#BUT WHY MUST I FEEL THESE WEIRD COMPULSIVE THOUGHTS

[skitskatdacat63]

I wish I didn't feel horrific levels of insecurity/inferiority/jealousy/fomo/ego/etc etc about literally everything 24/7. I don't think I let it affect how I interact with people, but it's just this sickeningly insufferable feeling in my chest

[harmonysanreads]

HARMONYYY i just finished the penacony quest and OH MY GOD. the emotional damage wtf... and the murderer 😕 i honestly don’t think anyone could’ve foreseen that

on another note, sunday really does have huge yandere potential !!! (i was swooning the entire time he was on screen im sorry.) he literally isn’t beating the allegations at all. even the other characters comment on how weird it is for him to casually keep a model of the golden hour, because what in the control freak 😭

he seems like he’d play dollhouse with darling. after all, in a place like that, every single aspect of it is under his thumb — literally. having that much control over your circumstances is a reassurance. oh, are the placeholder models crashing? don’t worry dear, he can fix the malfunctions. he can even make them speak more realistically for you. he can give anything to you, even change the layout of the place entirely if you’re bored of it. you want to get back to normal size? well, he can’t quite do that just yet, please understand..

or if he pulls that weird interrogation magic thing on them. darling who just lies through the entire thing, and he uses this to scare them about the death countdown while not mentioning the part that he has the power to really just cancel it in the end. though, the same trick won’t work on them twice. at least the process gets darling to become part of the family in the end.

not to mention the spies he has everywhere. stupid birds watching you in every corner…

idk i just want to hold him and shake him aggressively. out of love, of course.

- 🕯️

When I tell you I've lost sleep over the thought of just how much more Sunday is probably capable of doing, nonnie.

If he has access to technology and power like this, which are all unrestricted for his personal use moreover, imagine the things he's hiding. And imagine farther the things he had to do to get to where he is today, another dash of spice to the mix. I went back to his scenes and did some thinking. The me-slandering-Sunday is obviously a joke but I really, really hope people just don't focus on the morally-gray and questionable aspects of him and completely disregard his other characteristics now.

If you think about things from his perspective, he really is just trying his best to keep the image of The Family. But the loss of probably the only person he trusted with his heart and the disregard to bring justice to that case from The Family's side, compelled him to put his agenda first (as he himself mentions that he allowed Aventurine to pull that stunt so that it'd lure Gallagher out). What we get from this is, while Sunday is an extremely dedicated member of their faction, he had to learn to be selfish in certain situations to save his and Robin's backs.

The desire to control usually comes from a feeling of helplessness. We can make some speculations based on the current information of why Sunday has these tendencies, I've also seen some people say he has OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) but, we can't be sure until his full lore drops. Another thing to note about Sunday is how lonely he probably is, especially at present. The Family is in chaos, the situation of Robin, external forces' traps, the Charmony festival's deadline and he doesn't even have one person he can sit down with and not question their motives. He really must want to rest just as much as the characters around him are suggesting.

So basically, Sunday is a multi-layered character, just like Aventurine. He's definitely a politician, is what I'll say. Even though he is a control freak whose motives are hard to guess, he's still that little boy fighting for his and Robin's shared dream inside.

[brain-rot-central]

ok so has anyone made a list of things that Astarion said that had a different meaning than first thought?

For example, if you tell Astarion when you first meet that you’re Baldurian as well, he says they must not be in the same social circle. With the way he talks and dresses it seems like he’s implying you’re lower class, but later it becomes clear you’re not those petty criminals or brothel goers that he targets. (And there’s the separate “of course it’ll turn me into a monster” line that becomes obvious later.)

He reveals he fears breaking his nail to the dryad, and it seems shallow but we learn he’s traumatized by digging himself out of his coffin, and the year he endured being trapped inside a coffin and desperately scratching and breaking his nails off as punishment, which is also why he refuses to dig anyone out like Nere.

Also, he mentioned he targeted brothel visitors, and at first it sounds like he just waited outside those establishments for victims, but then if you visit the drow twins he mentions he never thought he’d be on the paying end, plus if you choose one of the twins then Astarion says you have a type for elven prostitutes. And if you really think about it, considering how Petras’ lines are similar to Astarion’s, it wouldn’t be weird to imagine Cazador forcing them to work at a brothel for a few years as training…

Some of Astarion’s lines have a lot to unpack

Many things Astarion says are doublespeak. It's a common coping mechanism used by trauma survivors to "make peace," in a way with what they went through. It's not until you've played through his whole story that you understand that, and honestly it breaks my heart. He has a lot of self-depreciating language. Little quips here and there where you realize he's not only commenting on the current situation but himself, as well.

The monster line in the beginning gets me the most, because he follows it up with, "What did I expect?" For the first time in 200 years, he's able to stand in the sun without burning. He's grappling with that entire realization while also readjusting to there being light and color in the world, and probably was looking at the whole Nautiloid experience as something slightly positive... only to learn that no, this is not something positive. In fact, it's horrendous, because if it's not rectified, he'll become a grotesque monster, worse than he already is. And idk, that guts me. He has this small glimmer of hope for the first time in two centuries, all to realize that it's a giant farce.

But, Astarion is also stubborn, so he holds onto this small glimmer of hope to see if there's a way he can work the tadpole to his advantage. So that he can continue to walk in the sun. Once he realizes that Cazador's compulsion has been interrupted due to the tadpole, he doubles down on wanting to keep the tadpole and control it.

Astarion's story is such a beautiful portrayal of what being in survival mode feels and is like. You're so entirely desperate to make it out of your current situation that you would quite literally give anything and everything to obtain it, even if it means burning the entire world down around you.

The elven prostitute line made me laugh when I first heard it; I knew he was referring to himself and trying to make some light humor about his past, but it's also heartbreaking to realize he sees himself as one. He hasn't yet taken the grace with himself to distinguish between being forced into that line of work vs who he actually is. The lines are still blurred.

I can't think about the intricacies of his background/personality too long, because it all feels way too familiar to me. To know even a smidge of the despair he probably felt for years and the constant mental and physical struggle he endured (there's even disordered eating/food insecurity in his back story too and no one really talks much about it; Cazador purposely kept all the spawn near-starving as a form of control).

Our boy was severely abused and neglected and I really just want to give him a fucking hug.

[genderkoolaid]

okay, so, i keep seeing this take come up a lot from non-trans men and non-trans mascs, and it’s making me a bit uncomfortable. for background, i’m a trans man that writes smut for trans mascs, trans men, and non-binary folks. i write in fandom spaces so this is a strictly fandom basis and not irl basis

more and more often i keep seeing non trans men and non trans mascs saying “if you think mpreg is gross you’re just transphobic” without nuance and when i explain “hey, this maybe isn’t a good take to have since there’s a LOT of reasons people may be grossed out by mpreg (eg. dysphoria, how heavily fetishized it is in fandom spaces by non-trans writers, how it’s used to fetishize trans m characters, the person grossed out may be a closeted trans man or trans masc or don’t realize that the “gross” feeling is dysphoria, etc.)”, i get shouted down and told that i’m wrong. and it’s kind of making me question my own line of thinking.

i guess, i’m just looking for some perspective from trans men and trans mascs on this topic? if there is any? bc i honestly can’t tell if i’m having a knee jerk reaction to my own personal experiences with fetishization. idk if you do much with fandom spaces, but i also don’t really know where else to get perspective

I think there's an important difference between different interpretations of "finding mpreg gross." One interpretation is male pregnancy being a squick for people as individuals for a variety of reasons, such as dysphoria. But in the context of systemic transandrophobia, "gross" is describing the idea that male pregnancy is an obscene, disturbing fetish akin to guro, something that is objectively abnormal and inappropriate.

The reason why "mpreg is gross" is transphobic is because its based in the idea that a pregnant man is unnatural and wrong, and that pregnant men can only exist as a "fucked up" sexual fetish. People are incapable of being normal about male pregnancy in any context and will compulsively go "EWW mpreg is so weird and fucked up!!! is this omegaverse!!!" even when talking about real men's experiences or desires. Male pregnancy is seen as a joke, a kink, or a crime against nature, but never something normal, natural, neutral.

Feeling dysphoria around pregnancy for yourself isn't transphobic, and people can write/depict male pregnancy in ways that are uncomfortable. Personally, I don't like how a lot of people's first thought when it comes to male pregnancy is cis men getting pregnant, with trans men- men who can and do actually get pregnant- are an afterthought. Its annoying to see posts joking about "getting a man pregnant" where people immediately jump to "cis male mpreg," distancing transmascs from our own bodies' abilities & replacing us in the cultural mind with cis men. I don't think cis male mpreg is inherently bad, but there are valid criticisms to be made.

And while you are just talking about fandom stuff, I don't think we should entirely separate this from the wider treatment of pregnant men- who are constantly dehumanized irl, treated like walking freaks (I was just reading an article the other day where a trans father talked about being called "it" throughout his pregnancy, and this is not uncommon), and having their gender validity heavily scrutinized for using their "female anatomy" even though they "want to be a man," sometimes even from other trans people. The way mpreg is treated in fandom spaces does very little to counter this narrative- if anything, in my experience, it just adds that "dirty" connotation, where pregnant men aren't just freaks, their pregnancy must be inherently sexual and should be kept out of public spaces. And this really does not help the idea that trans people are groomers who shouldn't be around children- I have also seen transphobes fearmonger about transmasc fathers & their children & whether or not the children will be safe, or be able to grow up properly, or if they'll be traumatized because of their father.

This is all to say: I don't know exactly the contexts you've heard "saying mpreg is gross is transphobic" in, but to me, arguing against "mpreg = gross" is a necessary part of dealing with the objectifying & dehumanizing way we see male pregnancy discussed in fandom spaces. Male pregnancy should be just the same as female pregnancy. Its normal, its natural. Some people have fetishes relating to it. Some people are really disturbed by the idea of it happening to them. & while there are unique brands of misogyny directed at pregnant women, the image of a pregnant woman isn't treated like something inherently dirty and obscene the same way a pregnant man is. People finding male pregnancy strange or gross- not because of dysphoria or personal preference, but out of transandrophobia- is the status quo right now, and its important to counteract this by normalizing male pregnancy as A Thing Some Men Do.

[quixoticall]

The View Between Villages

Summary: Steve Harrington offers to be your ghostly tour guide after your mysterious, unexpected death.

