for most of my life. which is part of why i was a callous bastard - it did not help then (but it does now for the most part) that i'm really good at compartmentalization. it took me a good number of years to know how to answer his question.

i have feelings, yes; we all do. we'd be dead otherwise. they're what drive us to act on things, and the neurotransmitters that work on emotions work on physical functions as well. this assumption about a person is not an excuse to abuse them. it's no excuse to treat them like a catharsis piñata. you could be a monster, too, under the same circumstances as i or anyone who has these disorders far worse than i do.

but it's really hard for me to read myself. it takes a lot more of a feeling for it to break the surface than is normal, and i was never taught to identify what a feeling is catered to my own uniqueness (something everyone should be afforded).

and i have a disconnect between physical and emotional reactions - i didn't think i felt disgust, because i don't get a visceral response to gross things. a lot of my emotions are just different shades of anger. if something disgusts me i get an angry "get the fuck away from me" feeling, i don't gag or whatever. it does set off my diagnosed OCD in some instances, which adds anxiety to the mix.

so i'd do things like be mega stressed and not feel it, then explode outwards like a neurotic control freak because i had no idea what my limits were. or how to solve the problem i was presently facing. i had to train myself to notice the signs in my thought patterns, rather than my body.

it turns out emotional empathy is based on context; how am i supposed to react "normally" to people when i don't know what "normal" is? i used to do some awful things to people when they were experiencing fear because i didn't understand it. i thought it was quaint. in the words of a friend, i was "sciencing the shit out of the situation." i didn't get answers or understand how people worked the healthy way, so i resorted to my own measures (which, of course, did not give me the answers i sought either.)

i have a hard time telling positive and negative emotions apart, which is good in some ways - i just let myself feel things. but the feelings last not very long. and are usually delayed. i'm unable to consent to things as a 34 year old adult normally, because when presented with something i don't care, which does not mean i want it. and because i don't care, i don't know it's a "maybe" at the time. when something bad happens to me it takes me a long time to even realize, and i can't purge it. this is my burden to bear - other people cannot read my mind. but a mental breakdown would be cathartic.

to deal with this botched brain of mine, i recognize it has strengths too. i raised a very well behaved cat, because i am more uncompromising than she is. and she is not afraid when i take her to the vet, because i am a source of emotional stability for her; i'm not reactive, so it calms her. i am able to Persist doing things that are unpleasant like trimming her ass hair, and she's allowed to vent - scratch, yell, bite - and i stay Null and it's over and she doesn't hide or run away because a) she was allowed to express the discomfort b) it was over quickly, which it wouldn't be if i let her carrying on make me stop the ordeal.

i am able to spot an anxious person from across the room. i was exploited a lot when i was young, and so it felt natural to exploit other people in vulnerable positions - something i mistakenly thought i was incapable of. i was always so good at spotting them with this predator brain of mine.

but i started to instead ask those people if they are okay. at first it felt insincere and bad and stupid because i wasn't Allowed to show care for other people, because psychopaths don't do that, because it's always mean spirited or fake when they do. but it became a habit. and it became normal. and it became a strength of mine. i do it because it's the right thing to do - i don't personally have to feel emotional about it for that to be real.

i am able to admit mistakes and apologize because i know when i need to, since my brain cycles through a narcissism spiral, and it's like -- bitch if you're reacting that severely you know you're wrong. it was another thing that sucked and felt insincere to begin with, but with practice it got easier. and with practice it caused me less discomfort. when my brain says arrogant things i respond with citation needed. my neuroscience education certainly helps with my perspective reorientation too.

i'm heavily medicated for these disorders + ADHD + OCD, which helps curb the anger and impulsiveness. i am really good at working with people now - these things being managed and my clinical nonplussed nature makes communication easy. i am able to de-escalate situations well, too.

i've had people apologize for crying, but i was so focused on listening to them i didn't notice - so they didn't have to feel bad about it. because i don't care that they're crying. i care about them. an intellectual sense of care is something everyone carries; it's what makes us choose to be patient, to listen, to mitigate the damage emotional reactivity can cause.

i have high cognitive empathy; i might not react to the emotional state of another person, but i know that my read on the situation will be inaccurate. so i simply ask them what they need, without assumption. this is something i wish more people were able to do. i get very uncomfortable with platitudes, personally - because i just can't relate to them at all and i feel pressured to Perform emotionally. that's just one example of different needs.

there's a lot more i could write about here - and i'm not really sure why i decided to write this now. i guess because the world is very painful lately, and these disorders get used as insults, as armchair diagnoses of people we don't like. there's a myriad of ways to be an asshole. maybe don't contribute to the problem of neglect that creates monsters like the one i could have become.

i am no longer 'a psychopath' because i no longer score on the checklist. but i carry these disorders with me, and i will forever, and i'm grateful that there were people in my life despite it all that loved me anyway.

a disclaimer:

i'd hazard against self-diagnosing these things; you might be on the autism spectrum (most of my close friends are, because we compliment eachother quite well in how our brains work), or have psycopathy-like traits during manic episodes, or have a lack of empathy because of apathy. you might have alexithymia from other causes. etc. i was assessed by both a psychiatrist with a criminology degree and one specializing in personality disorders.

