#I did just start a pain journal to see if I can find triggers but

[bundlebrent]

It’s amazing how many things I can get done on a day where I don’t have a headache

[angry-tarot]

a message from your pain

talking about suffering is hard, but ultimately necessary. welcome to this pac, I am here to shed light on your wounds in ways that are helpful. by the way, sorry if the artwork is triggering, I tried to find the perfect ones that really encapsulate what deep pain and despair feel like, but the messages might be more soothing than the pics lol.

welcome to your reading ! just wanted to say thanks in advance for stopping by 🫡

Pile one 🖤

You're putting your sword down. Confrontation is a no no for you, isn't it? You rather die than pick up a fight again. You swallow your words, your boundaries are non existent, you're constantly on edge and anxious. Hear me out, pile one. When you're putting your sword down, you're not actually putting it down. You're shoving it right in your own stomach. I'm not telling you to become angry and start fighting everyone around you. But if you keep quiet, taking it all in, you're going to become sick. You want to keep the peace, but not your peace. You want to keep yourself small, not bothersome, for these people's comfort. If talking to the people around you is so conflict inducing, why bother having these people around at all? If your boundaries aren't heard or even allowed to be set, why bother having these people around you AT ALL? If you must live with them, consider moving somewhere more peaceful, like a family member. Take action if your words aren't welcomed. Leave. Remove yourself. Stop taking in poison, because the longer you do, the longer the healing will take. You're already feeling awful. Your suffering exist because you feel obligated to be around people who hurt you and demand you to be silent. Set yourself free. And don't try to talk to them about it. You will have to unpack all of this on your own, or with other people who will understand and hear you. Process everything you buried deep within you by journaling, speaking out loud, punching a pillow. Just let it all out. Short them you will have to slowly heal from all this crystalized, internalized abuse. Long term, recognize this pattern: whenever you feel the need to be quiet to not bother someone else, leave, and never go back to the people who did this to you.

Pile two 🖤

Oh, your pile actually resonates with the pic you chosen. I see an artist, a creative or someone who does something out of the norm. You could even be a witch, like me. The thing is, you have internalized a lot of criticism, and no longer feel as passionate as you did before. You want to create and be who you were before, but you lost your drive and motivation. It seems a lot of conflict used to exist or still exists because of your hobby, career or spirituality, and you felt like it lost the point. You could've tried to prove something to these people, you could've tried to argue, and nothing worked. Even your own progress wasn't matching to your expectations. So what if they were right? Your spark died, but now that you have worked so hard, it's hard to let go. It became your personality, it used to be your comfort, but now there's only a shadow of what it used to be. I'm not going to tell you whether you keep going or not, this is your decision. But you can regain the spark if you want to. But try to protect it better this time, whatever it is that you do. Hide it, if it is possible. Avoid taking about it to people who are committed to misunderstanding you. And go backwards. Reconnect with it, by understanding what made you so fascinated and entranced by it in the beginning. Maybe, that vision is no longer appealing, and if so, create another one. Restart from scratch, but have a vision, just like you did in the beginning. Say to yourself you are committed to falling in love again with your craft, if that's what you choose. If not, it's always ok to let it go. You can always find another something to be passionate about.

Pile three 🖤

Someone taught you that money was the only thing in life. That it defined your worth and value as a person. That nothing else was as important. That your safety was defined by the amount of money you had, from a young age or a very vulnerable period in your life. So your mind attached to the idea that if you didn't had money, you were in mortal danger, you were worthless and a nobody. Your relationship with money, regardless of how much you have or not, is distorted. You could be stable and still feel like it's not enough, or you could be just starting in adulthood and feeling very scared of the future. Money is important, yes. But it's exactly this fear, this pressure, this feeling like your life depends on it, it's paralyzing you, it's traumatizing and deeply agonizing. What will help you is basically lots of cbt. Ever heard of catastrophizing? Cognitive distortions? These could be playing a large role on your mindset and consequently, the amount of money you're able to make. These tools of cbt can help you relax and see things a bit more rationally. Since it's personal to each of you, I cannot fix your fears, but I can give you some of my tools for you to fix them yourself.