AN: Hiiiii, if you’ve been wondering where I’ve been then, first of all thank you for thinking of me, and secondly, I have been sick with bronchitis for weeks. Tbh I never understood in Regency novels where they would make such a huge deal about someone being sick until now. That shit took me out. Anyway, in my convalescence I watch the show, School Spirits and I couldn’t help but see the similarities between Wally and Steve—both men of the 80s, hot labrador retriever jocks with a compulsive need for parental approval? So, that’s how this lil piece was born. I would love to continue writing in this universe so please, if you have any requests, send them in! In the meantime, I am hard at work on This Could Get Ugly and a lovely lil Eddie number inspired by another Noah Kahan song.

Warnings: School Spirit!AU, Major Character Death, talks about own death, brief mention of violence and death, angst, this is sad! Ghost!Steve and Ghost?Reader

Pairing: Steve Harrington x f!reader

WC: 2K

It’s Steve Harrington who first declares you dead. Admittedly it takes you an embarrassingly long time to realize, it wasn’t like they sent out notices for these types of things either, as convenient as a note would’ve been:

To Whom it May Concern:

We regret to inform you that on February 12 of this year, you will unfortunately perish under unclear circumstances in the city of Chicago, Illinois at Northwestern University. Please make sure to get your affairs in order before the set date.

No, none of that, instead you had attended three whole lectures before noticing that no one was acknowledging you—not your professors when you raised your hand; not your classmates when you asked if they could loan you a pencil; not even your best friend when you ran into him in the hall. You thought it could’ve been a weird prank. Then the news began to spread, you were missing. Reported by your roommate after not having come home from a late-night study session at the library. And then they found traces of blood in the boiler room of the library’s basement.

Still, you thought to yourself, maybe you were having a really long terrible dream. Or maybe you were in a coma. Or doing one of those VR headset things. Or maybe you were dead and cursed to spend the rest of eternity haunting the very campus where you died.

Your friends were never the gym type, which is why you end up at the school’s pool in an effort to avoid the pain and desperation you feel every time you see their tired but still-hopeful faces.

That’s where you see him. Or, more importantly, where he sees you. You first spot him sitting at the edge of the pool, observing the ongoing swim team practice and are immediately struck.

Sure, you may be stuck in some weird reality where you may or may not be dead but you can still appreciate a hot person. Especially one as handsome as Pool Guy who’s striped swim trunks sit low on his hips and he has a smattering of dark hair trailing from his belly button almost up to the base of his neck. Thick, chestnut-colored hair swoops in his handsome face in golden-touched waves and gracefully frame a pair of honey-hued eyes. Of course you were going to stare.

You’re sure you stare for an indecent amount of time, but it wasn’t like that mattered, you remind yourself, you’re invisible to him like you are to everyone else.

Except you’re not invisible to him because Pool Guy was making eye contact and worse, he was waving, solidifying the fact that he is very aware of your presence. He can see you.

“Hi, you must be new here. I’m Steve Harrington, class of ‘86,” he introduces himself, with way too much verve once he swims over to where you’re still frozen in place.

“You can see me?” You ask, once you find your voice, “How can you see me?”

You reach out to grasp his offered hand and to your shock, your fingers don’t go straight through his, like it would with anyone else’s. Instead you’re enveloped in the warm solid grasp of his hand.

He cracks a smile at this, “because I’m dead too. Which, I totally get you’re probably wondering how someone this good-looking could’ve died so young but i will—“

“Dead?” you squeak out.

“Sorry,” he says with an awkward grimace, “I know not everyone likes that term, um, how do you identify—?“

You cut him off once again, “I didn’t know I was dead.”

It’s his turn to be confused.

“Really? Most people are really quick about putting it together. When they see their body the memories all come back. I mean even I put it together and I was never the smartest even before the accident—oh, shit. You’re the missing girl. The one from all the flyers.”

Clearly he’s referencing the myriad HAVE YOU SEEN ME? flyers with your face on them that paint the campus. Up until now, you had been categorically missing not dead, and now that someone has spoken your fate out loud, you’re certain it is all but sealed.

“Listen, I am so sorry. Let me go get someone who’s way better at this than I—“ you cut off his apologetic rambling,

“I need to leave right now.”

Before he can say anything else you’re running in the opposite direction as quickly as you can.

You don’t go back to the pool after that.

Being dead wasn’t so bad. Sure, you had spent a solid five weeks distraught over the loss of the life you had once lived and mourning everything you will never get to do. And yeah, it was a uniquely painful type of loneliness getting to see all your friends and never getting to interact with them, especially during those first few weeks when your disappearance was hot on everyone’s lips and heavy in the hearts of your friends. But outside of all that, being dead was okay. At least, you didn’t have to submit any more papers or do laundry.

After your encounter with Steve Harrington, class of ‘86, you decide to hole up in the library. You desperately convince yourself that if you search the shelves enough you’ll be able to find something in one of the many books that talk about the afterlife that might provide you some clarity about your newfound ghostly status. Surely there’d have to be something helpful. Anything. A ghost manual, perhaps or some graduate research paper about being stuck in between realms. You’d easily settle for a Chicken Soup for the Ghostly Soul.

Or you think traitorously to yourself, a tour guide to the afterlife, someone who has experience with being dead and a great set of abs. Every time you’re close to convincing yourself to go back to the pool, the embarrassment of your mortifying first encounter pulls you back. No way you were going to see him again. Just because you were dead didn’t mean you’d lost all your dignity.

Your internal back-and-forth ends up not mattering because he ends up coming to you.

You spot his well-coifed head maneuvering through the tall shelves from where you’ve holed yourself up on the fourth floor mezzanine and watch as he weaves through the unassuming crowd, completely unnoticed, just like you.

He’s wearing clothes this time, which both disappointing and surprising since you haven’t quite figured out the mechanics or social expectations of how often ghosts should be changing clothes. In a pair of snug-fitted jeans with a Northwestern Athletics sweatshirt and a pair of high top Nikes, he takes the winding steps up to your unofficial perch two at a time . If this is what he looks like some 40 years dead, you can’t imagine what he looked like when he had a pulse, it must have been like staring into the sun.

“Hi,” he offers tentatively when he approaches, like he’s sure you’ll run off spooked.

“Hi.”

“Sorry to bother you, it’s just, well, my friend Robin told me she saw you here and I wanted to come by and apologize for what happened. At the pool. I truly had no idea, sometimes I just say things without thinking, which I am working on, trust me.”

You smile, appreciative but defeated, part of you was hoping he was coming up here to tell you that there had been some sort of mistake.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault, it was just a bit of shock, is all. I guess I’m still adjusting to this whole being dead thing,” you joke weakly.

“Yeah, about that, if you ever need help adjusting or learning the ropes or anything like that, I—we are always happy to help. There’s a few of us that band together and we’d love to have you. Truly,” he claws nervously at the back of his head as he makes his offer the tip of his sneaker digging into the worn library carpet.

“Thanks,” you say, genuinely, “I really appreciate that.”

He looks at you now, finally, and his gaze is golden, warm honey and it’s like a shot to the chest. Like you’ve promised him the moon. A hand is extended towards just slightly, a twitch, and you realize he’s expecting you to take it.

“I can’t right now, though,” you say, lamely and you watch his smile waver. Quickly you add, ”I need some time, I think, before it becomes permanent. If I go with you, I’m dead. Alone up here, I’m still just missing. Does that…make sense?”

He nods, furiously, “It makes total sense. You can come find me by the pool whenever you’re ready. I will be there.”

He makes a move to leave and you register the paper in his hand for the first time. It’s a flyer with your face on it, different than all the ones before.

“Wait, what is that?” You ask, fingers skimming the plush of his sweatshirt to get his attention.

“Oh, um,” he swallows thickly, “they’re having a vigil for you tonight, I wasn’t sure if you’d seen or if you were going, but if you were going, I was going to see if you wanted some company. “

His voice is small now and the regret is etched thickly on his face.

Fingers shaking, you extend a hand out for the flyer. Steve sighs but gently places it in your trembling grasp nonetheless.

It’s true, what he said about the vigil, you had no clue. You’re not sure how long you spend staring at your own face, long enough for the words to stop making sense, but not long enough for them to stop meaning anything.

Steve stays the entire time and when you sink to the floor, tear tracks heavy on your cheeks, he sinks with you. You cry, and he stays.

“I can’t go,” you admit, and then, in the same breath, plea, “How can I go?”

Next to you, Steve lets out a shuttering sigh.

“When I died, they did something similar, my parents came down from Indy and everything. I couldn’t bring myself to go either. But shit, maybe if I did, I would’ve gotten what I needed to move on from here. Closure or whatever. Or maybe not, who knows? But I will never know and I would hate for you to never know.”

It’s still too hard to go you decide, but you can’t pretend it’s not happening. Instead, the two of you sit on the roof of the library, feet dangling over the ledge watch a river of candlelight flowing through the center of campus. You can hear, faintly, as your friends make speeches talking about how kind you were, how good, how funny and undeserving until their voices fail from holding back tears.

You cry the whole time, but you don’t regret it.

The two of you stay sitting there far past the end, Steve’s arms wrapped around you, holding the pieces of you together.

After, when you’ve had enough of it all and the last candle has gone out, you turn to Steve and say, “thank you, that did make me feel better. You were right.”

He chuckles wryly.

“I don’t hear that I’m right very often,” he admits before cracking another smile, “but I could get used to hearing it, especially from you. Now, what do you say about getting some ice cream? No offense, but that thing was a total downer.”

You laugh, genuinely, not only at his joke, but the absurdity of it all before playfully shoving his shoulder. In response, Steve pretends to lose his balance and almost fall of the ledge and you both know it’s silly but it makes you smile so it’s worth it.

Dying is probably the worst thing that has ever happened to you, but at least you are not alone.

[wolfiwonderer]

Tonny is sus

In honor of the new chapter and questionable decisions, I'm going to deep dive on Tonny and why I think his innocent look is a front.

He believes he's the good guy (which honestly, confidence in one's righteousness is a red flag that Julia (prev), Tonny, and Sahed all share). The Tonny that he presents cares about each member of the circus, hates taking their lives at the beginning and end, and has sweet innocent thoughts about Julia. I think he really believes that.

I love Tonny as a character btw, super excited to see where this goes.

Tonny does not really care about the people in the circus.

The oldest history we've been told is that they were in a castle. An old woman knew about them and funneled people there for money. Tonny gave them an offer to tie themselves to the castle for eternity to protect them from pursuit.