#psychopath #aspd #actually npd #mental health

[gubbles-owo]

medical vent, so slapping that shit under a read more as to not jumpscare folks with a n x i e t y

went in for an echocardiogram today. that is, an ultrasound of the heart. been functionally disabled for two years now due to what is likely POTS or some other form of dysautonomia. or it could be something else entirely, who the fuck knows. the ultrasound is to help rule out structural problems so we can move forward with a proper diagnosis. i've technically had an echocardiogram before, but i was like. only 5 or 6 years old. i barely remember the details, but the memory is there. the reasoning for that testing is fuzzy because my parents can't remember shit nowadays, but my doctors were suspecting a heart murmur or smth which ultimately led nowhere. so i'm told to come in today without any prep. from what i remember from over two decades ago, you lie on your back, they put some cold gel on your chest, and they sweep this sensor thing against your chest while taking scans of what it sees. what i did not remember was that there is a contact microphone on the sensor. i could hear -everything- in excruciating detail. the different muscles of my heart contracting, the gurgling of blood as it's pumped through, and-- worst of fucking all-- how all of it would rapidly speed up whenever i heard it scream out of the shitty computer speaker. this wasn't just the dull thumps you'd hear with a stethoscope, this was crystal fucking clear. for context: i am was a sound designer (and music composer) by trade. not that i have been capable of working the past two years due to this very disability but that's besides the point. i have a very analytical ear. i listen very closely to things and my brain automatically takes detailed notes on what exactly its hearing. it's not just my former job, it's just always how i've operated. so you combine this intrinsic hyper-awareness of sound with the anxiety-riddled hyper-awareness of what the fuck it is my heart is doing at any given time (including worrying speedups, skips, drops in pressure, and seemingly stops altogether), and the result is. absolute fucking torture. that sound is going to haunt me for the rest of my life. now that sounds all dramatic and whatever the fuck but i do not take that lightly. idk if i can like. claim a thing that just happened an hour ago to be traumatizing. but it was... deeply, horrifically unsettling. if i ever have to do that again, i am bringing earplugs ffs. guess i'm gonna go bury myself in games or something for the rest of the evening as to not think about all this shit. been working on beating (and 100%ing) majora's mask for the first time. on console, so no savestates or whatever. which means it gets reeaal frustrating sometimes. but that sort of full-brain engagement is exactly what i need right now. hopefully i can sleep tonight.

#vent #medical

[mdhwrites]

Jumbled Thoughts: Dream Sequences, Featuring Luz’s Nightmare From The Owl House

“It was just a dream.”

...Was it though? In reality, dreams are one of the few times we get to interact with our subconscious without the active conscious getting in the way of whatever it’s trying tell us. This is often confusing and weird though because, well, our brains are commonly confusing and weird. They can’t always properly voice their anxieties so it can often be a mess of imagery and scenes that follow a general theme but the point of it is lost. It is TRYING to say something though.

And for most media, that’s also the point. Now don’t get me wrong: A LOT of dream sequences out there are bad mouthed for good reason. Their points can commonly end up being just “Look at this shocking imagery!” before snapping back to reality. At best, these sequences are actually just reinforcing a character conflict we already had at least some inkling about, like when Zuko in Avatar sees himself as Aang in the mirror. It is mirroring how he effectively is trying to decide between himself and following the path of the Avatar.

That showcases the strength and temptation of the dream sequence though. Not only do you get imagery that otherwise would be impossible but you get to say a LOT about the character experiencing the dream through that imagery. Through their reactions. The imagery might be muddled but the character comes out clearer than ever. LOTS of great dream sequences have managed this, like Superman from The Justice League Cartoon or Batman The Animated series when both explored what a perfect life to the character was and their reaction to it being shattered. We’re not here to talk about a good example though. I could honestly theoretically stop this blog here if I wanted to just talk about the strengths. Clark Kent comforting his fake son, Bruce deciding to give up on a happy lie so he can continue pursuing justice and Zuko battling his inner demons all really highlight the strengths of this trope. Shocking imagery contrasted by inner conflict, clarity and even chaos. Images you couldn’t do otherwise that help reinforce the character, much like what a good backstory will do. It gives context for who they are and what is to come, even if none of it’s real.

I think most people would agree that those are the EXCEPTIONS though and that’s why I think it’s actually more important to talk about why so many of them suck. Because most people hear ‘dream sequence’ and expect it to mean nothing. That it’s just pointless fluff or a chance to give backstory. Hell, I’m going to be talking one dream sequence of The Owl House, also abbreviated as TOH, but they have a second one that is very little more than a flashback sequence with a commentary track until its end where it hardly feels like a dream and more like meditation, which are different in narrative structure and execution. Dreams aren’t the worst way to get backstory across but... It’s also a very blunt way because usually it feels less like and more like a flashback because the writer is just getting the job done.