[capcavan]

can i ask about how many ways can a raven break (if thats one of the thing u can ask was a bit confused)

its one we really hope to turn into a fic we have a friend who is very excited for it (and is also our sensitivity reader) riko joins foxes and as part of his therapy with abby he keeps a journal where he writes long thought spirals any time he is anxious so that then he can consider whatever or not he wants to show it to Abby or not, the journal is here to help him keep his thoughts a bit more organized. At some point Riko notices new notes in the journal notes in German (his notes are always in Japanese) as well as doodles and drawings. this agitates him. he is aware that andrew is the only person reading his journal which he passively allows but after the notes started appearing he started hiding the journal. this leads to andrew growing suspicious, when few days later riko catches him going through journal he had hidden they get in a fightt (riko punches him all of sudden something that somehow never happened before). one thing leads to another and over course of following therapy with new therapist as bee was not qualified enough to diagnose him Riko is diagnosed with dissociative personality disorder (all parts of system refer to themselves as Riko but they do have nicknames they use as well) There is "Fox" (you can think about him as all my cute fox riko headcannosn and arts very energetic and full of life very fannon kind of riko)- Riko after joining the foxes, he is much more open in showing his emotions he is actually based on the rp "quarterhouse/roadkill" he dates renee aaron and kevin , genuinely loves life and is very unhappy when he finds out details of his condition - he feels extremally possessive of the body and time he has which leads to frustration towards other alters and fear that their actions might fuck up his already complicated life "Raven" (much closer to canon riko or even fandom riko - evil brody mad bad) - Raven was the first fronter and keeps most of memories from nest, this is why fox himself did not remember much form before joining foxes, raven hates fronting now, he misses nest he hates fox tower hates the foxes , his pride is still not healed, he does snot feel safe or accepted around them, he is nyctophile and still gets triggered into fronting any time its perfectly dark (when foxes figure that out there is some teasing happening about it which he despises) as well as when it rains. Raven loves kevin and feels posessive over jean and does not see reason why renee and aaron should be part of that. is the one who broke jean "captain" possibly riko's first split - captain is on the court and takes care of all things exy, he will become good friends with neil who will be the only reason captain starts fronting outside of games- just to chat about exy. captain is also not convinced about need for relationship with renee and aaron as he sees both to be mediocre players and he is straight (all of this plays a lot into aarons relationship insecurities and makes fox miserable and resentful of his alters). captain is very frustrated to find out he is not a captain any more and is pretty damn hurt over not being a captain anymore it is bit of crisis for him considering the title was core of his personality as far as he rememberer. later on riko get title of co captain <3 is very confused as to why jean can not play "King" - trauma holder, specifically physical abuse , hates fronting because feels phantom pains constantly "Princes" - a split made to help King cope with the psychological part of the abuse, princess is regressed little girl who just wants to be loved and cared for, jean is her knight and she can NOT find out who hurt him , it would break her

there is also danny who is split from one of riko's most constant abusers he does not front just provides bad vibes and keeps them on edge psyhologically fun stuff i love about it: Kevin absolutely can not deal with the fact that he is not the favourite person of all rikos fox woudl prefer not to choose but renee was his girlfriend before kevin became his boyfriend again raven sees kevin as his everything so this checks out captain also likes kevin but he end sup pretty taken by neils approach to the game over time princess loves jean and renee and idk she doe snot give a fuck about exy so can kevin shut up about it? (jean is delighted) king does not like anyone i don't think kevin should want to be dannys fave luckily nobody other than riko knows about danny anyway there's actually .. a lot of lore for this technically the ship is riko/renee/aaron/jean/kevin the same way like in quarterhouse but fox unlike raven feels embarrassment and shame for pact actions and doe snot feel even allowed to look at the man

[ursachaotic]

Ok this might be a little weird and I want to tell this to you anonymously because I don't want to make you feel pressured into answering ^^' (let it be known I am a mutual of yours & I know we don't talk but I think you're really cool <:) Your genuine love for Gravity Falls and you excitement about The Book of Bill is kind of. Helping me rekindle old love for the franchise. I stopped interacting with it more or less involuntarily (bad experience with bad people) and felt bad that I can't get into it but honestly your interest did help me rediscover it, or at least start to do so. Like I've picked up my old Journal 3 a couple times this week, I thought about re-watching the show, I bookmarked the cheapest "to be released" listings for TBOB in the online shops in my country, I have the thisisnotawebsitedotcom bookmarked too. I've been picking up my hand-made-from-a-towel Bill plush and just looking at him. Thinking about trying to find his hat and make him a new bow because I took them off when it was just too awful to perceive.