Okay, but everyone in the castle is miserable. Tonny looks miserable. The people around him do. He clearly isn't too worried about the woman directing people to him. So why is he signing them up when he has been shown that they will break down?

It seems like there must be some kind of compulsion that means Tonny needs to add people to the pact continuously. If he's really burdened by giving them happiness, then he wouldn't sign up for more work.

2. Tonny is not that bothered by taking people's lives.

Okay, first of all, I don't know how you could keep killing people twice and not prove that you don't actually feel bad about it. He has many options other than killing people.

Most of this being bad is predicated on Tonny knowing that there's a cost after their second death, but given how hard he claims to be working to stop people ending their lives (particularly to people who have been around for a while), I think he knows something of it.

Mr. Finnegan is the epitome of Tonny's immoral sign up practices. I have no doubt that Tonny thought he was doing the right thing, but a good 30 second think on Finnegan's motivation shows that it's a terrible idea. The entire reason that Finnegan wants to sign up is to spend more time with his wife. What exactly did Tonny think was going to happen when the wife died? It was going to happen, since he didn't sign both of them up (also, why not?). He had to know that Finnegan was a short term stay.

Mr. Finnegan is the 'youngest' of them all, which makes me wonder how many people have come and gone in the last hundred years. Sahed would probably be somewhere around his age if he aged normally, so he's the next youngest we know outside of Camille and Julia.

Speaking of Sahed, we also know that he made some kind of promise to him that convinced him to sign up.

Sahed has had the same goal for a long time and he thinks Tonny betrayed him. I'm inclined to believe him - even if I'm sure the details of what he asked for were impossible. Tonny agrees with him that Ah'kon deserve equal rights. He also seems sad about the hate against them in a way you don't see from other characters. But, his logic that it is too dangerous to taken them in seems weird when he also took in Dotty while police were after her. Sahed's intake couldn't have been risk free considering he's a legendary level escapee.

I could see this being a savior complex. He 'solves' the problems presented to him with the hammer he has. He signs up to fix problems he can't and then when he doesn't deliver, he hides behind all the other promises he's made. But it's like he' s a married man with a secret family and it's somehow the family's fault he wasn't faithful when they find out about the other.

3. Julia is not safe with Tonny

This is full on theory/prediction and I want to talk about some phone fast pass episodes, so putting it under the cut.

Honestly, Camille kind of called this out in the last episode. Julia has said that Tonny is keeping her close and he has a certain possessiveness. He shows signs of feelings (for no apparent reason than chemistry though? Like do they have much in common? Julia wants to not die but also not be a bad person. Tonny wants ???), and that could be explanation. But I get antsy about a guy who wants a woman to center her life around him. But if that was all, I wouldn't be quite so suspicious of him.

Tonny has admitted that Julia is in the middle between him and someone else, but then, like... doesn't explain. He's said full trust, but she's just hoping he will make her not die, when he has a history of breaking promises (other than killing people, he's got a good record on that, seems to be the go to solution for everyone at the circus). I can't help but think that the reason he hasn't elaborated on the true details of anything to Julia, and likely to everyone, is that it is something horrible.

[beesmygod]

i know an anon suggested ocd to you the other day, and i didn't see the original message but i know it was a bit fraught. but i am a longtime follower who has ocd who also thinks you may have ocd. and with the reblog you just did i'm like well, maybe i can say a little bit.

i've been sitting on sending a message for a long time because (1) trying to diagnose someone on anon is so fucking weird, i am very aware and ashamed of this weirdness in sending this to you, don't worry, (2) it seemed so obvious to me and you've already talked about other mental health issues and such that i was like "no, surely she must already know she has ocd and is just choosing not to talk about it (completely understandable, i don't do it on main), and then i would also be weird for forcing her to out herself".

the thing with morality-adjacent ocd is that a lot of the base thoughts, in a vacuum, are fine. if you hurt somebody some level of shame is good so you can reflect and correct your behaviour. caring about doing the right thing and refusing to do things that violate your principles is good. it's the intensity and all-consumingness of the thoughts that is the problem.

i mean i say morality but it applies to other ocd too. you should wash your hands and keep your place clean as much as you can, but obsessively avoiding contamination by washing your hands for half an hour straight... etc. it's ultimately egodystonic - it takes the thing you hate the idea of the most and convinces you that is what you really are.

like you are genuinely an admirably principled person, more than many, and it's good that you do the right thing instead of the easy thing. but your anguish about like, not contributing enough good to the world as a comics artist and things like that screams morality ocd self-punishment to me... and repeatedly talking about it feels like a confession compulsion. which i also have, kind of! i feel the compulsion *to* confess, but i don't, because if anyone forgave me or told me it wasn't a big deal they obviously haven't formed a sound judgment because (1) they are morally depraved themselves, (2) i didn't explain myself properly and they didn't understand why it's bad, (3) they're my friend and being more permissive with me because they like me, so they're too biased.

this was long, sorry. but you're a good artist and i like your work and i hate seeing you suffer like this. and if you really don't have ocd, well, i'm just another weirdo armchair psychologist anon vanishing into the void.

i appreciate this and thank you for being kind+brave enough to send this while medication juggling is really making me insane new ways. i have not been diagnosed w/ocd and only started kicking the idea around not too long ago when cornered by the inescapable nature of my thoughts/feeling, the fact that no one understands what the hell i'm ever talking about, and seeing signs of it in someone else very close to me. and i guess incidentally learning more about how it develops/is treated.

lol your bit abt internally responding to how ppl try to comfort your "confessions" rings very true. i never thought of my posts as confessions but like im desperately trying to get a hold on a reality that makes sense to me because when reality doesnt make sense, it feels perilous and fleeting. like, doesnt anyone else feel like this? why am i the only one who sees this? how am i supposed to understand what i'm supposed to be doing to live a life that isnt equivalent to a sewage drain that empties out into people's houses if i cant even understand whats happening?

[butchhamlet]

hi it's me again im the anon who dropped about 800 words about ocd hamlet a couple weeks ago (maybe longer, time has been weird for me lately).. it made me soo happy to see it resonated with you and with some other people who reblogged it as well!! i've been projecting on hamlet ever since i read it and it feels like every time i read it i learn more about him AND me... and ever since Symptoms showed up he's been even dearer to me and im just so glad people like my interpretation as well :)

i hope it's ok for me to do this again because i want to talk about what if lady macbeth has ocd also. and i know this is sort of well. dangerous if that's the right word because 1) lady macbeth IS the villain in her play even if i love her from the bottom of my heart and i support everything she does and ocd is already an incredibly stigmatised and misunderstood 2) hand washing is possibly THE most stereotyped compulsion that sort of epitomises this really warped view of ocd in the public consciousness. i personally do not have handwashing as a compulsion or really any physical compulsions that are direct responses to my intrusive thoughts so i will try to be really really careful when im talking about this. + other disclaimers: again while i have definitely experienced symptoms of ocd i do not know if i have it and i am NOT diagnosed + ocd experiences are different for everyone + you cannot diagnose a character because they are not real + this one is mostly projection and is more a frame of reading than it is an interpretation grounded in textual evidence (esp since i will be talking about the sleepwalking asleep a LOT and she is technically, well. sleeping.) so just. take everything with a pinch of salt and please let me know if i ever overstep!!

im mainly going to be drawing on experiences close to real event ocd even though i know that typically real event ocd is defined by the fact that the sufferer blows their past mistakes way out of proportion and/or question their memories, and i guess i cannot say that lady macbeth’s guilt is completely unjustified because uh. she did kill a man.! but i do think her behaviours after the murder reflects what i’ve seen people speak about online as well as some of the experiences i’ve had. 

guilt as illness

this is more general to the whole play i guess but i wanted to point out how the consequences of the macbeths’ regicide is absolutely portrayed as a disease. there’s a LOT of foreshadowing in lady macbeth’s advice to her husband in the immediate aftermath of their murder: she tells him not to “think / so brain sickly of things”, and says, “these deeds must not be thought / after these ways so, it will make us mad”. (2.ii) the doctor later alludes to “infected minds” (5.i) in relation to lady macbeth’s madness. the fact that the fixation on guilt is seen as an illness i think fits so well with ocd: whenever im having a bad day with intrusive thoughts and mental spirals it genuinely feels like there is something festering in my brain like a parasite feeding on anxiety. 

guilt is also so intrinsically linked to sleep in macbeth: famously macbeth comes out of the king’s chamber ranting about how he may “sleep no more; macbeth doth murder sleep”, and lady macbeth’s obsession pours out of her when she is sleeping (and this is exactly why a doctor is called). i would argue that fucked up sleep is somewhat presented as an illness in ‘macbeth’ too; or if not, at least unnatural. this idea is all over act 2 scene ii (right after macbeth commits the murder) but i think it’s best epitomised in act 3 scene iv: “you lack the season of all natures, sleep.” (lady macbeth) season as in both night-season and seasoning/preservative. so sleep is both a natural part of life, and something that keeps things the way nature or god intended. the doctor says too that disturbed sleep is “a great perturbation in nature” (5.i). nightmares are DEFINITELY depicted as illness: macbeth says that they “sleep / in the affliction of these terrible dreams / that shake us nightly” (3.ii)

insomnia is highly associated with ocd since the obsessions/compulsions prevent sleep and sleep deprivation increases the commonality AND duration of obsession. if a significant portion of your day is spent devoted to obsessions/compulsions, there’s a chance they may become assimilated into intrusive dreams, since dreams are generally regarded as a way that the brain processes memories. thus, we can see that the way guilt in ‘macbeth’ is linked to disturbed sleep parallels how ocd is linked to sleep disorders. so not only is guilt itself an illness in ‘macbeth’, it links to other disorders too

2. withdrawal from dialogue

lady macbeth stops being on equal footing in terms of number of lines with macbeth after the murder. from act 3 she really only responds briefly to what macbeth says, and she’s not even in act 4. i sort of see that as her being dragged under her spiralling thoughts and retreating further and further back into her mind. i know i definitely zone out a LOT more on days where im being absolutely bombarded by intrusive thoughts. she’s definitely disoriented by the begining of act 3:

nought’s had, all's spent, where our desire is got without content. ’tis safer to be that which we destroy, than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy. (3.ii)

the whole soliloquy (if you can even call it that—it’s only 2 couplets) is riddled with paradoxes and confusing wording. her mind is completely scattered and it feels to me as if she’s just been arguing with herself. this might be reaching slightly (as if this entire post isnt kind of reaching already. sorry) but to me it kind of mirrors the absurd leaps of logic my intrusive thoughts and rumination can sometimes take: how can it be “safer” to be destroyed? how can “joy” be doubtful? it doesn’t make sense, and it’s confusing and frightening, but it feels absolutely real. (also note: as you’ve said before ocd is sometimes called the doubting disease. and lady macbeth calls her experience “doubtful”….