And this is the crucial problem with most dream sequences. They’re... kind of lazy for most writers. Because you can say “It’s not real so there are no rules”, most writers will use it as a get out of jail free card to do whatever the fuck they want, regardless of the effort needed to sell it. Because there’s a key component those good examples have that most bad dream sequences lack.

Patience. And if we’re gonna talk about a lack of patience, let’s talk about Luz’s Nightmare in the finale for The Owl House. This would be the point where I say SPOILERS but... It’s a dream sequence. And a pretty shitty one at that because the writers, not the character, have ZERO patience for this. And if you’re expecting “They got shortened” because you’re more familiar with it: No. They had a lot of other options they could have gone with. This is literally just seven minutes of wasted time for the sake of shocking imagery. I need to have some patience though. First let’s just cover what happens in those seven minutes. The characters are pulled into the sky, darkness envelops the screen, Luz shows confusion, is told to wake up by a mysterious figure wakes up in the robes of the main villain, questions if this is a dream finds everyone turned to stone except her girlfriend who now wants to kill her. Luz says the line “This isn’t a dream, it’s a nightmare,” then cuts to two other characters also experiencing what are obviously nightmares, moves back to Luz who has a moment with each of her friends trying to judge her actions harshly before trying to kill her, then all together her girlfriend misquotes a book they both like, this confirms to Luz it’s a dream, the OTHER CHARACTERS also wake up, give Luz the answer to what she needs to do to get out, and then it’s over.

For a temporal anchor, the line “This isn’t a dream, it’s a nightmare” comes RIGHT at the two minute mark of this entire sequence. Even before then, we’ve had one reference by the character that this is a dream and a voice telling her to wake up. It then spends FIVE. MORE. MINUTES pretending like it’s a real dream sequence where Luz keeps finding a friend and acting like they’re just not acting like themselves instead of, you know... The fact that she’s already figured out what’s going on, and the show has explicitly stated, to the audience THREE TIMES that this isn’t reality.

Here’s the thing: From a structural standpoint, questioning the dream IS a good idea. It happens in a lot of dream sequences because it creates an arc. First there is the uncertainty caused by things suddenly being different, then a slow possibility that this may just be real and the character may just have to live in this new status quote and then something fractures or even shatters that, especially for the audience. This is when the fight to free Superman in Justice League begins because now the trick of “IF this is a dream” is gone, it’s time to start working to fixing that. This is also when usually the dream might start breaking down and so the characters get a line like “This isn’t a dream, it’s a nightmare.” TOH literally plays this backwards. It wants the line before cutting away from Luz to the other nightmares, who only get one weak appearance each that just destroys credibility further, without understanding that the point is to NOT cut away from the dream. Not until you as the writer have given up on selling this as reality. But then it explicitly goes on to have Luz act like she hasn’t figured out what’s going on. Which brings up the next issue: Clarity. If a character starts acting inconsistently, you start to lose the strength of the sequence. How are we supposed to learn from how they react to the dream, or even the imagery their mind chose (put a pin in that for a moment) if their actions aren’t clear? It’s a problem in general but when the strength of the trope is explicitly about providing character clarity... It’s a death knell. After all, even if the audience never buys into the reality, they might buy into the emotions or the ability to learn about the character in ways they wouldn’t otherwise.

But if Luz isn’t acting clear, well, the show brings in a lot of other characters during the sequence too. If they’re clear, even blunt, doesn’t THAT say something about Luz? Absolutely! That is a great call because it allows a chance to see what the character either thinks of other characters or what they perceive they think of them. So do the words stick in this sequence? Well, this is where the framing of a dream sequence is important and this is also where we need to pull that pin back out. For Superman, he is literally being made to live out his most ideal fantasy from something that is non-judgemental and so the fantasy is entirely his. Anything we see here is presenting things that Clark himself would want. Zuko is literally having a fever dream but there’s no supernatural force so those are his thoughts. As such, all the imagery and words are theirs. They’re a reflection of their psyche. For TOH, the frame is that the big villain, through another villain, is literally doing this to fuck with her. So... Nope! It isn’t organic in anyway. That’s why the fuck up is made actually that breaks the illusion. If this was based on Luz’s mind... Her girlfriend wouldn’t have gotten the reference wrong. Because Luz wouldn’t. But it’s a fabrication so the lines and reactions aren’t made by Luz’s subconscious, they aren’t a reflection of her, but whatever the big bad asshole (or someone being controlled by the big bad asshole technically) thinks will make her give up.

It causes the whole thing to be LITERALLY pointless. Seven minutes of wasted time that don’t even really say anything about the character. What’s worse... Is that it commits the other cardinal sin of a bad dream sequence: It presents something the viewer WANTS.