I hope this isn't weird. I genuinely don't mean to be weird or trigger your anxiety or anything, I mean it. Your love for this show and everything around it is helping me a bit to rediscover my own, which is great, because as someone with interest in folklore, the paranormal and cryptids, GF was an amazing thing to discover. I myself made a grown up version of Dipper, who's a full-on cryptid hunter and wrote a lot of stories about him, later turning that concept into my own thing because it was too painful to keep but I loved all of the creatures I made and the lore and stuff. So I just took my ideas and moved it into my own thing, which is currently my most developed universe with my most beloved ocs.

This is lengthy. Sorry. Again, I genuinely don't want to creep you out, just, I'm glad I found you and your art and your comic and that you're so excited about your interests. Please know that you are never bad or annoying for loving what you love, please continue being so passionate about things, because it's really cool. You're cool. I hope you know that ^^ and, well, if not, I'm telling you. You're cool and your work is amazing.

(If you would prefer me to pm you feel free to post about it here or your personal? blog, whichever you're cool with, I'll probably see it and can just pm you with like "haha yeah I'm the long rekindled-interest anon" or you can answer this or just read & delete, I really don't mind if you don't want to answer ^^. Just, wanted to say this. Again I hope this isn't weird ;w; I swear I'm just a little adhd guy who used to love GF a lot, and possibly might be okay enough to start interacting with it on his own. And your love for the franchise helped.)

Hi this made me tear up (iN A GOOD WAY I PROMISE AHSDOFISADH I CRY WHEN I'M HAPPY LOL), this is seriously so, so sweet. Thank you so much for sending me this!! 🥹 I'm really glad that all of my silly Gravity Falls stuff has helped you get back into the show, and I hope you enjoy it and enjoy the Book of Bill if you get it!

Also, this seriously means a lot to me, especially because I'm actually really self-conscious about my interests and passions haha. I'm terrified of being seen as annoying, and there's been a lot of times recently where I've shut down out of the fear of being annoying about my interests. But I'm starting to not give a shit about whether or not people find me annoying online?? I want to be super vocal about something I adore so damn much cause it makes me happy! I've also been burnt out on drawing for a WHILE, but reading this book has given me so much inspiration, and drawing feels really fun and exciting again for the first time in a while! I struggle with depression a lot too, but my love for Bill and excitement about what's to come for the series has helped me feel really happy and kept me going for the first time in a bit. So, while I'm still scared of being perceived as annoying, I'm really happy right now and I want to keep doing stuff that makes me happy, even if that's just drawing Bill antagonizing me / my sona lmao. Seriously, thank you so much for sending me this! It's incredibly sweet and I'm really grateful that you did ;w;

Also you can absolutely reach out over DMs!! I would love to talk, but I hope you're having a wonderful day!! 🥹❤️

[phoenix-positivity]

22 april 2024 - have a feeling this will be venty

I have that feeling cause I just started dissociating as I opened this. Maybe I already did before. Am I forgetting why I wanted to make this post? It's getting harder to breathe? Why? What a strange feeling. Overwhelming. Fear in my arms again. Let me move my body around and come back to this. Maybe get a sour candy. Smell a scent stick.

It helped a bit. I have a little spiky ball and I grabbed a plushie to hug. The sour candy was nice. My head started hurting though. I'm still feeling triggered. I don't really know why.

I've not been able to write much on here cause I keep dissociating too much or feel too triggered. I don't remember what the last thing I wrote was..

It makes sense though. Even though I've been very lucky with lot's of rain and cloudy weather!! The plants still grow though, perhaps even more with all the water. Sometimes the rain makes them emit more scent. Like the earth itself will smell. I still don't know what the sources are for the scents that trigger me. It's likely a cocktail of many different things.

I find it hard to actually stand still and face the triggers instead of rushing and trying to get away faster. I've tried standing still and it just keeps building up and up and it makes me want to give up before it starts decreasing, though I did it today too and I focused really hard on grounding and it felt like I had at least taken the edge of. But yeah I am surely avoiding it, I guess I don't feel strong enough to bear the pain perhaps. Or well, it's normal to want to go away from pain. At least I still take my dog for walks and walk through the areas where the scents are bad.

