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snakeredbirdbatkatana · 2 months

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Damian has been in the family for a while he has made his peace with Drake understood that no matter what he has a place but he still can't understand the dynamics. Maybe it isn't exactly the most intelligent choice to track down Todd and ask but he figured it was the best option.

Sitting on Todd's couch in the middle of crime alley eating a dish he can only vaguely remember his mother making he isn't exactly regretting it yet.

"So let me get this straight bat brat, you don't get how people work so you came to me?" Todd's confusion isn't exactly surprising but it is unhelpful to his plight.

"No I understand people, well when I have to I do not understand the bats." He at the moment can't bring himself to actually act with the dignity his mother expects of him another way Gotham had corrupted him.

Jason can't say he expected to feed and be interrogated by the demon brat he just wanted to relax but this isn't exactly a surprise now that the kid has chilled out he was almost waiting for it.

"You want me to give you a cheat sheet to how our family actually works becusse you are now realizing that Talia didn't understand shit and it fucked you?"

He can't keep the pure joy out of his voice knowing that he is actually gonna get to knock the kid down a peg after today.

"Not in those words Todd but I understand you have a perspective that I may lack."

God demon looks pissed below the joy he understand that this is actually important and he needs to explain this well knowing this could make or break the already pretty fucked up kid.

"Alright listen and don't fucking interrupt me save your questions and bitchness for the end do I make myself clear."

Holding the kids eyes he sees the kid is actually paying attention as he nods maybe Dickie really did find out the secrets housebreaking who knows.

"Ok let's start with me and I'm gonna be sappy for ten seconds and if you ever repeat this I will shoot you and put you in another duffle bag ok, ok good. I'm your brother I love you would kill for you that whole bullshit. I'm also Dick's, and Tim's brother, on days I don't want to kill the old man I'm his son."

God he's gonna need a smoke after this bullshit fuck he sees the kid is nodding good he hasn't lost him.

"Now Dick is my older brother he's not yours you can lie to yourself all you fucking want but he's your dad teaching you how to be a real boy and all that shit."

He sees an embarrassed flush and the start of protests but he's not dealing with it that bullshit the kid can work on in his own time.

" You wanted it your gonna fucking hear it, now Tim-Tam the sleep deprived idiot is a bit more complicated."

He takes a breath trying to put into words what he wants to say.

"Why is Drake complicated wouldn't he be somewhat easy" the confusion isn't a good sign maybe it is better the kid came so he can restrain him if he has too.

"Tim is the best of us alright, he's someone I want to protect I love him truly even if he's an annoying little shit. Now listen Tim is a lot like you when it comes to Dick crossing the line between Dad and Brother. Tim will always side with Dick that's his Robin and Tim is Dick's. You can't be a jealous little shit here because I don't even fully understand them."

"Bruce isn't Tim"s dad at least on his end Dick is, Bruce loves Tim but no one can ever replace Dickie just like you which is honestly half the reason you hated the kid."

Damian is now regretting this conversation he thought this would be simple once again he has somewhat lost his mind since coming to Gotham.

Yet he knows Todd's right that the way Grayson looks at Drake is the same look he gets and the same part of him who loves his animals and loves Richard feels guilty because he knew. He just didn't want to admit it.

"Why I don't understand why is Timothy so different to any of us even you, both of us tried to kill him yet he seems to matter so much"

frustration is leaking through but this is what he wanted to know why Drake is so important even to him why, what is so special about him.

Todd is hesitating but slowly steeling himself Damian cant help but to copy him knowing whatever comes out isn't gonna be easy it's gonna hurt but he asked didn't he.

"Tim was the first, the one to really unlock Dick not being well a dick he knows parts of all of us, secretswhatever, the shit that matters. Bruce, Dick, me even you, we don't run shit ok Wayne Entetprises, plans Tim does. Dick and Tim are the glue holding us together without them we would be fucked you know that."

"That's what's so special about him everything we do Tim has a part of he's genuinely irreplaceable and it bothers the fuck out of both of us."

Damian can't breathe he just runs words he never wanted admitted are stabbing through his mind he doesn't stop until somehow he ends up in his bed at the manor he just hides pushing it down the real reason he tried to kill his brother the fact that he almost broke the family he just hides he shouldn't have asked.

Maybe Richard was right being naive was a gift and now he can't go back.

#batfamily #jason todd #dick grayson #damian wayne #this is so not flushed out this is a mess #bruce wayne #tim drake #batfam #ehhh it's something

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lotties-ashwagandha · 23 days

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when the world becomes small

shauna sadecki x reader, word count 2k

amid the chaos of moving into your new house, you start to develop a relationship with one of your new neighbors. AU where shauna and jeff are divorced. (sfw) im in a writing slump help

You’re shocked that the entire world hasn’t drowned by the time the rain stops. It’s been storming for days, and any relief from it you’ve received has been too brief to call a break. Moving in has been hell without any help – your memories of dragging new furniture into the house through the rain and praying nothing would ruin are less than fond. You have already discovered a leak in the basement, too, where no number of towels or buckets can save you from the annoyance of mild flooding.

It’s the first day the sun’s come out that you truly feel welcome in your new home. Halls once gloomy and dark in the stormy shadows now glow in golden afternoon sunlight, and as you put on your boots and step into the garden, you begin to understand again why you’d chosen to buy this house to begin with. The peace here is incredible.

You’re in need of a fresh start – moving to New Jersey seemed once to be the answer. You’ve gotten a new job with colleagues you don’t loathe, and you feel finally free from the setbacks of your old life.

The neighborhood you moved into proves to be just as keen on keeping their privacy as you are. Hardly anyone has introduced themselves in the week you have lived in your new house so far, hospitality far from free-flowing in comparison to that of the small town you grew up in. There was one girl who introduced herself, a teenager you know had been ordered by her mother to welcome you on behalf of the family, but she was more interested in leaving than she had been to welcome you to the neighborhood. Her welcome didn’t count.

You are content with the solitude, anyway. The sun is out, and you are in the yard planning space for your garden. Your new place has room enough for one as big as you’d like. You make a mental note of everything you want to plant.

From the corner of your eye you spot movement in the shrubs along the split-rail garden fence. Overgrown plants from the last owners of the house decorate the backyard and make it a prime habitat for rabbits this time of year. Though you will have to cut some of it down later to fix your yard out of becoming a jungle, it brings you joy to watch rabbits scurry under your fence to come get food or take it home.

You sit down on the steps of the back porch. You watch as they run and jump and hide, letting the sun soak into you as you watch the rabbits as entertainment. Planning the garden could wait.

“It's the worst this time of year,” someone says from nearby, and you almost jump out of your skin. You look over the garden fence — it only reaches your hips in height — to see a woman standing at the edge of it near an already-planted garden of her own. “The rabbits,” the woman clarifies, noticing your confusion and the scattering of your thoughts in her sudden presence. “As soon as the snow melts, an army of them comes in. They’re hell for my tomatoes.”

You gather your wits, standing from the porch and making your way to the edge of the fence to meet her. The woman watches you carefully, analyzing you in a way that makes you wonder how much she can tell of you from first impressions. Her dark eyes are scrutinizing.

“Shauna,” she introduces herself, and extends her hand over the garden fence for you to shake. You introduce yourself as well, and she nods with a knowing expression.

“Callie,” you say, “she’s your daughter, isn’t she? She came over the other day to welcome me to the neighborhood.”

Shauna sighs, and you can tell she’s resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “I should have done it myself. I made her do it. I doubt she was pleasant company.”

“No, I loved having her over,” you lie. The girl had been rude to you, exceedingly, but you can’t find it in you to insult the woman before you through insulting her daughter. Even so, Shauna seems slightly surprised by your lie that Callie was good company.

Shauna’s head turns at the rustling of shrubbery at the far edge of the fence — a rabbit emerges, and settles in the middle of your yard. Something you’re unable to place crosses into her expression, something dark that disappears in the afternoon sun just as soon as you’ve noticed it. Shauna turns her attention back to you.