The idea of her friends finally snapping and actually putting Luz to task fits in with the theme of the show of “Fantasy vs Reality.” These are the consequences of her actions. Even if it were entirely internal, it’d still be satisfying to know the little ball of sunshine who wants to be the hero truly does fear the consequences of her actions as a root part of herself. Instead... She makes a joke based on another character getting a reference wrong and is immediately ready to fight. Even the cruel words haven’t shaken her properly so that she can’t let her nerd self get annoyed at a continuity error.

Then again, why would they? She has no reason to believe any of this and her reaction first was to call it a nightmare. To state explicitly that she knows it’s a lie. It’s almost like character consistency MATTERS.

This is almost a textbook example of the sort of scene that makes audiences go “It was just a dream.” It’s not something to think about. It says nothing. It accomplishes nothing. It’s just there for shock value. To get to do whatever you want while knowing the audience is probably waiting for something to actually happen that they need to care about.

And for a writer, that shouldn’t be a dream. It should be the greatest nightmare of all.

#Jumbled Thoughts #Luz #TOH Critical #Dream sequence #The Owl House Criticism

[somedudenamedanthony]

Wanna hear a funny story about how I have some actual trauma that I closely associate with (not caused by) one of Lily Orchard's videos, if you wanna hear it?

I mostly like her stuff, but I cannot watch Snow White the same anymore ever.

Yeah, of course you do

TW for needles, blood, being in pain, panic attacks, asshole nurses, hospitals, and others, probably.

Background context:

Every year in January, I get blood tests done with the rest of my family. It's the first thing we do when the medical updates each year.

I am not afraid of needles, though I do feel pain easier than most, so I tend to like to keep distractions around me (ex: YouTube videos) to help me keep stone-faced as I don't like crying.

I'm like 98% sure I descovered Lily's videos sometime in mid 2022, and watched them after a month of Legend of Korra is Garbage and Here's Why being the first thing recommended to my on every other video I watched (I was going through a phase of getting back into Avatar after a small She-Ra buzz started fading and I needed something to distract myself from Arcane).

That same year in January was the third time I've ever had a bad experience with a needle in my life up to that point. The nurse was a young guy and didn't know what he was doing, and it left me in some pretty bad pain, that I struggled to shake off as hospitals already make me uncomfortable (liminal space looking ass alchahol scented white buildings), and it kinda cemented an idea that I didn't like them.

Now, I reacted to watching Lily's videos the same way I consume most new media that interests me. I go insane and watch the same shit over and over again, binging everything for like three months, then taking a step back to think about it and take the new media in healthily (damn you ADHD).

This lead to the 2023 blood tests, where I was seated in that stupid fucking hospital cuck chair, waiting for my dad and sibling (Arlo) to finish drawing blood so they could be in the room if something went wrong like it did the previous year (we asked for this, and the first red flag came when the nurse made a comment about me being scared of needles at my age. I wasn't yet, but it was some foreshadowing of her bitchyness I chose to ignore and now regret).

I figured to pass some anxiety, I'd watch one of the YouTube videos I downloaded for cases like this: Show White's in a minute video (along with the rest of the Disney ones in a playlist because they were my brain chew toy of the week).

My dad came in, we were still waiting for Arlo, but the nurse decided just having him there would be enough. I was hit with the sudden appearance of the needle, but kept my cool for a second, until I felt the nurse cutting open a different vein by grazing it and at this point I could feel the panic setting in. And also it FUCKING HURT. My arm was stapped to stop shaking and pop my veins, nurse tried again, and at this point I not only began crying, but Arlo finally came in, and saw I was getting aimlessly stabbed, and suggested I not be.

We took a break and I was layed down on the hospital bed to calm down while the nurse called over a second nurse to help. I paused the video and talked with Arlo a bit to chill, but then kept watching the video when the two nurses came back.

The first nurse made some minor (passive agresses) commentary about it while fondling my arm for a vein, not hearing anything Lily was talking about because I was watching it with wireless earphones in, asking if it was my favourite Disney movie (which it kinda was at the time) (I think ahe just hated how "childish" I was being by crying and thiughg the Disney stuff was part of that) (like I'm only a baby SOMETIMES asshole) but I explained I was watching a YouTube video. You know, talking to try to ignore the fact that I was getting tied to a bed bynthe second nurse at this point.

Then the fucking needle came out again after the small talk was over and I seemed calmer (read: I was not, I'm just good at bullshitting) and they apparently found a good spot.

So now, here I am, fifteen, strapped to a bed by two middle aged ladies who can't find my vein after they JUST HAD IT, complaining about me crying again and calling me a big baby, now trying to find a vein in my HAND (which became my main drawing area this year due to similar complications but with a much more skilled and actually nice nurse, and the back of my hand will continue to be my drawing area unless my wrist opens up a bit) and settled on drawing blood from the side of my wrist, all while Lily fucking Orchard is bitching about Snow White, and Arlo is trying to soothe me while glaring at our dad for doing nothing.

Anyways, I now have panic attacks at the mere mention of drawing blood (yesterday when I was in the ER because we couldn't get a doctor's appointment anywhere else and I am currently dealing with some stomach shit that makes me get heartburn so painful I vomited), and I can't watch her Snow White video (or even the original movie) anymore without becoming deeply uncomfortable and feeling the needles burn in my skin.