I also said to my therapist last week I felt the trauma I wanted to process that session wasn't bad enough to warrant processing. She replied saying that if that were the case we could start the processing and if we discovered it was no big deal for me then I would be feeling fine and we could just do something else. Obviously it was a big deal for me. I did partly process some triggers during the EMDR as well.

It also makes sense because a big triggering holiday is coming up this week. I've been sensing it's approach for some weeks now. I will do exposure during it. Actually.. it might be good to process that in my next therapy session too. Let me look something up in my trauma diary.. (not the best idea, I admit)

I ended up reading the whole diary. It makes me see how far I have come in my healing. Comparing my current situation to back then. That is hopeful.

Someday, a future me will be reading these journal entries. And they will think what I think now: "wow, I've improved so much compared to the past"

Hope.

This is but a moment in time. A painful journey to travel.

On a brighter side. I purchased VIP tickets to go see a concert and get my album signed and meet the artists. This year is a good concert year for sure. Going to concerts by myself opens up a lot of fun experiences.

I have also been working on my sleeping schedule as much as I've been able to hold myself accountable. Which is why right now I need to turn off my pc and get into bed. I've purchased a white noise machine and I've been using multiple different sound options to fall asleep. It really does make me feel safer in bed. It's a noticeable difference.

I can do this. Being triggered might make it feel like the world is standing still but this is just another day among many. The sun will set and rise again.

Dissociation doesn't last forever. It comes and goes. I will feel fully grounded again. I wont feel this way forever. I wont get 'stuck in this setting'.

Even if my dreams wont be good I will wake up and get to experience a new day and my dreams can be forgotten again.

I can recharge in bed with my plushie. It's okay to feel scared. But there is no danger in bed. The music box will be there for a comforting melody. It will be okay.

[watery-pancake]

Short Story

Idk why I've been posting them lately. Or rather, just the last two posts. I think I do, a little.

I've been talking to F less lately. I'm pulling away, getting bored. It always happens, right once I'm comfortable with someone, I start to miss the fights and the sleepless nights filled with dread and anxiety. It's a poisonous drug I'm addicted to. I miss him so much, but I feel like asking to come over will make me weak and pathetic.

I told him about it. About an experience growing up. I won't go into detail, because I don't want to start shaking. It was during finals week, and I'd just about burnt myself out from the sheer amount of studying I was doing. I was at his house, and he was a saint. He made sure I ate, held me while I sobbed how overwhelmed I was and spoke such soft words I never thought I could hear from him. He's usually the type that when I say something really personal about my feelings for him he just shoots me a thumbs up or says "oh cool". I know it's from how awkward he is with expressing this kind of stuff.

Or maybe it isn't as mutual as I hope it is.

Idk.

Whatever, that's not the point. The point is I burnt myself out to the point that even a small trigger to those locked memories just made me explode. It's not something I ever thought I'd tell him. Or anyone. I always wanted to keep it inside, safe, where no one could know about the years I experienced this.

I feel like he judges me. He doesn't say it. But I feel it in the silences. That I'm dirty and disgusting. Worthless piece of human garbage. Pathetic for letting it happen.

I keep showering, to the point the skin on my upper arms is becoming red and painful. No amount of scrubbing will make me feel clean. I go over the same areas, trying desperately to find new parts to clean. I eat more out of anxiety, disgusted by the shape my body can never change from. I clean dishes, my hands too, even if they are pruned I keep washing.

I keep seeing his messages pop up, and I have to hold myself back to respond, like a dog on a leash. I just think about how he knows what happened to me and how he must just feel pity for me at this point. Or wants to use me as a joke for how stupid I must have been. It haunts me.

I bought a bottle of bourbon a couple of weeks ago, but never touched it. I got it kind of as a sign of "I'm doing well in life, let me be one of those pretentious people who has a fancy sounding alcohol instead of the cheap vodkas I usually get." I didn't plan on drinking it, ever, until the other day when I just broke down.

I couldn't stop shivering despite how warm the room was, or freaking out despite my calming environment. Nothing was wrong, but it felt so wrong to let this secret of myself out. I promised myself to tell no one. No one can ever know this disgusting thing happened.