“I can take care of the rabbit problem for you.”

You shake your head. You wonder why she’s so invested in the rabbits, but you don’t want to ask. “I don’t mind them. They bring life to the place.”

“So do you,” Shauna says. “No one’s lived here for years. To have someone like you move in… it’s in good hands.”

You aren’t sure what to respond. You weren’t expecting any compliments from her, and to receive them makes you nervous. She’s beautiful, and already you feel the depth of her intelligence, her intuition. There’s power in her gaze as it rests upon you.

“You should come over for dinner some night,” she says suddenly. She looks kind again, amicable. “Callie usually goes to her dad’s on the weekends. Do you have any plans on Sunday?”

You don’t, and you tell her so — her relief is obvious, and quickly the two of you make plans to meet Sunday night. When you head back into your house, your interaction with her plays back in your mind on repeat. You’re a bit in shock of it, how quickly you’ve just made plans with the woman who lives next door. You try to imagine it all playing out on Sunday – you try to imagine other compliments she could give you and how it would feel when she gave them. You picture the delight in her eyes at seeing you when you arrive.

Sunday goes better than you ever could have planned – the two of you talk for hours, sharing a bottle of wine between you and having dinner. You relish in Shauna’s presence, and find comfort in her words and in every bit of attention she spares you. She knows more about you than most at the end of the night, and you know next to nothing about her. You can see the care with which she selects what to reveal to you about her life, and don’t pry for more than she’s willing to give.

It becomes a regular occasion. Every Sunday you go next door to Shauna’s house in the afternoon and the two of you sit on her patio and talk – words flow like rivers between you, endless and sustaining you. You do most of the talking, and you can tell she prefers to keep it that way, but every once in a while you get stories out of her about raising Callie or how much of a waste of time her ex-husband was or her daydreams of the places she wishes she could go and the things she wishes she could have time to do. Sometimes she comes over during weekdays, just for a moment to drop off plants she’s bought for your garden that you’ve talked about getting or to find an escape from the tribulations of her own home.

Spring morphs into summer within a few weeks. Your gardens are flourishing, you help each other with work in them. You abide by every suggestion of Shauna’s of what you should and shouldn’t plant, and how to sustain them as she sustains you. You’ve become enchanted by her, living through each week through the promise of Sundays when you’re guaranteed her time. Your thoughts are of her during every moment you’re without her.

The heat of summer is interrupted when the rain comes back, and this time it’s welcomed. You’re confined to her sunroom instead of the outside bliss of the porch. Shauna’s in the kitchen, pouring the two of you drinks while you watch the rain fall. You feel suspended in time – everything stops in the rain, the world shrinks to the two of you as the horizon becomes a blur and you’re the only ones left in focus.

Shauna comes back with drinks. Whiskey this time, not wine. ‘It goes better with the rain,’ she tells you, and you take the glass she offers. The taste of it is expensive, burns on your tongue pleasantly.

Shauna doesn’t sit down by you in the sunroom, but goes to examine some of the plants she has shelved on wooden stands. There’s an abundance of them, you’re a bit jealous of her collection.

“Callie’s going off to college in a few weeks,” Shauna says suddenly. You look over to her but her eyes are fixed out the window. She’s enchanted by the intimacy of the rain just as you are. “You could come over more often. Any time you want, really, once she’s gone. I don’t know if you’d like that.”

She glances at you for a moment before turning her eyes back to the rain – checking to see if you would oblige her desire, or if it offended you, as if you would suddenly change your mind on the entire idea of her and run out screaming and throwing things like a psychopath.

“I would like that,” you agree, suppressing a smile when relief visibly floods over her. It prompts you to add to her request, devise your own way of inviting her into your company more. “I saw an advertisement the other day for a farmer’s market being hosted by this wellness center about an hour away. It’s a bit of a drive, but apparently it’s a really big deal, it’s hosted every summer. I was thinking we could go together this Friday.”

Shauna nods. You recognize the contentment that comes over her. “You have to drive,” she commands. A way of adding order to the suspected chaos of joy, to stand in front of it and guard it with her words.

You nod, silent agreement to her terms. The two of you are immersed in peaceful silence for a few minutes – it’s not uncommon between you, just to sit in one another’s company, intimacy in the known safety of being taken into your own thoughts.

“I hate the rain,” Shauna admits quietly. She takes a sip of her drink. “It makes the world feel small.”

You stand, coming to her side to look out the window with her. You hear thunder in the distance amid the gentle pattering of rain.

“That’s what I love about it,” you tell her. Confusion spreads over her features that prompts you to explain. “When the world becomes small, it becomes ours.”

You know how horribly sappy it sounds, how trivial and cliche, but you can’t stop yourself from admitting to it. Shauna’s expression lightens, and as her gaze rests upon you once more you see that your words have provided her with comfort.

You reach for her hands, she lets you take them in your own. Yet one of her hands parts from yours, comes up to rest at your jaw, then the back of your neck, and you close the distance between you as she pulls you toward her, your lips finding hers. The kiss is soft, leaves you feeling drunk afterwards on much more than the few sips of whiskey you’ve had. The love that permeates her touch, the sweetness of the longing that fills her kiss as she pulls you in again has your head spinning. You’ve wanted this since you met her, have imagined it a thousand different times in a thousand different ways, but the reality is better than anything you could have dreamed up on your own.

Shauna steps forward, turns to push you gently against the wall. The world becomes smaller – it doesn’t exist outside of her touch. For as long as it can last your reality is composed only of the love in her eyes, and the desire in her kiss, and the willingness with which she gives it all to you. You realize it is not the rain that makes the world feel small, it is her – that in every moment the great expanse of the horizon fades closer to nothingness, and the view you have of the woman before you is all you need as the promise of fortune.

#yellowjackets x reader #shauna sadecki x reader #shauna shipman x reader #shauna sadecki #shauna shipman #yellowjackets #yellowjackets fic #adult shauna x reader #shauna x reader #adult yellowjackets x reader #adult shauna sadecki x reader

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mokutone · 1 month

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Hey I hope it’s okay to message you! Just wanted to check in on how you were doing… I wanted to DM you but I’m way too shy, I wanted to let you know— in 2023, after four years of complete silence, your art inspired me to start creating again. From 2019 to 2024, I was completely run dry. I didn’t create a single piece of art! But seeing your wonderful drawings, the way your compositions seemed to breathe life into your art, and your gorgeous use of colors… helped me to start creating art once more! It’s almost a year since then, and I’ve still been steadily creating. Thank you so much for bringing joy back into my life!! I had forgotten that it existed all along… I appreciate you and your art so much, I hope that you have many happy things to smile about. Peace and love 🫛🤍

i've gotten a handful of asks gently prodding me to make sure i'm alive (theyre very sweet) and i'm answering this one only bc it touched me deeply if i wait a while to answer it i know the asker won't get alerted so! 1) it's definitely okay to message me! but, that said: i probably will not reply to most asks for a very long time (sorry!) 2) that is, i think, the sweetest thing you could possibly say to me—maybe to any artist. i'm really, really, profoundly glat that my art made you want to make art too!!! other artists have done this for me when i was stuck, and i am eternally grateful to them, and now eterernally grateful to you, for finding what you needed in my art, that's a beautiful thing, and it's an honor as an artist!! i hope that somebody is brave and kind enough to tell you that your art inspired them to create—its a feeling like nothing else. i'm SO, so glad, that art is bringing you joy again!!! 3) (as for how i am doing—life continues, in its own way. most things are not good, but some are! i've made a promise with myself not to post on this blog until i sort out some unfortunately very real life difficulties, and.......it's been a year and i'm still working on it! life continues. good days and bad days. i suppose i'm also in a bit of a silent period of my own at the moment, in many ways! it happens to everyone, and it'll end eventually for me too)

and, with that said—let the silence resume for now.