It's a shame, I really liked that movie :/

#lily orchard #fun stories with Anthony #probably not fun but it is a story #I'm typing this out at 00:01 while unable to sleep after getting nauseous again

[pup-in-transit]

Well that was certainly an eventful few weeks!

I already thanked all of y'all who reached out to check on me and who gave me their empathy in comments. I wasn't doing super great and that positivity really helped my mood 🧡

On the whole things are going pretty well now! The resolutions to the anxieties i was having are quicker to sum up than writing about them the first time, so in sum: Sitting is mostly fine now, i haven't had a new UTI in several weeks, and I finally had an orgasm! And then another one! And another one.

And another one.

Folks, i do not know how the hell i ever thought cumming with a cock felt good cuz compared to now it is so much worse. 0/10. Do not miss my old equipment at all, may my sopping wet man cunt reign sumpreme for eternity.

My choice of words with "orgasm" over "cum" in this context is deliberate. I haven't been cumming, at least not like how I used to. Lots of folks who are post-op, including folks i know personally, are able to jizz the same familiar white fluid they were before. So far I can't do that. I'm pretty sure I'm still physically capable of it but we haven't quite gotten there yet. What I feel instead is waves of pleasure followed by my pussy becoming much wetter and warmer than it did during the performance up until then.

Now, I've played with very few natal pussys but what I feel from my partners and from what chatting with AFAB folks in general this is generally comparable to what the natal experience is like? Which honestly suits me just fine. I liked the feeling of cumming with a cock but the clean up afterward made me feel kinda gross about have done it. I don't have the problem with the new equipment. There's no shame in this for me now, although admittedly I'm often too engrossed in myself to feel much of anything other than rocketing joy.

I could go on for longer about masturbation and sensation for waaaaay longer but i think i'll save that for a different write up.

In terms of general healing I think we're basically all done at this point? At least in terms of basic functionality and sensation. I've had two rounds of silver nitrate for hypergranulation on my introitus, which hasn't quite finished healing yet. I'm still bleeding when I dilate as well as during the first I use the bathroom. Or at least I hope that's where the bathroom bleeding is coming from because the alternative explanations for that are a little spooky! We'll see what my GP has to say about it, but I don't have any other symptoms of significant bladder or colon trouble so I'll probably be just fine.

I did also see my therapist about the anxieties I was having, and he helped me put a lot of my fears into perspective. The short version is that I'm healing very well and that I may want to scale back my expectations. My brain has healed faster than my body. I'm really raring to go to be back to normal but I'm forced to go at a speed I can't control. It's an inescapable bummer, but in a way it's still a relief that I'm not going backwards in my healing process.

I keep saying and it keeps being true; I am going to be fine even if there are days where it doesn't feel like it. I am getting better at internalizing that now, compared to my last write-up. I will say that being able to masturbate again is making that waaaaaaay easier now.

Just imagine how much easier it'll be once I can finally fuck!

#introspection #transition journey #trans #enby

[davnittbraes]

Safe. Protected.

The smut scene from Chapter Twenty-Six of The World Is Light, Embodied.

For context, Reader and Din are in an established relationship, and Reader is dealing with some anxiety and negative thoughts but she’s not talking to Din about them.

Helmet is still generally on but removed for sexytimes in the dark. Takes place on the Razor Crest. Reader is not comfortable exposing her back for reasons explained in the full series.

Warnings, etc.: ANGST like omg so much angst, introspection and anxiety, smut (oral m!receiving)

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1700

Mando’a translations in the notes at the end of the chapter.

Please check out the Series Masterlist page for more info.

Your hands find his face in the dark, fingers cup his jaw and your lips press to his with a desperation that blinds him.

His mind blanks, thoughts instantly evaporating. 

A flick of your tongue against his bottom lip and he’s deepening the kiss, unable to hold back the groan that rumbles low in his chest when the taste of you floods his tongue. 

He feels the tremor fade away as his hands smooth up your back, gloves catching on the sleep shirt you’re wearing. His fingertips itch with the urge to tear the shirt off, let his lips map the curves of your bare skin. But he resists, because even though he’s done just that many times since the first, something tells him you don’t want your back exposed right now. 

Instead he cradles you closer, one hand cupping the back of your neck, tilting your head so he can taste deeper, glide his tongue along yours, chase the moan that hums against his lips. 

Your fingers curl over the edge of his breastplate and tug, even though there’s no wasted space between you. It’s a sharp motion - needy, desperate - that sends a rush of heat straight to his cock. 

Fuck, he wants you. 

Always wants you. 

His gloves are yanked off and tossed somewhere into the dark, then your warmth is finally under his palms, the soft cloth of your shirt and the softer skin of your bare thighs. 

You shiver under his touch, small sound squeezing from your chest. High-pitched, whining. Vulnerable. 