3. the mad scene

(disclaimer again i KNOW she is supposed to be asleep the entire time BUT i am going to. sort of. ignore that. sorry</3)

in the beginning of act 5 scene i, lady macbeth’s lady-in-waiting says,

since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her nightgown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon't, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed — yet all this while in a most fast sleep.

i’ve never experienced physical compulsions myself, but this sort of repeated, methodical act matches how i’ve seen people describe them. the doctor specifically calls them “actual performances”, which suggest, i think, something mechanical and dictated in some way; “perform” is definitely a word i’ve seen people use to descrive carrying out compulsions. (do correct me if i’m wrong!)

then let’s look at lady macbeth’s actual speech:

out, damned spot, out, I say. — one, two — why, then, 'tis time to do't. — hell is murky. — fie, lord, fie, a soldier, and afeard! what need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?

the jumping around of her thoughts honestly feels exactly like my mind alternating between intrusive thoughts and desperately trying to justify why they aren’t true. she goes from reflecting on her debillitating guilt, to being anxious about going to hell, to replaying and checking her memories, to reassuring herself (and macbeth) that she won’t get caught, and then to thinking about her guilt again. it’s a rapid-fire, relentless cycle that continues throughout the scene. she’ll jump from reenacting a moment with her husband, to the obsessing over the blood on her hands, then back again. notably, in her address to macbeth, she never seems to be reenacting the exact same moment. she taunts him for his cowardice seemingly before the murder, then pleads with him, saying that “banquo cannot come out his grave”, then goes back to when they are fleeing the crime scene. i think this reflects the sort of distortion of memory that constant memory checking and ocd can cause. the moodswings and the flip-flopping between “everything’s fine” and “i’m going to hell” are also SO intense and honestly it’s exactly what it feels like on my worst days. 

in the entire scene, lady macbeth speaks in prose instead of verse: it’s obviously a sign of madness by itself, but i also think it reflects the complete loss of control she has over her thoughts and actions. in the beginning acts she is all about control: she demands “spirits / that tend on mortal thoughts” (1.v) to do her bidding, she tells macbeth to “leave all the rest to me” (1.v), and she tells him what to do at every moment. but at this point in the play she can’t stop the onslaught of regrets, guilt, and memories, and she can’t even control herself physically.

speaking of the elephant in the room: the excessive handwashing. i think of lady macbeth’s handwashing as less of a reaction to a genuine fear of contamination, but as something more akin to body-repetitive behaviours like skin-picking (dermatillomania) and hair-pulling (trichitillomania, which i think i have) which are associated with ocd.

i sort of headcanon lady macbeth to have absolutely horrible skin splits on her hands (<- this part is complete projection): and so following this interpretation, i think of her handwashing sort of as a form of self-flagellation because rubbing her hands continually will make the skin tear and bleed. (gore tw?) that, then, fits in with the blood on her hands: in her semi-conscious state she thinks it’s duncan’s, when it’s really hers.

i know that another common compulsion is counting: and lady macbeth does count (“one, two—’tis time to do it.”) one of the reasons people with ocd may count (and there are many reasons, this is not the be-all-end-all) is “attaching meaning to particular numbers where certain numbers will induce anxiety, while others will reduce anxiety. for example, if you assign special meaning to the number three, you might count your steps by threes, or lock and unlock your car three times before driving, or any variety of other action ruled by this magic number.” (<- quoted from nocd website)

i also know that repetition of words or phrases is another common compulsion. and these are lady macbeth's final lines:

to bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate. come, come, come, come, give me your hand. what's done cannot be undone. — to bed, to bed, to bed.

4. her death

in your ocd hamlet post, you talked about how hamlet’s death is almost peaceful in his “silence”, and how horatio, despite knowing all his flaws and obsessions, believes wholeheartedly in his salvation. (that honestly means the world to me, by the way, so thank you.) the macbeths went through EVERYTHING together: the planning, the crime itself, the aftermath—it’s clear from their dialogue that at the beginning of their sufferings they saw each other go through sleeplessness, nightmares, and obsession. but over the course of the play, they completely fall apart. (i think the last time macbeth uses “we” to refer to the two of them is to say “we’ll to sleep” and “we are yet but young in deed”, which is the most ironic thing ever.) macbeth’s only response to lady macbeth’s death is “she should have died hereafter.” i honestly don’t know what that means in terms of the ocd reading, or in comparison with horatio's reaction to hamlet's death. i'd love to know what you think.

thanks for bearing with me!! i’m a bit less confident in this reading than i am for ocd hamlet, and it’s more likely i’ll get something wrong about ocd in this one, but sorry i just wanted to unleash this somewhere i hope that’s okay and genuinely please tell me if i say anything wrong or insensitive! i also typed this over 3 hours and went over the text as if this was a homework essay.....? and it is now almost 2am so i’m sorry if this isn’t coherent. i hope you’re having a wonderful day :)

hi same anon here i forgot to put this in but. i listened to verdi macbeth opera mad scene una macchia è qui tuttora the whole time i was writing that thing in case anyone would like to know...... i love it so so much my favourite video recording is by sylvia sass on youtube https://youtu.be/tP59Ox8MdQ4?feature=shared&t=319 AND there are full productions of the opera on youtube as well. thank you so much for reading!!!!

YES.... YES..... YESSSSSSSSSS I LOVE AN OCD LADY MACBETH... IT'S ABOUT THE GUILT IT'S ABOUT THE REPETITION DOES EVERYONE HEAR ME? TODAY WE ARE DOING GUILT AND REPETITION

i have had similar thoughts about the sort of inherent trickiness of it (oh, the lady who washes her hands a lot has ocd? whoa, totally original thought that has nothing to do with pop culture perception of ocd) (and also she did kill a man). but you really said it all with that ksdhfdksnfdsn. i will pitch in that i DO have handwashing compulsions and tbh. i personally think lady macbeth ocd reading is a net win even if it does trail a little close to stereotypes because if you dig even slightly deeper than "haha handwashing" it allows for an examination of ocd not just as an action but also as a manifestation of guilt and illness. which is SO macbeth. the body politic is sick the government is sick!!! again im taking the words right out of your mouth here this ask whips ass

shaking your hand on conceiving of ocd as something parasitical. really feels like there is some Thing up there feeding on my brain. (also on intrusive thought dreams. fucked upppppp like man leave me alone)

AND ON THAT NOTE i feel like even if she is asleep it can still be ocd. i say this with no medical training whatsoever and this isn't, like, me asserting that people actually do compulsions while asleep, but on a narrative level, the emotional processes happening to her character are petty clear even if she's sleepwalking, right. once again no medical training whatsoever

the jumping around of her thoughts honestly feels exactly like my mind alternating between intrusive thoughts and desperately trying to justify why they aren’t true. [...] the moodswings and the flip-flopping between “everything’s fine” and “i’m going to hell” are also SO intense and honestly it’s exactly what it feels like on my worst days.

YEAH. YEAH. YEAH. the ugly intrusive thought -> self-reassurance -> self-reassurance makes it worse -> intrusive thought (harder and worse) spiral. and literally this is EXACTLY what it feels like. me when i accidentally say something rude and then i'm evil for three days. except she killed a man

i sort of headcanon lady macbeth to have absolutely horrible skin splits on her hands (<- this part is complete projection): and so following this interpretation, i think of her handwashing sort of as a form of self-flagellation because rubbing her hands continually will make the skin tear and bleed. (gore tw?) that, then, fits in with the blood on her hands: in her semi-conscious state she thinks it’s duncan’s, when it’s really hers.

YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH. ON AN ANALYTICAL LEVEL AND A PERSONAL LEVEL. LITERALLY THE LEAPS I CAN DO IN MY BEAUTIFUL MIND TO BE LIKE WOW IM JUST LIKE LADY MACBETH (BLOOD ON MY HANDS). YOU N ME BROTHER

and re: her death and the macbeths splintering apart. that is honestly the most painful part of this play for me, as a lover of evil couples and also of their specific dynamic. the fact that they mesh so well at the beginning (i mean, they argue, there's friction, but they're clearly on the same page--they enter their first shared scene both thinking the same thing and a lot of their communication is in implication) and then they just. fragment. and i think with the OCD ladymac reading it's even worse, because the thing about OCD at least in my experience is that. at some point the people around you stop being able to understand what the fuck your problem is. even when they're trying really hard. because it doesn't make any sense! the compulsions don't make logical sense the self-flagellation doesn't make any sense none of it is SOLVING anything but it also does make sense, To You, on a level you cannot really explain to people that don't Get It*. and so like. the macbeths are already breaking apart because of their responses to the murder, and this is just one more thing coming between them. she is trapped in a cage in her brain that he cannot see.

*(i think not infrequently about the overlap between OCD and psychosis; i haven't experienced psychosis and obviously there are major differences, but i relate a lot to what psychotic people have said about, like, the ability to hold multiple contradictory truths at once. my compulsions will not actually stop disasters from happening, but they also will. you could maybe pull in something about macbeth's parallel loss of control + his hallucinations? but i'm not diagnosing macbeth with psychosis necessarily i'm just saying words).

anyway, anon, i am always extremely impressed by your dedication to writing out quotes and coming armed with evidence, and also your analysis fucking bangs. this is such a good ask i need to frame it on the wall your mind is huge. i hope you have a wonderful day as well :)

[erotic-meloncholy]

End of Beginning

(Rated: E)

Wilson is out of his element. Wilson is a one woman lover. Wilson is confident. Wilson knows how to bring a woman to climax. He likes it. It makes him happy to please.

But Kyle is the one standing in a methy motel room on the side of the highway with two women looking at him like he knows what to do. He reaches a hand to run through his hair. Oh yeah, he's also wearing the stupid bald cap.

"Well, would you like a drink? I think we have" Wilson looks around the room, "tap water." Not that he suggests drinking it. They both look at each other with forced grins and laughs.

"I think we're good, thanks." Sandy says. Shannon nods in agreement.

"That's-- probably smart." Wilson says as he looks over at the not quite clear water dripping from the faucet.