#follow up questions will probably not receive answers (sorry!)#i still love tenzō dearly and i still think about him fairly often #but i am being good. and i am trying to focus on the problems in front of me instead of creating new more fun ones w/ art #Sigh. It's What Tenzō Would Want Anyway.#one day i will return to your dash #things are just kinda strained atm

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geekygee01 · 10 months

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Won’t you be (mine) Chapter 2- Boobs and Bitch Boyfriends

Series Masterlist

Pairing/s: Steve Harrington x Reader

Chapter Summary: As your visits to Family Video become weekly Steve finds his feelings for you only grow. As the weeks go on, he gets the chance to really know you (and meet your daughter), but now not only is there a fiancée in the way but he may have some more competition for your heart.

Steve can't seem to get you off his mind no matter how hard he tries. He's met and dated many beautiful and unique women but there's just something special about you. It's like a switch has been flipped inside his heart, that's set his whole world on fire and he doesn't ever want it to burn out. You consume his thoughts, he looks forward to every visit. He's even volunteered for my shifts, any extra chance to see you he will jump at it.

Robin tries desperately to lower his expectations and bring him back to reality, mentioning your fiancée and child over and over but its like it goes in one ear and out the other. He just cannot seem to let you go, all Robin manages to do is make his daydreams and infatuation painful. It hurts knowing how much he wants you but can't have you, he has nowhere to put his buckets of emotions.

It's another Friday afternoon when he next sees you. A van blasting heavy metal music peels into the carpark, parking in a messy way that has Steve rolling his eyes. What kind of miscreant is about to come in and ruin his peace and quiet. But instead of some drunk, tatted up emo he expecting its you that slips out of the passenger seat of the van. He takes in your flattering jeans, and admires the way they hug your hips as you lean through the van window to yell something.

When you turn around he almost dies that the low cut of your shirt, it's like you came right out of one of his dreams. You pull open the side sliding door and climb back into the van, for a minute he worries you're about to leave without coming in. But just as fast as you jumped in you're climbing back out. One arm has some films in it, the other is clutching a child. Your child.

The bell on the door jingles as you walk through, and maybe he's just being extra delusional but he swears your eyes light up when you see him.

"Well hello there," Steve grins "did you enjoy the muppets?" he teases.

Instead of some funny sarcastic answer from you he's come to expect it's the little child in your arms that perks up "Yeah!" she cheers excitedly.

Steve grins at her near contagious joy. She's a cute kid (she must get that from you), though she doesn't really bear much of a resemblance to you looks-wise, she must take after the fiancée. Steve tries not to dwell on him too much.

"Well I'm glad you enjoyed it little miss..." Steve pauses as he realises he doesn't actually know your daughters name.

"Introduce yourself sweetie," you smile so sweetly at both Steve and your child.

"I'm Cynthia, I'm four," she tells Steve before hiding in her mothers neck.

"Don't be shy sunshine, this is mummy's friend Steve," you tickle your daughter softly in the ribs and she lets out cute squeals of laughter. Steve smiles fondly at the scene, you make a great mum, and the sight of that is really not helping his infatuation.

You walk up to the counter and Steve's hit with this odd mix of smoke, weed and... flowers? He must show some kind of reaction because you're quick to try and apologise "I'm sorry about the smell, Luce can't seem to go five minutes without a smoke. I though the perfume would kind of cover it but I think I just made myself smell worse."

"No! Don't be sorry, I didn't mean to imply you smell or anything. I guess I just got used to the stale air and the bland scent of mothballs and dust, you smell good." Steve freezes as soon as the words fall out of his mouth, he can't bring himself to make eye contact with you and is quick to try and change the subject, "so your returns"

You place the films down on the counter and Steve goes to collect them, but the second Cynthia sees Steve try to pick up the muppets she starts fussing "No! My movie!" she whines.

"It's not your movie sweetheart, we just borrowed it. And now we get to pick out a new movie while we're here," you placate her, she perks up a bit but continues to glare at Steve.

He finds it kind of adorable, the little furrowed brow and pursed lip, he can tell she definitely got that from you.

"Okay your returns are all sorted, you can just go ahead and pick your next movies," and if Steve waived your late fees again that's nobody's business but his own.

"Okay sweet girl, do you wanna go pick a new movie?" you place a gentle kiss on her forehead before leaning to put her down, the little girl in turn just clings harder to you and points at the counter.

"No thankyou, I want that one," she wriggles in your arms and points harder at the muppets film they just returned.

"We've had that one a lot honey, don't you want to watch a different movie?"

Cynthia resolutely shakes her head and points again. You let out a weary sigh "I guess we'll be taking that one again."

"Gremlins!" Cynthia pokes at your cheek and your eyes light up with recognition.

"Oh that's right, Luce wants me to get gremlins. Thank you sweetheart," you duck into the aisles to hunt down the movie. Steve's about to go offer you some help, try to spend more time with you when you reappear clutching two films.

Gremlins and Elvira. "Is Elvira for your friend too?" Steve asks as he scans them.

"Hm?" you hum "oh no that ones for me, there's just something about her, ya know?"

Steve doesn't quite know what to make of that but before he can say anything else you're looking down at your watch and cursing, before looking guiltily at your daughter and telling her 'do not repeat that'.

"Sorry I've gotta run, Richie comes home tonight and I need to finish cleaning the house and making dinner before he arrives," you grab the three films from Steve and he can't help but notice the shift in attitude, you seem a bit sadder and little Cynthia looks... worried? "Thank you so much." With a wave from both you and Cynthia you're out the door and Steve's left already missing you.

This Richie guy sounds like kind of a dick, maybe Steve actually has a chance, he could treat you so much better then any guy that demands this weird kind of housewife obedience from such a kind busy woman and seems to scare his own kid.

Maybe he could just give you his number, even as friends, you're the one who called him a friend, it couldn't hurt to try...

But as he's heading to the door he notices you yelling something into the van and suddenly the drivers side door opens and Eddie Munson spills out, sauntering over to a bin to throw away a cigarette before ambling back over to the van and taking Cynthia from your arms. Cynthia lights up and begins giggling when he tosses her up in the air and spins her around.

Steve glances over to you and notices the love in your eyes and the fond smile on your lips and he can't help but wonder about your relationship with this guy.

Even if you were to leave this Richie, would you just be running into Eddie's arms?

#stranger things #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington #reader #reader insert #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson #robin buckley

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abs0luteb4stard · 6 months

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To my friend Niko. 💙🩷🤍🩷💙

I'll never know if it was an accidental OD or intentional suicide or what... I was lucky a friend of his was kind enough to tell me that he died. I was too afraid to ask anymore of a stranger. It had been weeks or months of inactivity before I was told. My suspicions were confirmed. Utterly shocked.

That's what happens with long-distance internet friends sometimes. He fucking died just months before my dad's series of medical events that put him into vascular dementia. Now It's been 7 years.

He felt like a soul friend sometimes. So much fun little things in common, coincidences, sadnesses. He got me into TØP, which I can't bring myself to listen to anymore. 🫤 It's not the same without his joy about new songs.

He was the sweetest person. I wish he'd have been able to make his trip here to visit his friend or s/o. My mom and me would've tried to make the trip a few states over to at least say hello give him a hug. He had new yellow suitcase and everything. 😢 It's still unbelievable.

He even liked me enough to tell me his 'dead name'. I forgot it, because Niko was who I knew.🤷🏻‍♂️ But I realized it was a very special trusting thing.

This will never not bother me. It haunts me.

He was always open to talking about being trans, transitioning, and taught me a lot. He cleared a lot of purely innocent misconceptions and ignorance about being trans that I had.