It makes his heart pound, blood run hot, fill his cock until it’s pressed tight against his flightsuit. Sparks that same primal rush, the roaring fire that wants to keep you here, just like this, forever. 

Safe. Protected. 

But then you shift, break the circle of his arms. Hum wordless sympathy in response to the long groan that leaves him at your sudden distance, push your body in between his knees so his legs are spread wide, stretched out along the floor. 

He startles as your fingers curve over the length of his cloth-covered cock. “Fuck -“

“Let me make you feel good.” Your low voice rasps at the edges. “I wanna suck your cock until you come in my mouth.”

Your fingers flex, grip through his flightsuit, and he can’t help the arch of his hips into the pressure. The warmth of your hand is bleeding through the layers of fabric, a tease.

He wants more. 

But that ever-moving part of his brain, that ceaseless churn of thought, makes him pause. 

Something is still wrong. He can feel it in the air, pressing between you. 

His hands find your face, cup your jaw, try to gently pull you back up to him. “Cyar’ika…”

“Please.”

That single word shoots straight down his spine.

Arousal is a thick haze on his mind, whispering. Something is wrong, yes, but you’re asking, begging for this. 

Maybe it’s just a distraction for you. He can understand that, he’s thrown himself into job after job to keep his mind away from those dark and shadowy thoughts that try to creep up and cloud his vision. 

And he’ll give you anything you want if it brings back even a spark of the life that’s faded from your eyes. 

He strokes the pad of his thumb over your plush lips. “Take me in your mouth, mesh’la.”

Your movements are frantic, fingers stumbling as they slip past the layers of fabric and pull his cock free. He shudders as the cool air of the hold swirls over delicate skin, stretched taught and burning with need. 

That’s all he gets, one moment for his sluggish thoughts to try and prepare for what comes next. 

Then your tongue is laving over the head of his cock and pulling him into your mouth.

Fuck -

Pleasure bursts along sensitive nerve endings, tingling heat that punches a moan from his chest. “Feels so good, so -“

You sink down, his cock sliding along your tongue, and he chokes when the head hits the back of your mouth. There’s no pause, you pull up to suck gently at the warm droplets seeping from the tip then swallow him back down again. 

Lights flicker along the edges of his vision, sensation so overwhelming he can almost see it.

He wants more. He can’t breathe. 

His hand flies to the back of your head, gripping, but he doesn’t know if he wants to pull you off or hold you steady so he can fuck up into the delicious wet heat of your mouth. 

Your fingers grip firmly, slide up his length slick with your spit, twist so your thumb presses to the underside and suddenly your mouth leaves him. 

Something like a whine echoes in his ears - his own, slipping past teeth clenched hard under the guise of maintaining control. 

Then a warm glob of spit hits the head of his cock, sparking pleasure that has his hips rolling up in search of more and there’s your tongue, so hot and wet and your lips engulf him once more, spread your spit down his length to meet the fist of your hand. 

When you pull up again, curled hand pressed to your lips, a tight, wet seal, it’s with a slick, fluid motion that sucks the breath from his lungs. 

His head falls back against the wall of the hold with a thunk that’s muffled by the roar of his blood in his ears. 

He loses himself in it, the steady rhythm you set. Time ceases to exist in the flex of your fingers and the press of your tongue and the glide of your lips. 

Pleasure swarms over his skin. Twitches along his abdomen. Radiates out from the dripping clutch of your mouth and hand. 

It’s heat, burning through his veins, flaring with every upward suction of your mouth, bursting into flame as you sink down again. 

He can feel it - spreading, growing, flames licking up his spine, higher and higher. 

Fuck, he’s going to come. 

A desperate groan cracks in his chest. 

You always make him come so fast, like this. 

He loves it. He wishes he didn’t. Wishes he could last longer, bathe in the scorching heat of your mouth until he’s incinerated. 

The tip of your tongue flicks over the ridge under the head of his cock and his hips jerk up, uncontrolled. You take it easily, even daring to repeat the action, encouraging him to arch into your mouth, deeper than before. 

His hand clenches on your head and it takes every ounce of his tattered restraint not to keep going, to let you guide him only as far as you want, testing every millimetre with caution, ready to pull you off at the first sign of discomfort. 

Then you swallow and the back of your throat flutters against the head of his cock and he’s close, so close, pleasure searing down his spine and pulling everything tight - 

You pull up quick, sink back down -

Fuck it feels so good -

He can’t -

You moan as he nudges into your throat and he’s gone. 

Pleasure explodes, white-hot waves that flash behind his tightly shut eyelids. 

He thrusts once into your mouth, grunting as the warmth of his own come engulfs the head of his cock. Then you swallow it down, tongue working along the tip, and he cries out at how fucking good that feels, fuck -

Another rush of heat, another spurt over your tongue that you greedily swallow down, flicking over the slit to lap up every last drop. 

The clutch of his orgasm finally loosens and he breathes again. 

You pull off him, panting. 

The sound makes him reel. 