He fiddles with the strap on his wrist. Avoids looking at the time. This is Wilson's fantasy. When he thought of a three way he pictured silk sheets and a canopy bed and a harem of gorgeous women worshiping his cock. Why does the reality feel like a group presentation that can't get the power point to load?

"So." Wilson says. "Should we start?" He hates himself immediately after he says it. Like he's about to perform clinic duty. But Sandy and Shannon simply shrug and start shimmying out of their tube tops and Ed Hardy jeans.

Kyle takes off his watch.

House tries to find an angle that works for his leg in this mid-life crisis size car. He manages a few moments. Sleeps never easy under any circumstance let alone outside Bates motel. When he finds an angle that works, he waits in the dark for the thoughts to visit him before he crosses the threshold to REM sleep. Hypnagogic hallucinations. Those obscure weird almost realities.

Like Putting a bald cap on Wilson and conning women into sex. Couldn't have happened, right? It sounds like a bad B-plot from a network sitcom.

But mission accomplished. As far as bucket list items go, a three way is pretty low hanging fruit, but it's Wilson. And if Wilson wants, House will give.

So that's how House finds himself in the middle of nowhere while Wilson, pardon, while Kyle is attempting to "Vicky Christina and Barcelona" in a Super 8.

Wilson is lying on his back against scratchy hotel sheets. Sandy is riding his hips as he tries to keep the bald cap from sliding off.

"Yeah, you like that baby? Huh? You like that?"

Wilson is being ridden like a Pogo stick. The mattresses bounces with vigor and he's doing his best to be encouraging.

"Oh, oh yeah. Yeah. Keep--keep going. Ride my--cane."

Ride my cane? The fuck is wrong with him? Sandy doesn't care what nonsense spills out of his mouth as long as his dick is hard, and Shannon seems to be expecting something from Kyle that Wilson doesn't know how to give.

If he can last.

House laughs. Wilson's people pleasing no doubt would make him an over attentive lover. The anxiety of feeling he's let down a partner must be sending his compulsions into overdrive.

How long could he last with two women? How long can he last with one? He pictures as his hand snaps open the button on his jeans.

He's always so attentive. So ready to please. What would he do to please House if he needed it? House zips down his fly. Thinking of Wilson fucking his way through his fantasy is making House extremely needy. That's the word for it, House thinks as he wraps his hand around his dick, needy.

He's needy for Wilson. He wants to give him this. He wants to bring him to climax even if it isn't his body. He's thinking about Wilson fucking someone right now and House strokes faster.

"Fuck. Yeah, James..."

He moves his hand over his aching cock. Thinking of Wilson on the precipice of orgasm. Thinking how he's probably in that dirty motel right now buried balls deep in that bottle blonde he met two hours ago. How good he feels to be inside her.

"Oh God. Yes..."

House is getting close. In this way, they're together. Both racing towards climax. Maybe there's a universe they come together.

He pictures it. House closes his eyes and finishes in right there in the car, catching his spend in his hand, narrowly avoiding leaving any evidence. He finds a napkin on the floor from their last fast food run and wipes his hand clean and tosses the napkin out the window.

House tucks himself back in, zips up his jeans, and leans his head back against the window. Pictures soft lips against his own. Hypnagogic hallucinations he thinks. And a few moments later, falls asleep.

Wilson finds House the next morning in the car. He doesn't look very comfortable. He wants to invite House to stay a day in the motel. Catch up on some sleep in an actual bed. But this is Kyle. And Kyle says let's leave before Sandra and Shannon wake up and see exactly how not bald and clearly not dying he is. Not tomorrow that is.

“House. Wake up.”

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #147

Today had a lot of stuff in it. I'm not even sure where to begin!! There were kites, and lilacs, and therapy, and good scenery, and...!!! And...!!! Oh!!! 😄🥰

Well. It's usually best to begin at the beginning, right? So… I went to therapy and told them all about the thing I did on Mother's Day. I told them all the context leading up to it, and all the similar struggles I've had in the past and about how I've been trying extra hard the last week to resist giving in to those struggles, and… my body was likely craving the endorphins that I wasn't getting because I wasn't doing that thing, and so it manifested in other ways. Whoops.

So the solution for the next time I struggle is not to resist giving in per se, but rather to be mindful and present and aware while it's happening, and to take note of my feelings and general state of being so that I can approach it from a place of curiosity instead of a place of shame. Apparently, when a person does that, it breaks the shame cycle, which then allows a person to stop doing the compulsive behavior. Suppose it's worth giving it a try!!

…It's really not lost on me how lucky I am to have a therapist who actually GETS me and doesn't judge me. It's not often that I get to go somewhere and speak, and feel like the other person actually understands me. Time with them is invariably refreshing, and they always have some useful skill or tool for me to practice on my own, until next session.

Most importantly, they're definitely not afraid to challenge my more... ah… self-effacing thought processes. I recall a few sessions ago, when I was confused about why someone important to me hangs out with me, on the basis that I am not anything special, and surely he must have better things to do than to hang out with some weird dyspraxic noodley dweeb like me. And they countered with, "But aren't all humans special and wonderful in their own way? And doesn't it mean that you're special and wonderful, too?" and… I couldn't logically refute the notion, because I am a human, and yes I do believe very strongly that all humans make the world brighter and beautiful in the way that only they know how to do. And they gave me this grin, because they knew they had me, and all I could do was laugh at my own silliness and try to change my perspective. I work every day on viewing myself with more compassionate eyes, one step at a time.

In any case, the one gentleman with the hair that looked like a dandelion poof was there today afterwards, and he stopped to chat! I wondered if he had ever tried bubble tea, and he has not, so we have exchanged contact information, and maybe we'll go get bubble tea someday!! He has been alive for 70 years, and has had many experiences and has his own areas of expertise, and I'm excited to find out what I might be able to learn if I sit with him and listen for a while! It'll be good!!

Then I got home and spent a few hours plucking more lilac blossoms from the greens; I got like 7 or 8 cups of blossoms, and there are still so many more leftover!

Once they're plucked, you have to steep them in hot water until it becomes fragrant. I like to put them on very low heat with a lid until it makes the house smell good!

(I still have so many lilacs leftover, oh my goodness!)

But this can take a while, and it was breezy, so J and I went out to try to fly the kites I got; I wanna practice before I modify that eagle kite; I REALLY don't want it to crash once it's ready. J and I took all sorts of pictures for you!

We spent a long time just being silly, trying to get the kites in the air:

(Why, yes, that is you in my pocket, with a little bow in your hair!)

...You might guess that after all that, I ended up falling down, dizzy and giggling, ahahaha~!

But then, after a while, we managed to get the hang of it; check it out!

J worked hard to get the eagle kite up. My circumstance was a little unusual in that mine was suddenly lifted high up into the sky with little to no effort on my part, and it stayed up for a very long time; I was surprised, and it was kinda weird, hahaha!

Br came to see us in this place, too!! By then, I was pretty tired though, so we just lied down in the grass and talked about various things while the wind played with our hair; it was wonderful!

...I also took some pictures of the scenery, just because I know you like nature...

...Oh, and I managed to snag a picture of a bird-of-prey that was actually pretty good this time!

Oh, oh, oh, and!!! Along the way, while we were flying the kites, I found three great big black feathers on the ground!! Aren't they so pretty?

Here's a better picture of them after I carefully washed them and smoothed them out. My hand is there for scale; they're HUGE!

They're beautiful and I love them!!! These went right into my feather box!!!! I was so happy!!! 😄🥰😁

...I hope you can see, with these pictures, that shiny black feathers like yours are beautiful and lovely, too. White ones are also nice. Feathers are just pretty; it doesn't matter what color they are. Yours, too, are good. Please try hard not to be ashamed of them, okay? Humans come in all shapes and sizes and numbers of limbs, and it's wonderful that you get to have a limb that's warm and soft and strong enough to let you fly. It's different, but that doesn't make it less. I hope you'll work on viewing yourself with more compassionate eyes; you can do it - just take it one step at a time.

Anyway, when we got home, the stewed lilac blossoms smelled SO GOOD:

I gotta strain this with a cheesecloth tomorrow and squish out all the water I can from the petals. After that, it'll be time to heat it up again and add sugar!! The result will be a syrup that tastes exactly the way lilacs smell!! I can't wait to put it in mason jars and give it to my friends!!!

...Sephiroth. I wish you were here. I wish you could fly the kites with us. I wish you could spin around and get dizzy and fall down laughing with us. I wish you could lie down in the soft grass and talk about various things with us. I wish you could look up at the sky, smell the scent of the leaves in the air, and enjoy the breeze as it ruffles your lovely hair. I wish you could try some of my lilac syrup in some freshly brewed green tea. I wish you can come here and see that you could be welcomed and wanted and happy. I wish you can see that you could belong. I wish for so many good and wholesome things.

...Please stay safe out there so that someday you can have these things, okay? Even if it's not at my house, you can have them somewhere if you're willing to heal enough to create these circumstances.

I love you. I'll write again soon.