And My dad, who was probably 75ish when I started talking to Niko. My dad had a meager education in 1940s Europe. He was still very accepting and interested in his life, his safety. And was even hurt when I told my dad Niko had been bullied at school like me growing up. Even before his realization that he was transgender. He had a stutter and was smaller than the other kids. That really bothered my dad.

And my mom always asked about him. She always feels motherly for my friends. But Niko had some less than perfect relationship with his mom. And my mom felt heartbroken by that.

So I felt like Niko made a difference for our family just being an open book and a sweetheart. I wish I had the chance to have long in person talks with him one day and share more pictures of our families. Sadly, that'll never come. And I've already forgotten a lot of our texts and things.

He left a hole in my life right when things got incredibly difficult and dark and painful in a lot of horrible ways.

I had support, but he had a special sort of way about him. As shy and anxious as he was, he was a social butterfly through our penpal friendship.

He had his top surgery. He had to wait almost a year. We were so happy.

He sent me this nice picture of him smiling at the hospital with the sun's rays flowing in onto him. It's almost like a dream now.

I guess if there's an afterlife, my dad and uncle are looking out for him from any bullies. And Niko has the body he was meant to all along.

But I often wonder if the difficulties with acceptance didn't contribute to his death through medicating himself. Again, I'll never know. But his death was unnecessary in my eyes even if I didn't have the full story. Because not being unconditionally loved and accepted kills people too. Not being concerned in healthy, helpful ways kills people, too.

But I think he should be remembered today too because he contributed to the change he wanted in the world by being who he was to me, and I would also learn how he was to many other people.

At least I know he changed my world and my parents' world. He is why we don't just accept transpeople in a closeted backseat way.

He is why I am openly vocal for acceptance and caring about transpeople, being their friends. And protecting transgender people.

youtube

It was such a strange coincidence again that his favorite band TØP would make a song with his namesake just 2-3 years after he died. It was poetic and sad.

I hope you found peace. 🖤🏳️‍⚧️

#Niko #i miss you #transgender day of remembrance #🏳️‍⚧️#trans 🏳️‍⚧️#my thoughts #my journal #LGBTQ #🕯#Youtube

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ptsd-phoenix · 3 months

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February 16 2024

I was about to type here that I am having lunch in this triggering place without a single fear and feeling utterly relaxed. Which was entirely true. I felt so at peace and calm. As soon as I typed out the date above in this post.. my abuser appeared, ha! What are the odds. (Quite high to be fair, which is why this location is triggering and I do exposure at it) I have chosen to sit differently today to challenge myself for more exposure which means I am facing the direction he is about to be seated. This will be interesting.

I am nervous and shaking. Breathing faster. I'm going to face this moment head on though. I will attempt to sit here until I approach a more relaxed state of mind. I must say I am afraid to look up now since I am looking down at my phone to type this. I am quite terrified to make eye contact with him.

I just looked up and he has chosen to sit with his back facing me. This is a nice development. Does this indicate he is also afraid to be confronted with me staring at him? Does he not want me to see him? He did choose a seat near me though. Perhaps he wants to be close yet stealthily. I could see him approach the building because I have a window seat and in my peripheral vision I noticed he stopped to look at me before entering the building. I wonder if he was deciding whether or not to still have lunch here.

I am starting to slowly shake less. I really don't want him to see me shaking. I want to appear completely unaffected by his presence. Like he means nothing to me at all. As if I have forgotten him and don't even know who he is. As if I would have to say: 'excuse me, I don't know who you are? Have we met before?' I want him to feel insignificant in my life.

To be honest it is quite weird to be seated in a lunch room in close proximity to a person who has attempted to completely destroy your life. I did EMDR about this person yesterday. How strange that they can just be seated there. It's almost laughable. Monsters really just walk among us don't they. I just noticed my shirt has an angry dog on it who is holding a knife in its mouth, haha. It shows not to mess with me I guess.

I take joy from the fact he is seated alone. He might be thinking the same in reverse. If only he could see me sitting here with a friend. Although being seated here alone shows my bravery and strength. I am glad he is not sitting there with another potential victim. I don't trust him to treat anyone right.

I take small glimpses at him sometimes but I am avoiding looking up from my phone. It scares me to think of him looking around into my eyes. His eyes scare me a lot I think. Having eye contact also means acknowledging each others presence. Right now I can just pretend to not be aware he is even here. I like to keep pretending. I also feel pretty much physically unable to make my head face his direction. This must just be the fear. I am breathing more calm and shaking even less. Yet I feel frozen to keep looking down at my phone. I want to challenge myself and look his direction but it's hard. It brings a lot of fear.

I looked. I'm proud of myself. It was scary so my heartbeat went up again. I like how this is real time live blogging my exposure. I just feel it would be very interesting for me to read back in the future.

It is also my goal to calm down enough to feel at peace right now. Even with him in close proximity. I want my body to know that his presence is not dangerous in this public setting. He can't hurt me because there is too many people around.

My fear is still pretty high. I'm not shaking as much though. I wonder if I can make myself look again. I did. Apparently in this meantime he has put on a beanie, lol. I wonder if he is as distressed as me. I'd almost want to stare at him and observe him. I have the upper hand in terms of being able to observe him from behind. Him turning around is too frightening of a prospect though.

I might just leave. I don't want to get a parking ticket, lol. I'll have to walk right past him to get to the exit. I hope I don't drop my plate with nerves, hahaha. Fear is for sure rising at the thought of passing him by but he can't do shit. He is just a pathetic guy. Sitting at a lunch table. He can't hurt me now. I must believe in this.

Let's go

part 2, written same day once home

I was able to leave the place feeling pretty strong. He followed me out which is weird cause he also did that last time. I wonder if it's truly coincidence or if he waited for it (I'm very much thinking the latter, but who knows). I didn't feel afraid of it though because I felt he was weak. I took a diversion which made it so I was behind him instead and then went to my car. He didn't follow me there so all was good.

Part of me wonders if he enjoys being able to sit in my proximity and have a look at me. Especially considering his previous stalking behaviour. I am curious whether he thinks I notice him or not. I don't care if he enjoys it tbh. I am just using these opportunities to realize he isn't dangerous in public settings and I can freely do as I please without him harassing me.

#phoenix posts non poetry

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soulofapatrick · 1 year

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Cup of Joel - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: A regular of your coffee shop - Tommy - brings his brother with him one day

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: none

Notes: idk if I'll make this a two part or a series (also I'm really living up to my nickname of the coffee addict here)

Y/N’s POV

Coffee. Something so plain and simple yet so many varieties and tastes. As a barista working at a small coffee shop in downtown Austin, Texas, I can't help but agree with the sentiment that coffee is something plain and simple yet endlessly diverse. Every day, I wake up early and make my way to the coffee shop, preparing myself for the rush of customers that inevitably floods in as soon as we open our doors.

The sound of the espresso machine hissing and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee fill the air, signalling to our customers that we're open for business. As the day goes on, I take orders, grind beans, steam milk, and pour shots of espresso with the precision and skill of a seasoned barista. But amidst the chaos of the busy coffee shop, I can't help but embellish the lives behind each cup of coffee that I serve. The woman who always sits in the corner nursing a cappuccino is a new mother, desperate for the moment of peace and quiet that comes with this place. The man in the smart suit orders an americano on his way to work, always rushing about and panicking about sleeping through his alarms which makes him almost late for his meetings. As I hand each customer their cup of coffee, I can't help but wonder about the moments of joy, sorrow, and contemplation that will be shared over that simple cup of coffee. For me, the art of being a barista isn't just about crafting the perfect cup of coffee - it's about connecting with people and being a part of their stories, one cup at a time.

The customers are usually the same few with one or two new faces, often students or people who have recently moved to the area. But even though I see some of the same people day after day, I'm always excited to learn something new about them or to see what kind of coffee they'll order next. After all, with so many varieties and tastes to choose from, every day at the coffee shop is a new adventure.