Hearing you try to catch your breath after pushing aside your own body’s basic instincts to bring him pleasure is enough to shove him into action. 

He uses the hand on your head to pull you up, bring that incredible mouth to his and fuck the taste of his come on your tongue is enough to send arousal crackling through his lower stomach again. 

His senses are still coming back online, falling into their respective slots, but that never-ending loop of thoughts pulls out of the gaze of pleasure first. 

You’re warm and responsive in his arms, but there’s a tension there -

The wrongness. 

He pulls back, presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, the soft skin between your brows, the centre of your forehead. 

Silently asking, one more time. 

Please talk to me. 

You sigh heavily, slumping forward into his embrace with exhaustion. “I’m sorry.”

He frowns in confusion, worry. “For what?”

Your silence only deepens his frown. 

Finally, you shift, a shake of your head that he can feel in the dark. “Never mind. Can you…”

Yes anything I’ll do anything for you please -

“Can you hold me?” Your voice is so quiet. So small. 

As if you’re uncertain of the answer. 

He cups your face as gently as he can. “Always, tionas.”

You pull away enough to let him take off his armour, slip out of his flightsuit. It would be easier if he stood, he knows, but he can’t risk being that far away from you, even for a second. 

Finally he’s left in only his underlayer, and you let him guide you down into the blankets, tuck you into the curve of his body. His lips press a kiss to the back of your neck, arm bands tight around your waist. 

Keeping you there. 

Safe. Protected. 

The tremor runs through your frame, and his heart clenches tight. 

Then you take a deep breath, steady yourself. He can feel your muscles relaxing one by one, with an effort he doesn’t understand. 

It’s a while before your breathing slips into the slow rhythm of sleep, stomach rising and falling in gentle slopes under his hand. 

He lays there, in the dark, listening. 

To your steady breath. 

To the frantic beat of his heart. 

To the unending refrain echoing through his mind. 

Something is wrong with you. 

And he’s helpless to do anything about it.

*****

Mando’a translations

tionas - question

cyar’ika - sweetheart

mesh’la - beautiful

#the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x female reader #mando x f!reader #mando x you #the world is light embodied #TWILE #smutty snippets

[knightsteapot]

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ CHIMERAS BEFORE FEELINGS

Chapter I | Chapter II

Jason Tood x Latina!reader

Action | fluff

Minors DNI, cursing, sexual references

Author's notes: This is the first chapter of the story I've been trying to write for so long! Check the info before reading to have some context 💕

Thank you for reading, no matter if you're a latina or not, just enjoy it 🔥

Here some things I want to share:

Wanna listen to the song Bizarro was signing? Here

Wanna listen to the whole sinful playlist? Here

Wanna see some art of the suit, wig, gadgets and Admena, your inner goddess? Here

Feel free to imagine the suit in the size your want, the same with the skin color. The illustration is only a visual.

You had to admit that the life of a vigilante was exciting. Everyone talks about the risks, how it can destroy your life quite literally, but what about the other side of the coin? Being a vigilante, a hero or anti-hero was indeed cool, however, few people was selfish enough to accept it. If being a vigilante boosted your battle lust, being magical, belonging to the Justice League Dark (from time to time because apparently they couldn't trust an anti-hero like you) was out of this world.

Probably, after being experimented on, your brain decided that you needed power to feel safe, you were aware but in denial because... power itself wasn't bad, despite the horrible things you did in the past (which weren't never your fault, you were just a mere little stupid puppet without will) you had a good moral compass. You'd take yourself to the extreme if that meant doing the right thing, not the politically correct thing, no, just what was needed to be done. That's why you liked it to work with this group of weirdos, exterminating magical threats under your own rules or sometimes Constantine's rules, which were... not rules but a "Do your shit right and don't get us killed"

Your current situation was no different from other situations, yes, probably using Admena's full power wasn't a good idea, her divine aura needed your vital energy to manifest but, fuck it, the job must be done, isn't it? Those words made you smile in the middle of an epic fight against a chimera, suddenly remembering your other team, the misfits you respected, protected and wished all the happiness in the world: the outlaws. You'd be lying if you say you don't have a favorite, but thinking about him just destabilize your mind, energy and dramatic heart, Jason Peter Todd was invading your mind again and meanwhile you were sealing the monster with Admena's aura, you couldn't help but wish your longing was everything but love.

With a deep long sigh you let your body rest against the rotten wood of the church, closed your eyes and tried to recover your energy, Admena even took part of your technology's energy, how ridiculous, you had to become stronger to have full mastery of your power, your mind and yes, again, your dramatic heart.

Artemis, that amazon was a fine piece of art. You probably had one or two wet dreams about her, nothing to be embarrassed of because no one would never know, but jokes aside, you looked up to her, she was strong, determined, a bit brazen but that was part of her charm. Inside the team you had a good dynamic and synergy, you weren't best friends, that was Kath's place but as coworkers you usually complemented eachother.