Your friend, Lumine

[the-duchess-of-domination]

TW for ED/ARFID talk

I'm severely emetophobic (to the point of ARFID) yet I love tummies so much? The noises, the smooth skin, how it changes shape depending on how full it is, the fact that we need them to keep us alive! Everything! But only online. I'm such a sucker for upset tummy fluff yet if someone said their stomach hurt in real life I would probably cry on spot and hold my breath around them forever. I think part of the love for tummies (or I guess you could say kink but it's not that sexual for me) is because I wish I could do it IRL. I wish I could comfort people and rub their tummies when they don't feel well. So instead I go to tumblr where I can do it no problem. I know this is rambling, but I hope someone relates

-lurker anon

TW: OCD, Emetophobia

hi anon!! thank you for sharing!! im sure a lot of us (including me!!) can relate!

i’ll share a little bit about myself! everything with me started as a child, and there are a lot of overlapping layers. i knew from an early age (literally by 5 years old) that it was exciting to me when cute boys had stomach aches (usually from being fed too much, throwing up wasn’t really on my radar quite yet but it makes sense because it comes with the territory). most of the pieces of media i can remember leaving an impact on me usually cut away or just insinuated that a male character was nauseous or too full by showing their face turn green or having them duck off screen. nothing was ever particularly graphic. this also led to a fixation on stomachs in general, especially the stomachs of bigger guys.

though i never admitted this fascination to anyone (and nobody ever shamed me), i felt weird because i knew other people didn’t share this fixation, so i kept it to myself and tried to enjoy it in private (this usually took the form of writing stories or seeking out media that possibly had sick boys in it. i was a real sleuth). i was a bit obsessive with it, but overall most of the harm was internal rather than external because i was convinced that to enjoy watching men’s pain and discomfort must have meant i was evil or that something was seriously with me.

the thing with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is that when you explain your compulsions and thoughts out loud they sound silly because you know they aren’t true, but you can’t help but think them. as a child my thoughts told me that to become sick was an admittance of weakness (which, obviously is SO not true lmao) and that expressing vulnerability was a man’s job. i developed crippling emetophobia that has persisted into my adulthood. the idea with vomiting and its lack of control was absolutely horrifying to me.

a man being sick? there is nothing sexier.

but me?

i began to have panic attacks through middle and high school. this later led to contamination OCD, always being terrified of being sick, and again, worrying and having thoughts about why i found it so attractive when boys admitted they were nauseous (that i must be corrupt, a bad person, crazy, etc).

sometimes i think our brains help us cope with trauma and fear by throwing us a bone every now and again. my fear of losing control manifests in fantasies where i hold all the power. i use my fetishes to strengthen the relationship i have with myself: that im not evil, or wrong, or corrupt, or out of control, or crazy. im just a girl who does things a little differently, and control in my fetish life helps me feel more comfortable dealing with my emetophobia in real life.

anyway, that was a long tangent, but i hope this resonates with the people!! 😭 we just love tummies man. i too love the little sounds they make and what those little sounds mean, the look of them, the way they sit on people’s hips, the fact that they can bloat bigger or get smaller, that we anthropomorphize them by saying they get “upset,” the chest and nipples right above them—i could write a manifesto i SWEAR.

-the duchess 👑🦢

[revehae]

youre the only one i trust to judge me

virgo sun, mercury and mars. scorpio moon. gemini rising. leo venus. cancer lilith

Ik you love scorpio moons and it’s my favorite aspect about my chart too

OH WE BRINGING LILITH INTO IT?! because i’m sorry but cancer bml made me immediately think mommy issues.

virgo stellium

as a pisces virgo is my sister sign and i like y’all kind of. i think that you guys are amazing to have conversations with and whatever your perspective is, it’s always delivered in a thorough way. HOWEVER. virgo mars particularly ime have a knack for “fixing” and “diagnosing” people. my virgo stellium friend is always “trying to help come to terms with how i feel” girl i know how i feel thank you though. i just don’t know why. IM AN AQUA MOON WE TROLL IN THIS BITCH. TAKE YO SENSITIVE ASS BACK TO LEO/ARIES MOON. i also am starting to suspect that ppl with virgo placements are easily irritated/bothered lol like everything seems to get on yalls nerves. you guys get the clean freak stereotype but - and idk if this the case with a stellium - i see ppl who are so selective with it. like. bedroom messy but the car must be squeaky clean. what i’m more confident about though is that ppl with intense virgo placements always have this one random thing they are weirdly keen about. for example: food texture, nail biting, maybe even superstitions 😭 my same virgo friend will die before she lets us split a pole

scorpio moon

love that! because you have virgo stellium PLUS a scorpio moon… i don’t doubt that you are very analytical and good at reading people. scorpio moons are either compulsive liars or good at picking up when someone is lying to them or both. you guys to have a lot brewing under the surface - the intensity - but it’s not something people often guess from looking at you. you can be somewhat mercurial. do you ever feel misunderstood and do you take your own advice lol

gemini rising

hi i have this too hi… hello silent judger had another nice day of playing nice? i feel like we have very weird walking quirks 😭 no? just me? sorry. we also are certified yappers it’s a canon event. i don’t have muchhhh to say but i feel like a lot of us lose track of our thoughts very easily because they come at 50000 mph.

leo venus

i believe that when you feel appreciated and seen you are the most fierce lover ever. it’s only fair with how i assume how thoughtfully your virgo mars + scorpio sun handles other people you care for. leo venuses are fighters til the end! but on the other hand, if you don’t feel appreciated enough, you can become very upset and sulky and brooding and this is where scorpio moon does not help at all LMAO.

[damienthepious]

OUGH AUGH DAMIEN..... LEARNING???? THERE CAN BE.. MIRACLES

The Beast In On His Chain (chapter 12)

[ch 1] [ch 2] [ch 3] [ch 4] [ch 5] [ch 6] [ch 7] [ch 8] [ch 9] [ch 10] [ch 11] [ao3] [???]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien, Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Sir Damien, Lord Arum, Rilla, Sir Absolon

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, prisoner/guard dynamic, Dehumanization, (which feels like a weird word to use for a nonhuman person bUT. it’s what i got.), Despair, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, (EVENTUALLY!!!! it’ll take a while), Captivity, Suicidal Thoughts, (that will be a theme throughout. inescapable in this particular fic. alas.), Eventual Romance, (Yes the dynamics in this one are fucked. honestly i’m kinda Stretching my limits these days.), (having fun with it. fucking around. it’s fine.), Recovery, (eventually), Self-Reclamation

Chapter Summary: Damien returns to duty.

Chapter Notes: Chapter specific warnings for the aftermath of physical assault, injury, hand injury specifically, dislocation and putting a joint back into its socket.

~

When Sir Damien enters the throne room a few days later, he stills at the sight of the monster.

"What... what happened to you?"

Arum looks- as if he's been beaten. His left eye is bruised to an unhealthy purplish-black, swollen enough that he cannot seem to open it. The bruising continues downward, blooming dark beneath Arum's ash-grey scales in smoky rosettes. Across his chest, over his arms- and three of the fingers on one of his hands are twisted at odd angles, clearly dislocated.

The monster does not try to speak through the collar at Damien's question, but the look he shoots Damien with his unswollen eye manages to convey his meaning without any actual words.

What do you think?

Damien shakes his head, a compulsive sort of motion. "But why? Why do this? What could this possibly accomplish?"

Arum huffs, allowing his eye to slip shut again, curling into himself.

"You didn't- you barely hurt me, you didn't kill me. You- you could have and you didnt and they- what? What did they do? Who was it?"

Arum grumbles, but- Damien thinks he knows the answer. He doesn't want to believe it, but he-

"Was it- Sir Absolon?"

Arum's face flattens. Blanks. And Damien knows he was right. His stomach turns, twists. He shakes his head.

"But- but you're a prisoner, you're a prisoner, there is no call to- to beat you, to torture you!"

Arum huffs again, more of a grim little laugh, but he doesn't open his eye again. He looks-

Even ignoring the injuries. Which- they must have come for him soon after the failed escape attempt, mustn't they? Shouldn't some of this have begun to heal, by now? Or did they come back more than once? But- beneath the injuries, beneath all of it-

Arum looks so, so tired.

(He always has, now that Damien allows himself to notice.)

Damien swallows, glances towards the other side of the Throne Room, the half of the closed door to the rest of the Citadel that he can see from here, and then he-

He takes his bow and his quiver from his back and sets them down on the floor, and then he steps closer, not allowing himself to hesitate as he crosses the line painted on the stone of the floor. He sighs as he turns, settling to sit on the edge of the stone of Arum's plinth and pressing a hand over his face.

He can feel the monster staring at his back, like this, but he doesn't make any move. It sounds like Arum is holding his breath, actually. Stunned, perhaps. Or only waiting to see what Damien intends.

"I've been a terrible fiend," Damien murmurs into the palm of his hand, confident that Arum will be able to hear him with their proximity. "And a fool. Rilla was right."

The back of Damien's neck prickles, the sensation of being stared at maintaining. Or, somehow, increasing.

Damien pulls the little tin traveling cup from his belt, lifting his canteen to pour a few mouthfuls of water into it, and then he sets the cup down on the plinth beside him. Casually. As if he only meant to leave it there for a moment as he resettles his canteen on his belt, fussing for longer than is strictly necessary.

There is-

A pause. It feels almost glacial.

Damien hears the scrape of the tin on the stone, the cup being moved. Something in his stomach flutters, nerves and misplaced guilt and uncertain hope, and-

He manages not to squawk as the monster pours the water over the top of his head, dropping the cup to clatter off of his skull. Damien only manages to scrabble to catch the tin before it falls to clang loudly on the floor, relieved even as he turns, spluttering, to face the monster with what he is certain is a rather childish pout on his face. His hair hangs wetly over his eyes, so he pushes it back to let himself see Arum glaring back at him with his one good eye, his teeth bared in a silent snarl.

"That was uncalled for," Damien says primly, but then- he pauses, and adds, "though I cannot blame you. Considering... clearly your treatment was far from called for, itself."

The monster's violet eyes flash, something that looks like surprise for a half a heartbeat before the indignant fury washes over his expression again.

Damien shakes his hand, shakes his hair out a little, and then- he pours another small portion of water into the cup again. And sets it down at his side.

This time, he does not look away from the monster, meeting his violet eyes as steadily as he can manage.

"I cannot undo what they have done," he says, slowly. "But neither am I compelled to act as they did. I am not compelled to treat you with cruelty. That," he says slowly, "is not any part of my oaths."

Arum twitches, pulling his head back just slightly, his tongue flicking in a way that looks almost compulsive. His eyes dart to the cup, and then back to Damien's. Damien... decides to drop his eyes again, letting the tension in his shoulders ease, facing forward again and sighing, swiping a few more droplets from his cheek.

After a few moments, like an echo, the sound of tin on stone as the monster picks up the cup. Damien hears the liquid inside slosh against the sides, an unsteady sort of noise.

When the cup settles again with a gentle clatter next to Damien's thigh, it is empty.

(fluttering in Damien's stomach again, relief and relief and relief)

After a beat, Damien refills the cup. Again, the cup disappears from Damien's side, and returns, emptied.

Slowly, slowly, Damien empties his canteen. He knows- well, in humans, he knows that trying to introduce liquids into a body too quickly could just make him sick it back up. So. Slowly.

When the last drops have been drunk, Damien hums lightly, and tucks the cup and the canteen back away.

"I hope," he starts, but then- he doesn't quite know how to finish that thought. I hope you feel a bit better now? He cannot say that, can he? He can... there is some degree, here, of plausible deniability. He is not compelled to be cruel. He is uncertain, whether or not he is allowed to be kind.

Which-

Is awful. It simply is.