Today was no different, Nancy came in and took her seat in the corner with bags under her eyes and a tiredness a first time mother possesses, sipping at her cappuccino. Andy came practically sprinting in, apologising about slamming the door, thanking me for having his latte with three shots of espresso ready for him, paying and charging back out. It always makes me laugh how things like Andy and his lateness never change. Other regulars come and go, a shy student comes in, stuttering her way through an order of a caramel macchiato, surprise on her face when she sees her name written on the cup: Amelia.

Other than those three the morning rush came and went, some customers rude and snappy and others sweet and keeping to themselves until all was left with Nancy and another semi regular that I am still to learn the name of. It’s coming up to lunchtime which means my favourite customer is going to be showing his face with that flirty grin that he thinks will work on me one day. Those dark curls, sun-kissed skin and freckles and those cognac eyes. They remind me of a cup of rich, dark coffee - deep and intense with a warm and inviting tone. His eyes have a certain smokiness to them, much like a bold espresso shot, but with a touch of sweetness that reminds me of a caramel latte. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles gives them a comforting and familiar feel, like the first sip of a creamy cappuccino on a chilly morning. Just like a perfect cup of coffee, his eyes have the ability to comfort, energise and uplift me all at once. But, he is too much like my brother for me to ever see him more than a friend no matter how hard he tries and he tries.

I know Tommy’s order off by heart: Caffe Americano. I grab the tall cups and place it under the spout of the espresso machine, pulling the handle down to extract two shots of espresso. The aroma of the rich, dark coffee fills the air as the hot water is added to the cup, creating a smooth and bold flavour. I top it off with a bit of whipped cream and caramel drizzle as Tommy has quite the sweet tooth. As if on cue, the bell chimes and Tommy comes strolling in, calling a cheerful, “Afternoon Mouse.” His nickname has me rolling my eyes at him and handing him his cup of coffee before I realise there’s someone standing just behind Tommy, his eyebrows raised at Tommy who sends him a smug smirk. The man has me fumbling behind the counter, knocking some of the cups down and Tommy’s smug smirk has morphed into a knowing one, “Mouse, this is my brother, Joel.”

Joel’s more rugged than his brother, sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline. He has dark, loosely curled hair that looks oh so fluffy and falls in disarray around his face, framing his features perfectly. His eyes are dark and piercing, with a hint of mischief that contradicts his easy smile. Joel stands tall and confident, with broad shoulders and a lean build that suggests he takes goo care of himself. He has a light beard, adding to his rugged and handsome appearance. When he smiles I think my knees give way and my heart tries to skip through my chest and that glint in those mesmerising eyes, the colour of dark roast coffee with hints of hazelnut and chocolate tones buried deep within.

Tommy’s addictive laugh snaps me back to reality and I realise I’m staring, Joel’s hand is held out for me to shake and I’m flushing, ducking my head out of embarrassment. I take his hand, revelling in the largeness and warmth of his hand enclosing mine, feeling the roughness of the callouses from working as a contractor with Tommy. I introduce myself, “I’m Y/N, pleasure to finally meet you.”

Joel’s voice is velvety, with a deep and southern drawl as he responds, “Likewise, Tommy won’t shut up about you.” His eyes twinkle with amusement, as if sharing an inside joke with his brother. I can’t help but feel a flutter in my stomach at his words and the way his eyes linger on me as I move back to the coffee machines before realising I don’t actually know Joel’s coffee order so I hold the cup up for him to see, “Oh, just plain black coffee with do sweetheart.” I drop the cup at the way the pet name rolls of his tongue and am clearing my throat, kicking the now unusable cup towards the bin and retrying with his order.

I quickly grab a new cup, placing it under the coffee maker and pressing the button for a regular cup of coffee. The simplicity of it makes me smile to myself as most order very complicated drinks and I think this is the first order of a plain black coffee I’ve had in a few weeks. The sound of the hot water filling the cup echoes in the small space and the aroma of freshly brewing coffee fills the air again. I can still feel Joel’s gaze on me, watching me intently and I try to maintain my composure as I add the lid, by some miracle snapping it on with no spillage or anything. Glancing at Joel once more I swallow thickly and take a risk, grabbing my sharpie and writing his name on the cup, followed by my number. Last minute I cross out the unneeded words on the ‘warning! The contents of the cup you’re holding may be extremely hot’ so it says ‘warning! You’re extremely hot.’

Nervously, I’m handing Joel his cup, feeling my cheeks flush even more as I try to avoid his piercing gaze. He takes the cup with a soft thank you, his fingers brushing mine for a brief moment, sending an electric shock through me. I have to quickly look away, not wanting to give away my very obviously thoughts and feelings. Tommy having to step in with a playful roll of his eyes, “Same time tomorrow Mouse.”

I nod trying to shake off the sudden shyness and send the pair a smile, “Of course, Tommy.” Joel flashes me a warm smiles and gives a small wave before following his brother out of the coffee shop. As soon as the bell chimes, signalling their exit, I let a deep breath, feeling my heart rate slowly return to normal as everything is out of my hands now. If Joel texts or calls me it’s up to him, and I can’t do anything about that.

As I start cleaning up the small coffee shop, I can’t help but replay the encounter over and over in my head. The way Joel’s eyes looked at me, the sound of his voice, the brief touch of his fingers on mine, it all feels like a dream. I snap out of my daze when the next customer walks in, and I put on my best smile, ready to take on the rest of the day. But deep down, I can’t help but hope that tomorrow will come sooner rather than later, and that Joel will be there for his plain black coffee once again.

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thehamletdiaries · 11 months

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I wrote this for the Hamlet discord and made myself have feelings so I thought I'd share

I think Horatio stays for a time at Elsinore - he is the carrier of Hamlet's story but importantly also of his message that Fortinbras should be King. It's Hamlet's wish (and, slowly Horatio realises, what genuinely is best for peace and stability) so he makes that his purpose and mission. During this time he writes and writes and speaks often and in many places - telling the story of Hamlet, almost as we know it - but in his version, he lies; he says Claudius sent all three men - Hamlet, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern - to their deaths and Hamlet alone escaped, he says nothing of Hamlet's treatment of Ophelia, and whilst he is truthful about Hamlet killing Polonius he claims that was Claudius's set up too. People need a martyr and Hamlet's full truth would not give them the story they all need. But what he tells truly and faithfully is who Hamlet was - how much he loved him and why; this brilliant Icarus like figure, full of fire, who shone like the sun he flew too close to. The prince, already loved by the people, is given so rich an epitaph that his name might live longer than many who did become King. And his legacy gives credence to Fortinbras's reign, bringing peace.

Fortinbras marries a woman very distantly related to Hamlet's family in order to solidify his position and reign. It's Horatio who helps her find her way in court - this man who was from outside court himself helping this woman who never wanted to be Queen. Horatio finds the writings of Ophelia - in truth, he had first gone searching for them to destroy any that might say some truth about Hamlet he does not want to be revealed - but he finds something else instead; this young girl believed she would be Hamlet's queen and she wanted to be a good queen. She wrote at length about the way they would rule, together; the kind of prosperity and joy they would bring - how they would invest in the arts and education, how they would support enterprise and relgious tolerence. He gives Ophelia's writings to the new Queen to help guide her.

Horatio goes home often - to the farm he grew up on on the border of Denmark and Germany. He has no male relatives left, but he still has his mother, grandmother and sister. They all hold him when he cries, but it's only his sister he truly tells everything too. The whole story. Everything about who Hamlet was and how truly he loved him.

Horatio's sister eventually marries and has children, as, of course, does the new Queen. Both women suggest naming one of their sons Hamlet, but Horatio asks them not to. It would be too painful for another to have his name. When the Queen has her third and fourth child, however, twin daughters, she does name one Horatia.

Horatio tries to go back to Wittenberg once but it is just too painful.