I was so stupid, that in a vulnerable state I let myself speak. I'd never said it out loud before, nor gone through the mental process to think of the men. I'd just remembered "oh that happened" and that was it. No details, like the ones that he heard. He just laid there and listened. And I am disgusted in me.

I wish I could run away forever. Forget I ever happened. I'm hoping a little that happens, kind of. Go back to the same bullshit I did with Tristen by socially isolating myself from absolutely everyone and everything in my life for years on end. I'm exhausted of human interaction. I'm exhausted by myself.

I don't know why I keep journaling. I know in years that I'll feel too embarrassed by my pretentious language and how dumb I'm being when it seems like common sense what I should do. It's not like anyone is gonna read it anyways. I guess it does help, to at least let it out to something that can't judge or criticize me. I can talk to F, but he'll try to fix it.

I can't be fixed, and I don't know how to explain that to him.

[photographertherapistblogger2]

So it's been a while since I wrote in any of my journals but I've been on a proper journey this past month or two. Anyway I feel its a time to write. Honestly don't know where to start. OK my nan passed away on 4th December from cancer and for anybody that has read my previous blogs you may not I lost a baby in January, anyway I felt like things were getting a tiny bit better but what I realised was I distracted myself from the pain so when my nan was asking where's the baby I put 2 and 2 together and knew my nan was close to death when she kept saying I can see a baby and calling out for my grandad. When my mom told me it just hit me like a tonne of bricks and I feel that emptiness and lost again. I've been there for the past 2 and a half years for my mom to offload too as well so it's been just as hard for me and knowing the sense of loss my mom feels is just absolutely heart breaking.

Amongst all that I have been dealing with my ex being an absolute tool around the kids, he's not diagnosed but I feel like he's a possible narcissist etc etc and I really hate with a passion that my kids have contact with there dad but I do it for them. Anyway he has totally disregarded any concerns I've had then I've had his misses/ex misses also having a go at me about raising this concern. Honestly sometimes I just don't know where to turn with any of this and its hard for me not to react. I see it as them both trying to manipulate me or think I would back down but no I'm going to protect my kids as much as I possible can till they can protect themselves. Anyway since my kids seeing him more often the school have picked up on my daughters behaviours changed which is unlike the one but yeah my youngest does struggle with change. My ex is also trying to use my triggers to upset me and so on for example I've always wanted the have quality time with my eldest but because my youngest can be challenging nobody will take her so I don't have quality time with her at all so because he can he does that, at first I was upset about it but I still clearly give her what she needs and I'm one person, I chose to thing of the positive side if things instead of feeling shit that I can't always give that but I try.

Any with all that in mind I still haven't heard any for the adhd/autism assessments for my youngest daughter so I've been trying to get updates on that plus I realised I still haven't received any information regarding my sons autopsy so been trying to chase that up too. Sometimes I just get so overwhelmed by life and its situations I can't think straight. Which leads me to the next bit. Anyway I was feeling lonely and overwhelmed so I thought sod it ill go on a dating site and I actually thought I'd found someone till yesterday. Anyway I know what people will say when I say this but I honestly don't know what to think anymore. So I'm chatting to this guy who says he's got autism so I carry on talking to him and then I find out he also smokes weed and your probably thinking well there's nothing wrong with that which is why I carried on chatting to him and explain that to me tye issues I've just spoke about were red flags to me, I spoke to him and explained why they were red flags and he understood. So anyway I was in an domestically abusive relationship for 8 years with someone who had a drug addicted and used his diagnosis to mistreat me etc. So anyway I carry on chatting to this guy thinking yeah maybe he's different and understands me when yesterday he asked if I also had autism to which I said no. I was stupid and asked him why and he explained that I came across as cold and had no empathy but wouldn't explain why he felt like that so I left him to it. He made no effort to talk to me about it so I've blocked him now.