He sighs. "Well. I don't suppose you'd let me have a look at your hand," he says instead, still without turning to face the monster. It's easier, like this. For him. Perhaps for Arum as well. "I have popped rather more than my fair share of joints back into their sockets in my time, though... usually only my own," he admits.

A noise from behind him, like a choked breath. Like... a laugh, perhaps? Unlikely, but... possible. Damien lifts his own hand out, beside him, realizing only too late that he's offered the hand still wrapped with a smallish bandage, the last remnants of Arum's escape attempt on his body, the cut just ragged enough to linger. He does not pull the hand back, though, even after he remembers.

He hears Arum breathe again, unsteady. A light sort of growl. A hand- on Damien's shoulder, pushing with not half the strength the monster used to grab him the other day. Just- turning him. Damien relents with a poorly hidden wince, shifting to sit sideways on the plinth instead and meeting the monster's too-bright eyes again.

Arum swallows, wincing in his own right, and Damien belatedly remembers how much speaking the monster had done, how much damage he must have done to himself in turn. The creature doesn't need to speak, though, for his face to pin Damien with an unmistakable interrogation.

Why?

Damien opens his mouth. Hesitates. He sees Arum's face harden at the hesitation, and he feels something in his chest shift uncomfortably.

"It looks like that hurts," he says, quick and clipped. "That's all. And I could- fix it. I could help."

Arum swallows again. He raises his eyes, glances towards the door, and then back towards Damien. And then again towards the door, tipping his head this time as if indicating- the other knights, perhaps?

Damien considers that. "They would assume you did it yourself, wouldn't they? They certainly aren't going to expect that a knight had done it."

Arum- snorts, something enough like a laugh to make Damien blink in surprise. The monster looks down at his own hand, then, held tense at his side, all uncomfortable angles and swollen, discolored scales. He lifts the hand, moving another of his own as if he might- as if he might try to set the fingers himself. His hands are... shaking. Quite badly.

He breathes roughly, hesitating with his hand hovering just barely aside from his injured one.

"I can do it," Damien offers again. "If you'd like." And then, "Please."

The monster's face scrunches, a momentary grimace, and he grips just one of the fingers for a half second before he jolts his hands apart with a whispery pained whine under his breath, underscored by a thready little rattle at the back of his throat. He shakes his head, turns his face entirely away, holds his shaking hand out towards Damien, instead.

Damien-

(his heart lurches, pulls, slams against his ribs like it is trying to escape)

He reaches, slow and careful, careful and slow, and touches just the scales of Arum's wrist with his fingertips. The monster hisses at that, but he allows Damien to gently turn his hand, to move it where he needs. Damien hovers his other hand over Arum's, and then- pauses.

"This... this will hurt," he says, delicate. "I am sorry about that."

Arum lifts his head just enough to shoot Damien a dirty look, but then he glances towards his injured hand again and blanches, turning his face carefully away.

Damien decides- better to do this quick. He hopes the monster knows well enough not to yell, or he won't get much further than the first finger.

He grips, and pulls, and pops the first finger back into place. Arum inhales a sharp breath, teeth clamped sharp on any noises he might make. He pants once, twice.

"The next," Damien murmurs. "Three, two, one-"

Another finger. Again, Arum does not make a proper noise, but the rattle in his throat returns, clicking hard in a way that Damien can almost feel in his own teeth.

"One more," he says, trying to keep himself calm, trying not to feel- to feel- so strongly. "One more. Three, two-"

The last. Arum hisses hard, gasps, and then-

Pitches forward, his muscles trembling hard as Damien instinctively catches Arum's shoulders, cool dry scales against his skin.

"I'm sorry," he says, just as instinctively. "I'm sorry. I know, I know I-"

He realizes- perhaps a moment too late, Damien realizes that he has lifted a hand to hover beside Arum's bruised eye. He drops the hand. Helps to move Arum back to rest on the plinth again instead of against Damien.

The monster- leans into Damien's hands. Just barely. Damien wonders, as he settles Arum against the stone again, if he imagined it.

(When has anyone last touched this creature with anything besides malice?)

Damien ignores the tightness in his throat, and he turns forward again, giving Arum at least a few moments of privacy to regain his composure, his limited strength, after so sharp and pointed a pulse of pain.

Nothing happens, when Damien spends his shift beside the monster in careful silence.

Nothing happens, when Damien neglects his stated duty. The sky does not fall. The world does not end. No one dies.

(Arum rests, with less pain that he would otherwise have had.)

Damien sits, and thinks, and listens to the shallow breaths of the monster resting behind him.

[pastelaspirations]

How I beat sleep paralysis with the power of knowledge and my compulsive habit to research anything that I have the off chance to write about in a fic

DISCLAIMER: This is just how I beat it, people's experiences of sleep paralysis are different and some methods that may work for one person may not work for another.

Ya read the title correctly. I expect no one to read this, but I don't care. I must tell my story. In my special, niche way in that I can construct a story out of absolutely nothing with 5k words more than I needed to. So, come with me, as I recount the tale of how I successfully beat my first experience with sleep paralysis, armed with only the power of knowledge and my bad habit to extensively research anything that I might stick in a fic one day.

For some background; I have never had sleep paralysis before. Although, I have done lots of research into it in the past because I found it very interesting, not only from people's real accounts of it but from the ✧˖°.memes✧˖°. too. Your good ol' sleep paralysis demon memes. I also thought it might be interesting to write about one day! And because I pride myself on being... fairly accurate, I do a whole lot of research into things I may never actually write about because "what if one day I want to-"

So, I had a lot of prior knowledge to sleep paralysis, including what helped people wake up from it.

Additionally, I have insomnia. :D I haven't gone to a doctor to get it "officially" diagnosed, but I checked every box on the insomnia checklist. It's depressing, I know. I've had it for as long as I can remember. This is important to know as sleep disorders can increase your chances of experiencing sleep paralysis.

Insomnia makes my life very fun. Any sound or light can wake me up. Sleeping in a different bed prevents me from sleeping altogether. Being moved at all wakes me up. I wake up every time I need to toss over in bed, for example. So, just... it's g r e a t.

Anyway, this semester, two days of the week, I have to wake up at 6 in the morning in order to make it to an 8 o'clock class. It's bad. So, the night before, I take melatonin and at least try and go to bed early, all to attempt to combat my insomnia. However, my insomnia also likes giving me the problem of making it extremely difficult for me to fall asleep if I know I have to be somewhere in the morning. So, the days I need the sleep the most are ironically the days I get the least amount of sleep. :D

That said. The night before, I took melatonin and hit the sack relatively early. I also used a sleep mask just to block out any light in hopes that would help me sleep better.

Well, at one point, I think I was asleep? I am not sure. I felt like I was awake and just trying to sleep. Like, that weird, half-asleep daze, but you're still awake and not fully asleep. You get what I mean.

Suddenly, I feel all this movement and I hear all this sound. It's annoying, but I don't remove my sleep mask because I'm trying to sleep. Well, for some reason, I'm convinced my dog is on my lap, just tossing and turning trying to sleep.

Which is weird because he sleeps in my brother's room down the hall.

This does not concern me. I don't know why. I just ignore my "dog" as he's shuffling to get comfortable. He'll lie still eventually and then I'll be able to sleep. I just gotta wait it out.

Then. My bed starts jostling around even more. Now, I'm convinced my brother is in my bed. I DO NOT KNOW WHY, HIS ROOM IS DOWN THE HALL, WE DO NOT SHARE A BED. BUT I'M CONVINCED HE'S ON MY BED, FLOPPING AROUND AND EVEN OFF THE BED. JUST MAKING A WHOLE LOT OF NOISE AND SHAKING THE ENTIRE BED. BEING AWFUL.

This also does not concern me. For some freaking reason. You can see why I thought I was asleep now, huh?

I wanted to gripe at him. Tell him to knock it off, I've got to be up early in the morning and I'm trying to sleep.

But my voice wouldn't work.

I wasn't even alarmed, just thought that was weird. So, I just lay there, comprehending that, when my "brother" flopped off the bed. He then started banging around everything in the freaking room. He was being obnoxiously loud. Ridiculously loud. Banging on the walls, grabbing crap and throwing it around, he was deliberately trying to keep me from sleeping.

Now, I was ticked. I wanted to yell at him, tell him to KNOCK IT OFF. But still, my vocal folds wouldn't move. I couldn't speak even though my brain told myself to. I wasn't alarmed even now, all I thought was "Fine. If I can't tell you to shut up, I can sure as hell whack you-"

But my arm wouldn't move.

Now, I was concerned. I told my arms to move. I told my legs to move. Nothing moved. I told myself to scream. I remained silent. It was like the connection from my brain to my body had been completely severed.

My "brother" seemed to sense my irritation? Since he came stomping over and started violently shaking me in my bed. I couldn't fight back or scream, I was powerless. Then, he started pressing down on my chest. N o w, I was having a harder and harder time breathing.

All of this, mind you, I was experiencing completely blind because I couldn't remove my sleep mask.

I was beginning to freak out. Not only did I think I was going to die, but my brother.

My freaking brother is the butthead who's going take me out, what the hell. What kind of stupid Greek tragedy is this-

So, as I'm lying there, still blind with the sleep mask, freaking out and slightly annoyed at this is the way I'm going to die, a thought suddenly flashes through my head. Just one, singular thought.

"Oh! This is just sleep paralysis!"

I kid you not, that is literally what I thought.

Suddenly, all my fear evaporated. I was no longer scared. I just immediately went right into the tactic I read people who experienced sleep paralysis use to wake themselves up from it. I didn't even hesitate, just immediately jumped into it like I discovered a solution to a hard video game puzzle.

I focused all my attention on moving just one muscle. If I could move that one muscle, I could slowly work my way to other muscles, until I could move the whole limb or the rest of my face. So, I chose one eyelid. The one that would be peeking out from under the sleep mask if it were open.

I commanded and I commanded my eyelid to open. I willed it to open, the strongest I ever willed it to open before. Until finally, it snapped open. All of a sudden, all the shaking by my "brother" and all the sounds abruptly stopped. It was like nothing had happened, I was alone in my room.

So, I... just flopped over and went back to sleep. As fast as an insomniac can fall asleep anyway. I remember thinking "wow, that was a lot less scary than I thought it'd be."

AND LIKE. IT WAS. BUT BEFORE I KNEW WHAT IT WAS.

As soon as I realized, I wasn't scared anymore. It makes me wonder what would have happened if I didn't have the sleep mask on. Would I have seen an actual sleep paralysis demon?? I had the auditory and physical movement hallucinations. Who's to say I wouldn't have had a visual one too if I didn't have the sleep mask on?