He is at his heart a scholar, and after many years at court he does want to return to school. He wanders looking for somewhere to be. He even goes as far as Egypt but that is too strange and too different. He eventually finds himself at the University of Florence, where he graduates and continues on to the professorship he'd always assumed he would have before he met the prince. He writes about philsophy, mostly; a discipline now forever coloured by what he has seen. He lives a fairly lonely existence, but his stoic nature sees him through. He gets up every morning and goes to bed every night. Time doesn't take away the pain but it changes it; makes it bearable in a way he would not at first of thought possible. He often cries but he is often happy too. He has long since stopped searching for Hamlet's ghost. If Hamlet were a ghost, he has reasoned, it would mean he wasn't in heaven. And Horatio has to believe that's where his prince is; in heaven.

#hamlet #hamlet x horatio #shakespeare #hamlet/horatio #hamletxhoratio #ophelia #horatio #fortinbras

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anxietysslave · 5 months

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Ranting; A bittersweet goodbye

So starting this off, I think I'm going to start a ranting side of Tumbler as well as the stories. Sometimes sharing thoughts and feelings out into the open can help others, or can help me because people might be able to explain or just conversation. So here's one thought that's been in my head. I think the hardest thing for me to accept is death itself. Or even goodbyes. How do you say goodbye? How do you let those memories go? Recently, a YouTuber I grew up with known as Game Theory retired. Like everyone else, he’s not safe from the decay of time. Or wanting things to go back to how they were. He wanted to settle down and live with his family in the present, rather than through a camera. Which I understand completely. But at the same time… It hurts. I grew up with him. He was someone I looked up to for a long time, along with other YouTubers. And now… He’s going to be just a memory. It’s a bittersweet feeling, isn’t it? It makes me happy seeing them live their lives, but also sad because it means any memories I had are over now. A good start with a bitter-sweet ending. Some say one door closes, and another opens. But where do those doors lead to? It’s not going to be the first childhood idol I’m going to have to say goodbye to. Soon it’ll be the ones I’ve known even longer since I was 5 or 6. The feeling of getting home from school, putting YouTube on, and watching them play old crappy games of the 2000s was such a nice feeling. It brought comfort, joy, and so much more. I still get that, although it does not feel as cloudly, or hazy as it used to. And now, as the days go by, I get older. And they get way older. Someday instead of mourning their channel loss, it’ll be their death. And that’s a hard pill to swallow. These people have never met me, and never will probably. But they’ve all been such a big inspiration to me. They’ve molded who I am today and changed me for the better. At least I hope so.

When school gets tough, or when I’m struggling, their videos help me calm down. Their videos still bring me a sense of peace, even though it may not be as strong as when I was a kid. And I believe a lot of people feel that way. These days are scary, colder, and just so much more different than what anyone is used too. So of course, just like everything around us and ourselves, they change with time. People like to think it’s them that caused it, but it never was. We grew up, our eyes forcibly opened by many factors. And even those who haven’t, they’ve changed a lot since they were a kid. A lot of people say they never do, but all it takes is a look at a picture. Anytime I see photos of me when I was younger, I see a few similar things. But that’s it. My eyes look different, my smile, my hair, my physical appearance, how I present myself, everything has changed. Which is probably why these goodbyes hurt more. I try to go into denial as a coping mechanism. I deny they’re gone; I deny I won’t see them again, I pretend one day I’ll go on YouTube and there’s a new video uploaded an hour ago. But deep down, I know it isn’t going to happen. It’s crazy how YouTube became my coping mechanism in a way. I turned to people like Game Theory or Jacksepticeye, Markiplier, Dantdm, and even more. They have no idea who I am or anything about me. But it feels like they’re almost a parental figure to me. That sounds weird, but I have no other way to put it. So when you say goodbye to them, it hurts more than ever. Because I see them as someone close to me. Maybe it’s a bad thing, maybe it’s not. I can’t say. Human emotions, human thoughts, they’re all so complex. Even for me to understand. I can’t explain anything about why I feel how I do. I’m not a doctor. I’m no neuroscientist. I’m someone who just tries their best to get to where they want to be in life. To learn to find joy in small things like the wind, the cold or warm breeze in the air, the white snow that falls on the ground, and even something as bad as the natural disasters that harm us. I’m not a genius or anything of that sort. And even they can’t explain the reason we feel sad, or why we form connections to people we’ve never met or animals. The only thing we all have are estimations. There are no true or false answers. And who knows, maybe one day a goodbye won’t feel so bittersweet, or maybe I can come to terms with the fact that those who pass on are no longer here with us on this earth. That’s weird, isn’t it? I understand death, but at the same time, emotionally I don’t understand it. My brain can’t seem to grasp or doesn’t want to grasp the fact that someone’s gone. That I can never see them again. And although the Game Theory creators, Mat and Steph are not dead, it hits that way to me. In a way at least.

I just wish them well in their next chapter. This ones come to an end, and all the fans can agree that it's been an amazing and long one. So many times everyone would debate these theories or help look for evidence. Others would argue about whether it's right or wrong, and then a lot of the time Mat would be proven right. I wonder, what journey will we all take next? What will be the start of our new chapters as we enter 2024?

Requests and other related stuff: https://www.tumblr.com/anxietysslave/708212002841083904/masterlist?source=share

#rant post #blog #thoughts #feelings #game theory

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whentherewerebicycles · 8 months

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good morning! I felt pretty lousy all week but I feel so much better now—I think in retrospect I was bracing myself for something going wrong with the ultrasounds and delaying me another month. but I did the IUI yesterday and everything went well. I always feel most at peace right after the IUI because the timing is now out of my hands but I’m also still far enough from testing that I don’t feel too much anxiety about it. I’ve tentatively decided I won’t test at two weeks but will just wait for my period to come or not come. I am going to try not to calendar watch—luckily my days are a lot busier now that liz is here, school is starting, and I’m doing choir and voice lessons, so I hope the time won’t drag as much as it did last winter/spring. I’m also going to try to eat really well and will make it a fun meal planning game.

here are my goals for the next two weeks:

walk for 45-60 minutes every day (I’ve been slipping a little as things have gotten busier but I want to carve out time for it again esp while the weather is still so gorgeous)

no (or minimal) processed sugar

eat leafy dark greens every day—the easiest way to do this is to sauté big handfuls of frozen spinach with garlic and red pepper flakes and eat it as a little snack. so I will do that (but will also try to incorporate greens into my cooking).

try making beetroot juice lol apparently it’s very good for implantation in IVF cycles so might as well try it

really focus on whole food plant-based eating (although I am also eating eggs and full-fat dairy at the moment so not vegan)

don’t snack at work—people are always bringing in candy or pizza or treats which is nice but I can really mindlessly graze if it’s easily accessible. I’ll try chewing gum and/or making tea instead

hmm ok what else what else. choir was fine and then I had a great voice lesson yesterday. my teacher is a little eccentric but what person in a music career isn’t lol. she focuses a lot on helping you understand and manipulate the actual bodily mechanics of singing/sound production and I’m finding it really fascinating, so much so that it might be my next research rabbithole. I feel like she’s also good at identifying places where I’ve formed a very fixed rigid idea about what my voice “is” or is capable of doing, then creating exercises that get me to do the thing I thought I couldn’t without realizing I’m doing it. I think what I like most about the bodily-mechanics approach is that it does away with the idea that good singing is just a thing some people can naturally do and others can’t. it’s much closer to being an athlete! you have to strengthen and condition certain tiny muscles, and then through carefully scaffolded drills you develop a fine-grained ability to manipulate certain muscles and ligaments to produce different effects, and you have to be careful about using good technique when you train and perform (because like in sports, people develop bad habits to compensate for real or perceived weaknesses, which can put them at higher risk for injury). I sang for almost two decades and had 10+ years of formal vocal training as a kid/teen and I don’t know if anyone ever presented it to me in that way… or maybe they did but it didn’t click for me back then because I hadn’t yet done all of this reading and thinking about how people learn/improve/gain expertise in their chosen skills or fields. anyway I was originally thinking I’d just do a handful of voice lessons to help me feel more confident in choir but my interest is PIQUED you know my intellect is ENGAGED I think I might want to add weekly voice lessons to my budget. and I want to read everything out there on the subject lol. there is no greater joy for me than working in a focused way on improving at a skill.

okay and now let’s think about the day… here are some things I want to get done:

order peel and stick wallpaper (I am trying to figure out how to fix

plan meals

grocery shop

put laundry away

do old navy + everlane returns

swing by home depot to pick up soil, two paintbrushes, and paint (bring swatches to color match)

hourlong walk maybe on the paved trail

hammock reading in the park??