Once Kath and Constantine arrived the three of you contacted Batman to give a report, the case was still open after all. In the meantime you checked your phone again, Artemis wasn't exactly fond of social media so it was uncommon of her to text you, still sharing pictures or funny things could happen, why not?

With the anxiety in its peak you opened Jason's chat. You weren't really sure what was the problem until you realised something, Bizarro, sweet big Bizarro was using your Spotify account and despite having a bunch of playlists you had one, one with your deepest dirtiest thoughts... Hopefully Bizarro didn't expose you but the situation was pointing in that direction.

You bit your lip with your face contorted into a mix of worry, anxiety and fear, but when you were about to engage in the conversation and put an end to your suffering despite the consequences Constantine opened a portal and you three had to go. The energy was taking time to return to your body, so you stayed at the House of Mystery's gothic and beautiful sofa feeling like a very anxious and tired jelly.

You freezed and then acted in the most immature way. Your body sank into the sofa as your eyes focused on the chimney, angry fire burning and dim light illuminating the dark room, your body and some relics that John kept inside the house here and there. You took off your black gloves hiding your face behind your shaking hands ignoring your phone after evading a bullet Jason shot or that, actually, you shot to yourself. Silence was so noisy.

No matter how warm the living room was, you felt cold and so disappointed, who was James? Who? the only James you knew was the lilac haired guy from Pokémon and still you imagined a whole relationship with a non-existent person, great! Being honest shouldn't be so hard but fear, fear was so strong. Your life was a mess, one that you were trying to hold onto hard but that was crumbling little by little.

Jason wasn't reacting any better. At the beginning the scenario was funny, Bizarro was enjoying himself, then the situation made Jason feel a sparkle of excitement, he couldn't wait to tease the hell out of you and see what would happen, no one ever had created such unholy playlist for someone they wanted as friend. The moment he noticed his thoughts going too far from him, he stopped in his tracks and texted you.

Artemis saw the scene develop in front of her eyes, but once Jason ended up completely dumbfounded she knew something was wrong. Jason placed his phone aside and got ready to take a cold shower, damn expectations. Your relationship rested in a comfortable yet unhealthy uncertainty and neither you or Jason were brave enough to do something about it.

Who the fuck was that James?

#☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ knight of the peony #jason todd x latina reader #jason todd imagine #jason tood x reader #red hood x reader #red hood x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood x you #latina reader #john constantine #artemis bana mighdall #bizarro

[numbknee]

you think kyle needs meds for anxiety?? what’s ssri’s??? elaborate 👀

Sure! SSRIs are "selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitors" and it's a class of medication commonly used for anxiety and/or depression. Some brand names for SSRIs are Prozac, Lexapro, and Zoloft (or the generic names fluoxetine, escitalopram, and sertraline respectively). there's a bunch of other ones but those I think are the most commonly used at least in the US.

I kind of go back and forth with myself about this, but I can see Kyle as the type of person to develop chronic anxiety/generalized anxiety disorder, especially as he gets older and more stressors are added onto his life: school getting harder, relationships getting more complicated, needing to figure out a future career, etc. In the show, we've seen that he's already pretty neurotic to begin with, and he has a tendency to overthink and worry about things much more than his peers would, especially regarding stuff like morality.

He'd probably be really good at hiding his anxiety though, from others or even himself, and be in denial about it for a long time. In the back of his mind, he'd think "Oh well, I guess it's normal for someone to be stressed out all the fucking time like I am. Seriously, look at the world we live in! How could you not be worried about everything?" — all the while not realizing how bad his mental health has gotten and that the degree to which he's stressed out isn't normal.

It would manifest as worsening irritability, sleep problems, poor concentration, and his performance in school or at his job suffering. I feel like he wouldn't seek out professional help unless he reached a hard breaking point, like having a panic attack in public or failing a class because he couldn't sleep before his final exam. Whatever it is, it serves as a wake up call for him and he finally recognizes he needs to do something about it or else he's basically letting his own brain fuck himself over.

I think Kyle is so goal-oriented that once he does decide to seek help, he'd probably get his shit together pretty quickly all things considered. He gets a therapist, finds meds that work for him, and deals with the problem head-on because jeez man, he's got shit to do. He can't afford to keep feeling like shit all the time.

In the context of kyman, Cartman would of course be supportive because he cares about Kyle more than he'll ever admit. He's an asshole at heart so he does like seeing Kyle suffer to some degree, but not like that. And Cartman wants to be the cause of that suffering, not Kyle's own brain being a little shit and taking all the fun out of it. That's fucking lame. So he makes sure that Kyle takes his meds (albeit in the most obnoxious way possible à la my tags on this post) and talks him down when he's overstressed or overthinking and lets him know that he doesn't have to deal with everything on his own because otherwise that would be a gross violation of the bro code AND the boyfriend code. They're a team, goddammit!! "GOD KAHL, stop being a stubborn fucking dickhead and LET ME HELP YEEWWW!!"

Anyway yeah that's my take on Kyle and his anxiety! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#ask #potatoes-tomatoes #this got away from me. as usual lol #my post