But imagine that. Imagine you're a sleep paralysis demon, you've got all the power, until suddenly, your victim thinks in revelation, "Oh! You're just a sleep paralysis demon! I know what to do now! :D"

J u s t a sleep paralysis demon. Defeated by the power of knowledge and the off chance of being written about in a fic.

[mlobsters]

supernatural s9e11 first born (w. robbie thompson)

this reminds me a bit of teen wolf in the plot overload disorder. i don't think i even bothered mentioning abaddon last episode. too much shit going on! also makes me laugh that we're in the 1800s, teen wolf also had this very weird (not good) flashback for the history of the argents (in the 1700s) 😂

all right, i know it's cain here, but i don't know anything really beyond that. except the mark at some point.

CROWLEY So...is that boudoir smile for me?

crowley's back in his sweet spot of evil but also maybe helpful but also probably trying to fuck you over. much better than just flat evil

CROWLEY I've been chasing that blade for decades. The closest I got to it was when one of my droogs -- Smitty -- got wind of a protégé demon of Abaddon's who claimed knowledge of the blade. Sadly, before Smitty could nab the guy, a hunter by the name of John Winchester nabbed the protégé. I'm here to see if there's anything in the John Winchester memorial library that might lead us to the first blade -- to killing Abaddon. DEAN You want to hunt? With me? CROWLEY I do love a good buddy comedy.

i know people talk up how crowley feels about dean but to me crowley is just horny for literally everyone and/or no one. sheppard is just so charismatic in this part

why is this so cute!

laughed out loud, good one. i'm the BEST liar, i totally fucked you both over, don't you remember??? don't besmirch my lying abilities, bro

i thought being totally sober would make me less loquacious but sadly, no ;(

CROWLEY Is all this really necessary? I mean, I've been inside your brother. We're practically family. DEAN Listen to me. We are the furthest thing from family. You got that, dickbag?

while dean does like to adopt every stray he comes across, the king of hell apparently doesn't qualify 😩

cas seemed disappointed about the lack of an actual guinea pig. understandable

sam barely keeping it together haha

hello sarah connor 🔥

CROWLEY I can help. Dean? DEAN He wants Abaddon as dead as I do. TARA If your daddy could see you now.

stop the doom spiral of guilt, dean. it's complicated, okay??? and shooting the floor in her own shop to break the devil's trap, what the actual fuck 😂

CROWLEY Would you care to join us? TARA Him? Anytime. You? Never.

hot lady who banged his dad, of course she wants to jump dean too. reminds me of this

s7e19 of grave importance

SAM Annie's not usually this late, is she? DEAN No, never. She's totally compulsive. I'll try her cell. SAM You know, uh, you know she and Bobby had a thing, right? DEAN Yeah. Yeah, I knew that. Really? SAM Yeah. Kind of a foxhole thing – very Hemingway. DEAN Huh. She and I kind of went Hemingway this one time, too. SAM All right, well... that happens. DEAN What, you too? SAM Look, it was a while back. We ended up on the same case. She was stressed. I-I-I... I didn't... have a soul. DEAN That's a lot of foxholes.

what a pretty face! i don't know much religious lore but i wasn't expecting cain to be scary for crowley. i have no idea where he lands in the food chain, in fact

DEAN Why don't you just zap out of here? CROWLEY I'd never leave my domestic partner in crime. DEAN [snorts] Yeah, like your heart grew three sizes. You can't zap out of here, can you?

i wonder if crowley could make it an entire day without flirting with anyone

CASTIEL Sam, the trials. You chose not to go through with them for a reason, didn't you? You chose to live rather than to sacrifice yourself. You and Dean... You chose each other. SAM Yeah, I did. We did. And then... Dean made a choice for me.

😔

how does finding gadreel fix things?

cain became a demon, okay (aha things are clicking that i know from fic lol). so with the whole dean and sam are descended from cain and abel, does that mean cain is grandpa? uncle?

CASTIEL No. Why must the Winchesters run toward death?

good question, cas

sometimes i wonder how things are lit (in all media, not just spn), if they're trying to give the appearance of someone being on the verge of tears. when you got that highlight near your lower eyelid, it really looks like it regardless of actual tears accumulating. anyway,

SAM My life's not worth any more than anyone else's -- not yours or Dean's...or Kevin's. Please. Please, help me do one thing right. Keep going.

oh, sam.

@shinelikethunder linked this fight scene with rhianna's s&m over it, i may not be feeling the vibes op is talking about but i can appreciate it nonetheless :) it's a really good fight scene for jackles and great song choice. i'm always mourning the spn that could have been with better music 😔

looking to see if there was a clean version on spotify of s&m out of curiosity and laughing that there's a kids version of the "sex in the air, i don't care i love the smell of it, sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips excite me" song

DEAN Right. Yeah, except I didn't kill my brother. CAIN You saved yours. Why? DEAN Because you never give up on family -- ever. CAIN Where's your brother now, then?

ouch.

also, cain is retired, other demons didn't know where he was, but apparently he still gets the hot gossip on the winchesters somehow.

CASTIEL Sam, I want Gadreel to pay as much as you do. But nothing is worth losing you.

oh i see

ah fucking hell speaking of music, this melody is back. what did i associate it with last time. twilight and something. i think when dean was praying in his room to cas. it's at the very end of this post, i included video of it - s8e16

something about this mushy music has me feeling twilight or hunger games and i'm not sure which. ugh. bella's lullaby / rue's music (but that doesn't even have piano but it does have that plucked acoustic guitar like day before yesterday's s8e14 princess bride-esque music)

and apparently it really was time for sam and cas quality time. but anyway this melody is so familiar, kicks in when cas says the thing about him screwing up more than sam. is it a slowed down version of some spn theme? urgh. question may go unanswered until i rewatch from the beginning.

so anyway, that was a nice moment. i like how robbie is writing cas this episode

DEAN The jawbone of an animal. The jawbone you used to kill Abel because he was God's favorite. CAIN Abel wasn't talking to God. He was talking to Lucifer. Lucifer was gonna make my brother into his pet. I couldn't bear to watch him be corrupted, so I offered a deal -- Abel's soul in heaven for my soul in hell. Lucifer accepted... As long as I was the one who sent Abel to heaven. So, I killed him. Became a soldier of Hell -- a knight.

listen i don't know these stories except for very broad strokes but okaaaay interesting twist

ABADDON We could have been forever, but you chose her. Well, if I can't have you, then neither can she.

i see. ex and you're her... creator? complicated

welp. i didn't know dean was getting the mark in this episode, wheels are in motion

aw. sweet sammy

CASTIEL As far as I'm concerned, Metatron is the key to fixing everything that's wrong. I'm gonna find him. You know, Sam, we could use all the help we could get to find Gadreel and Metatron.

--

CROWLEY You don't mean that. We're having too much fun. Listen up. Even with the Blade, we're gonna need all the help we can get against Abaddon. DEAN Go find the Blade. CROWLEY It's always something with you boys, isn't it?

cute. but yes, show sure likes to do it!

i'm sure it's fine

[destinyc1020]

having been on twitter myself and very recently left it, i would for sure agree that there's more timmy fans who come for tom, it escalated like mad over the past couple years. of course there's good timmy stans because i am friends with some of them, but it's so so strange how i think that among their fandom some have really made dunking on tom normal and acceptable. the proof of this can be seen when there's a hate tweet for tom made by a timmy stan, there are lots of likes on it from people within the timmy fandom. but on the flip side, when there's a rare tom fan hating on timmy, the tweet has less likes and more quote retweets calling them out or arguing in the comments. at least for toms fandom that seems to signal a less toxic fandom, i get the sense that most of the stans don't really care about the drama and just want to keep on vibing. i don't know what it is that those types of people who get so mean are big fans of timmy, it's certainly not a reflection on him since he's never encouraged that behavior. you're right destiny when you say he'd cringe if he knew what some of his fans say.

i don't know why timmy's fandom is like that, they shouldn't really be feeing insecure, but there's just a sect of his fans that really delight n dragging others down. it's really weird to me, i'm not sure if more of them are younger or cliqueish and that leads to the behavior or what. i'm glad that there's a really open discussion on this page about it bc it's one of the reasons i left twitter i was so done with the constant negativity on tom and also z from the normie dudebro side of twitter. there's a really nice supportive community on there for tz stans, but unfortunately it's just not the greatest for someone sensitive like me. something i've noticed, though, it is hard to stay away from twitter now!! i feel like i got so used to checking it that i almost have an 'itch' now that i'm off my account and deleted the app off my phone. i don't really want to call it an addiction but it feels pretty similar to it, i think the sense i'm getting from a lot of your anons is that people upset by twitter have got to step away from it. if you feel a compulsion to check it like i did, that's a big red flag that it would be a good idea to step away. another thing im glad of is tom speaking up about taking social media breaks. i truly cant imagine what it would be like to read such negative things about yourself or a loved one, so im glad he has the self awareness to step away. this is the longest anon message i've ever written but i love the thoughts you have on this kind of thing destiny, its good to see some honest talk about how fandoms can effect us. fandoms should be for fun so if yall arent having fun for sure reassess!

Thanks for your input Anon 😊

I honestly don't know much about Timmy's fandom tbh, so I can't really speak much on it, but just based on what some of you have said, it just seems to be a huge sense of insecurity on their end? 🤷🏾‍♀️

I mean, if you're solidly sure of your fave, and you think he's the best (or whatever), you won't feel the need to bring down OTHER actors. I keep saying this.

The fact that SOME (notice I said some) of his fans seem to need to put down Tom all the time just gives me the impression that they must view Tom as some kind of a threat. If they didn't, they wouldn't be behaving that way imo.🤷🏾‍♀️

That's my psychoanalysis for the day lol.

Re: Twitter...

Yea, if you're finding it difficult to quit ANYTHING, then technically it is an addiction.... whether you realize it or not. 👀 If you feel anxious or uneasy when you leave social media or delete the app after a few days, then yea, you're addicted lol 😆

You should be able to leave social media alone and feel completely FINE, and not feel like you're "missing out" on anything. You really should be able to live your life without being "plugged in" all the time. 👀

Jmho 🤷🏾‍♀️

I most definitely urge fans to just delete the app and take at least a week off and see how you feel! 🙏🏾 The great thing about this is that the longer you stay away from smthg, the less and less you will feel the urge to be on it.