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dark-wackademia · 11 months

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oops.. joke turned to rant journal entry.

This boy I’m talkin to gets to see a poem I tossed together in a couple minutes that slayed and he has the audacity to ask me, a writer (which he knows I’m doing on the side of self-teaching into the IT world for work, as well as self-studying a lot of other stuff) “how do you find the time to write this stuff?”

I have half a mind to say, because I don’t waste my time on dumb asses anymore, that differently helps, having a non-existent dating life due to a sever lack of men without the affliction of putting their foot in their mouths. But hey, i know my worth so I’d much rather take time out for myself to enjoy my passion as often as I can, daily, than to have no standards for my life, a house paid for by my hubby that I despise, and he me, but we’ll stay together for the kids, and i hate my neighbours who I don't even know, and am friendless, but at least i have a lavish house that never feels like a home.

Um, no, I am so content and happy with how much hard work i put into my craft alongside the career I am going into to help have the means to do it all the more once I'm done with my studies. I get up almost every day from 2ish-3ish sometimes sleeping in to 4ish-6:30ish, but never really later than 9ish (only when I'm ahead of things some or really fatigued from working out or just feel burnout approaching) so that I have the time to be able to take a moment here and there when it does arise to jot it down, without feeling guilty for such a thing.

After reading Virginia Wolf’s “a room “A Room of One's Own”, I have realized again how grateful I am to have the opportunity to be doing this, live this way, even when I’m stressed, I rejoice I have so much in my life, a plethora--nay, a world, a universe of knowledge, really, at my fingertips! We’ve grown into complacency of the things we have and don’t appreciate the magic of simple things like the aid we have in technology, even if only that our libraries are better managed, and easier to mauver through (if we don’t have access to internet at home). The internet alone, I marvel at it daily, and i get emotional so easily at all the forgotten names that make my typing this possible.

We are so easily able to communicate with like minds from all around the world, do you not find that astounding? I for one, will never in all my life not stand in awe and gratitude of every back this current moment in time was built upon. Be it me being able to read a book, to exist in the world as I do, to walk down the street wearing what I want, to love or not love whoever I so choose and do with my life what I want... freedom, ah, there it is, that word, that is it, isn’t it?

Freedom, to do, to feel, to think, to be, and to live one's truth, make the most mundane day a feat and is enough to bring one to tears just thinking of how our ancestors would be proud of how far we’ve come. I like to imagine them as well as my heroes, watching over me as I live my day, and not to scorn me for never doing or being enough anymore as I used to fall in the habit of doing, rather for all I get to do and get to be, they are cheering in blissful joy with me. They weep with me, so I’m never alone, and this too is why I find my peace and content in even the storms of life.

#rant #journal entry #this started as a joke #but i dont think its a joke anymore #ITS NEVER BEEN #its an affliction the world calls normal and judges each harshly not for possessing #greed... a wanting for wanting sake... discontent with all and any more too #to try to trample the minds of artists for existing... even after all this time? its a shame we're still like this #virginia wolf #orlando virginia woolf #a room of one's own #she really has reawakened something in me #orlando #not proof read dont have time

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star-ocean-peahen · 11 months

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If you've had to deal with religious abuse, why do you still go to church and church camp?

Hiya! It's pretty complicated.

One of the main reasons is that I'm only just coming to terms that I've experienced religious abuse, because the experiences that back it up span my entire life. As long as I can remember, the church has been one of the most important and influential communities in my life. I was really isolated for unrelated reasons (it was hard to get out of the house), and for some of my most important social developmental years, the church and church programs were the only ways I could see my friends and peers and keep up consistent relationships with them.

Furthermore, I honestly still feel too scared to leave. One piece of rhetoric I heard every so often was that leaving the church would cut you off from moral accountability and your life would spiral down the drain because you were rejecting Jesus. Conveniently, they forgot to mention how most church heroes were dissidents. Because I heard that as a kid, it's conditioned in me to think that leaving the church = literal doom (yes the word doom was used). The fear of leaving the church is pretty deeply ingrained in me, and again, I don't think I'm ready to banish it yet.

Jumping off from that, I'm so used to saying yes to everything from the church I possibly could that it's hard for me to say no to anything. This week I didn't stand up during worship like everyone else because my back hurt, and even that decision was difficult and made me keep second-guessing myself. I don't want to leave until I'm confident I can defend my decision to every lovely, well-meaning, but poorly equipped and ill-understanding friend that tries to get me back.

Leaving the church would also cause a rift in almost all my relationships. Pretty much all of the people I'm close to in real life are Christians, with varying degrees of traditionalism and conservativism. Some people won't totally understand, but will support me anyway. Some people will understand completely. Some people won't understand at all and will be worried for me for all the wrong reasons. The decision wouldn't necessarily be a loud one, but it would involve a lot of snags and hard questions to ask and answer. Why don't you want to come to the barbecue? We're having a show and we'd like you to come. Mommy, why doesn't my grown-up cousin and role model to go to church? I miss seeing you at Bible study and church. We're going on this trip, and I'd really like to see you there! Leaving the church would involve leaving the community I've grown up in, and having to explain to a lot of people why the things that bring them so much joy and peace do the opposite for me.

Whoo boy. Okay. Deep breath. 👍👍

I think the succinct answer to your question is that I still go to church and other related activities because 1) I'm still conditioned against leaving and I haven't had the chance or time to undo that yet and 2) almost all of my relationships and community are found within the church. (Genuinely, you guys were the first serious nonchristian friends I ever made.)

(Also, these realizations have been coming slow but the knowledge of its severity only came recently, and I haven't gotten the chance to speak to my therapist about it yet.)

I'm not offended by you asking btw, and I think this actually helped me get my thoughts on the matter in order. Thanks for asking so politely!

#hi anon!!#lassie's askies #tw religious abuse #tw religion #tw christianity #religious abuse

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stellamarium · 1 year

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A Peaceful Moment

Tor x Lunaliya

RATING: General

GENRES: Fluff

WORD COUNT: 736

SUMMARY: Lunaliya and Tor share a small moment in the castle terrace, away from the festivities.

Finally managing to slip away from prying eyes, Lunaliya allows herself to exhale a long and heavy sigh. From down the hall, the banquet held by Aglovale is still in full swing, but rather than making her way back, she decides to head to the castle terrace instead. As expected, nobody else is around, and the woman relaxes as she leans against the cold stone and stare out mindlessly into the distance. She closes her eyes.

"Oh—"

Her moment of respite is interrupted, prompting her to stand up straight once more, but when she turns around and sees who it is, her shoulders go slack with relief. Tor, still donning his usual armour, flashes her a bashful smile as he steps onto the terrace.

"My apologies. I saw a figure and grew concerned that perhaps a guest was unwell. I hope I'm not intruding?" The knight asks, walking up to Lunaliya who smiles warmly at him.

"Not at all. Your presence is always welcome," she replies, gesturing with a subtle wave of her hand to join her by her side.

Tor bows his head in gratitude as Lunaliya turns her attention back to the sky before them. A comfortable silence washes over them. This is nice, they both think idly to themselves.

Tor decides to spare a glance towards Lunaliya, finding his cheeks to grow warm as he takes in the sight of her in her formal dress. It's quite rare to see her all prettied up like this, and the starry night as a backdrop seems to almost add more to her beauty. Realizing that his thoughts were starting to wander, he awkwardly clears his throat.

"Is the party not to your liking?" He asks, concerned to have found her away from everybody else.

Aglovale had decided to throw a party for the winter holidays and extended an invitation to the crew. Since they had business to attend to in Wales, Gran had accepted, and both Lyria and Vyrn had dragged Lunaliya to come along with them.

Lunaliya shakes her head in response. "It's not that. It's a wonderful party, truly. I'm just not a fan of crowds and prefer to keep to myself, but Lyria and Vyrn really wanted me to join. I know they meant well, and I couldn't refuse such a heartfelt wish. I understand that the holidays are a time meant to be spent with loved ones, so I try to be accommodating as much as possible to those who love me."

"That's very admirable of you," Tor comments. "Most people would simply brush others off."

"I'd feel horrible if I did that," Lunaliya admits with a casual shrug of her shoulders. "I might not necessarily like it, but loving someone involves compromising with them. If it makes them happy, then I'm willing to show my face at a party if need be, even if I don't like being around too many people. And since I'm already there, I might as well try to enjoy myself anyways. I simply needed a breather, but I'll come back since there's a lot of good food."

Tor laughs at her lighthearted joke. "I'm glad. Your presence there brings me great joy, after all."

Lunaliya hums in response. She finally turns her head to face Tor. "And what about you? Are you on duty right now? As much as I appreciate your company, I wouldn't want to keep Lord Aglovale's most trusted and beloved knight from him for too long."

"I'm sure my Lord can manage himself just fine without me... but I do suppose I should start heading back to my post," Tor says. He's able to hide his disappointment quite well. "Will you be staying here for longer?"

"Yes, I think I'll linger around for just a few more minutes," Lunaliya answers him.

"Please take care not to stay out for too long. It wouldn't do well for you to catch a cold," Tor gently reminds her. He then leans forward and comfortably places a soft kiss to the woman's cheeks. "I shall see you later then, my beloved."

And with that, Tor turns on his heel and leaves a rather flustered Lunaliya behind. She presses a hand up to the cheek that had just been kissed, and her lips purse into a small pout.

"Honestly... You say that, but how do you expect me to go back when I'm blushing like this?"

#avisteliterature #(📜) [ valued knight ]

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wishingwisp · 2 years

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We~☆

I reorganized my bedroom a bit. Got my desk and rainbow drawers out of storage so I can start unpacking my art and craft supplies and reassembling my ~creation station~ here.

This account is new, so nobody here knows, but if anyone is reading this, I left my abuser 5 months ago and moved back in with my parents. It has been a ~time~. Both miserable and beautiful, though the misery is mostly in hindsight and nothing compared to the agony of being there with him.

So, having the space to create a nest of safety, inspiration, hope, and joy has been the most amazing blessing. Especially because I hadn't anticipated it. I had no idea what things would be like once I left.

The coloring page in the post was one I made during the dark times, but it hung above where my old man cat (may he purr in peace) decided to spend his last days.

I had hoped we could leave together, but the universe had other plans, and he passed a month before I finally had the courage, strength, and resources to leave. It broke my heart, and made staying even more untenable. So, in a way, he helped me leave, too.

Anyway, I almost consigned it to the keepsakes box, but decided I'd put it up in my room as the beginning of a memorial. It's hard not having him with me on this side of things, but at least I can bring his memory with me.

He was 18 when he passed, so, he did live a well-loved 7 years with me. Though, naturally, they were turbulent as hell. Life does tend to be that way.

And now I have Littleman (aka Mac, aka Babyguy) to love and share my life with. And I've made a promise to Littleman that what I unknowingly got wrong with Bygg (my old man), I'll do my best to get right with him.

It's hard accepting that life, by its very nature, will have us making mistakes we don't even realize we're making until hindsight kicks in and wisdom helps us to know better. I tend to always want to do things right the first time, but a beginner in anything is bound to fail, over and over again, until they learn not to. And there's no shame in that, it's the nature of things. But I still ~feel~ shame for it, anyway.

Idk, this post got sad and I wasn't meaning for it to. This chapter of my life, while beautiful and full of so much promise, is at the same time, very bittersweet.

I feel like that one Bob Ross meme all the time, I'm waiting on the good times now. I'll make it. And until then, I'll make art, read books, make music, sing, and love the shit out of myself and Littleman. I think I've earned that much at least.

#life #my life #Littleman #selfie #bedroom #new things #good things

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isiratrieswriting · 2 years

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Entry No 11

Letter for Kay

Dear Kay.

“I hate you very very much!”

“I hate you even more!”

Do you remember that game our class played once, where you had to speak the opposite of what you meant? We went around saying all sorts of senseless stuff, laughing at each other, enjoying the silly pastime.

And then at the end of the day, while we were getting ready to leave, I told you how much I liked you, and you said you liked me much more. Of course, the two of us were still playing the game.

I was so very happy when I heard that. To this day, It remains my fondest memory of you. Innocent joys, I suppose.

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? How have you been, dear Kay?

Although, I’m not entirely sure I can even address you as dear Kay anymore, close as we had been through the summers of our childhood.

Playgrounds. Birthday parties. Sharing snacks. Listening to you talk. Punching you on the shoulder, playfully of course. Helping each other with homework. Walking together.

You don’t bring many specific memories to my mind’s eyes. Instead, these are simply feelings. Feelings of peace. Contentment. Comfort. I smile. Just a little.

As I write this and walk down memory lane, I notice that the memories of you are few and far between. Is it because I’m getting older, or were we never as close as I had imagined us to be?

I loved your company dearly, yet we didn’t have many meaningful interactions. Perhaps that is why every moment spent with you was something I treasured back then.

Time and again, I find myself asking: What is it of you that makes me remember you after all these years, even more than the one I called my best friend?

Aries was the energetic class clown, Scorpio intimidated me and Virgo simply existed to pick fights with me.

You, however, were calm. Thoughtful. Quiet. Intriguing, I suppose. Enigmatic, even.

To be perfectly honest Kay, I hardly know anymore.

But that drew me to you. I wanted to know you. I wanted to understand.

I happened to see you the other day. You didn’t recognize me and neither did I. Well, it’s only natural. Almost a decade has passed since we knew each other as children, and since then, we have grown into adults. I wonder if the child I knew is still there within you Kay? Or are you a completely new person now? I wouldn’t mind learning about you once again, but I can’t help but feel you wouldn’t consider the same for me.

There was always a distance between us, no matter how desperately I tried to cross it.

We did have some sort of a falling out too, didn’t we? Something about birthday parties and invitations. Ah, the woes of a child. I don’t clearly remember it anymore, nor do I wish to.

I remember you gave me a fuzzy little pencil holder, with a cute smiley face. It had a place on my study desk for a long time, until we lost it when we moved.

What do you represent Kay? I ask myself, as I have done before, knowing that I can never properly convey it.

What exactly is this assortment of feelings I attribute to your memory? There is no longing when I think of you, no pining for times past. Is it resigned acceptance then? Yet why did I feel the need to write about you then? You continue to confound me, as you used to, all those years ago. How in character.

Perhaps, I just want to feel again, how I used to feel in your company.

Kay, you mark a time in my life where I was truly unburdened, before I began to question and find answers I wished weren’t so. Simpler times, uncomplicated by the workings of this world.

The cloudless sky reminds me of you. Cherry blossoms wilting and I remember you. I hear the wisps of a childish tune and my mind goes back to you.

All was right in my little corner of the universe, walking down the streets and meeting you at the playground.

I was happier then.

I do not miss you, however. You remain a cherished memory, stored away carefully, that I pack and unpack whenever I wish to reminisce.

I wonder if you ever think of me.

#diary entry #rambles #childhood #thank you for the memories

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