Honestly after all that it hates me to say it but I feel like I'm still not over what my ex did and even though I don't love my ex there will always be the memories we once shared and thats what kills me. I hate the fact that I just started to trust someone who turned out to be just like my ex. I'm so upset with myself that I keep attracting these men that want to mistreat and it just goes to show me that I still need to work on trying to get out of the trauma of being a people pleaser. What I want to do for the new year is write some goals I want to achieve and things I want to let go of for new year and hopefully clear alot of negative energy and trauma that's still trapped in my body. All I want is to feel loved and to feel safe is that so hard. I'm feeling so upset with myself right now hence why I wanted to write. Anyway I'm gonna release this and go watch a Christmas film to try cheer myself up. Goodbye for now

[brianyololau]

December 5, 2023

Today is gonna be a positive journal. Sammie and I started this activity where we write down a list of our accomplishments in a notebook we gave each other. So, I have been focusing a bit on the stuff I achieved every day. It’s been nice so far seeing how much stuff I get done even though I normally wouldn’t give much thought into it. Seeing this list makes me pretty satisfied about my day. It’s like my day actually mattered even though I wasn’t making nursing money or getting a job offer.

One day at a time! I can also see how i’m investing into my life balance which feels amazing. I can see how putting time into friendships and communication actually contribute to stronger relationships and a stronger sense of well being.

I caught up with Tran recently, and I’m glad I did. We trauma dumped so much on each other, stuff that has happened in the past 6 years and more. I used to think she had an put together and perfectly fine life besides studying hard for school. That wasn’t the case at all.

In many ways, I learned she also went through similar experiences as I did, and in other ways, she went through her own struggle that taught her personal life lessons too. I felt as if I were speaking to a friend from the past even though we never officially hung out before.

Tran’s also super cute. I just wanna protect her from harm’s way & listen to her nerdy personality yap all day. She has a pouty demeanor when i’m teasing her, and she’s so sweet. She also has pretty eyes which is something I’m attracted to. Idk if we’ll work out tho. She might be too reserved and committed to school for me. I’m not trying to put her down, but I can see how this would affect a relationship between us. I’m not even sure if she sees me like that. I feel like she’d find a more suitable partner in crime if he was as type A as her. I’m surely not as type A, but I do fall under that spectrum. It’s probably why she and I were able to establish a bond pretty well. She’s just so cute. I wanna see her in one of my sweaters. I also love that she’s smart, not just book smart, smart.

but what am I saying…… focus man. You got bills to pay, a life to live, and friendships to manage. You’ve made it this far. You’ve even cut off ur father as an act to improve your life. I gotta rethink the life I want to create and the pillars I’ll represent as my own self without him in the picture.

After I cut him off, I thought life would’ve been the same the next morning. It wasn’t. I still have to deal with the guy, and I’ll probably see him at the burial event for Appac.

I also thought I would completely change for the better by now. It’s been harder than I thought. At first, I felt this strong sense of betrayal and loneliness. I was neglected for 24 years and nearly abandoned for 16. The feelings of pain suffered from his actions remain, and the younger version of myself has to just accept it.

It’s so unjust. My 24 year old self knows it’s wrong and is doing everything it can to help my child self process and heal. My 24 yo self is telling my younger self to point this glock at the memory of my father and to pull the trigger. Pull the trigger. Pull the fucking trigger. Pull it. That image was shattered a long time ago, and my younger self needs to let that shit go. Empty the clip because it was never real. What’s real is the fragmented fathering he’s shown you. It’s up to you to hold your own head high and face him for who what he truly is, a disappointing father.

Once you feel it, channel the weight of that anger and frustration into something greater. Let the flame of injustice ignite a fire in you so strong that it suffocates you, and even then, learn how to survive. For this new weight on your shoulders is going to teach you how to be a better man, a future father, and someone you can respect.

I’m proud of myself for going through all of this. I opened Pandora’s box and dealt with all the evils that have been haunting me for years. It even affected how I view relationships. This will be an issue no more. I’m in control of my life now, and no one can tell me I can’t be.

[lupineleigh]

This is a historical artifact from 1992. Possibly 1991. At least for me it’s a huge piece of my literary history.

I’m a born story teller. I can remember coming up with original stories and original characters since I was four years old, possibly younger.

I wanted to share an idea for a story to act out with a friend and since I never knew when I’d see my busy friend again, I had to write down my ideas to make sure I did not forget them. I also suffer from poor short term memory and Executive Dysfunction which leads to choice paralysis, time blindness, and struggling to start and finish tasks. Because of this, I have gotten by with making notes for myself everywhere I could find a blank spot to write. Here, you can see me reminding myself what time to bathe so I could get to bed on time without getting fussed at.

Since I didn’t know how to draw Darkwing yet, I traced over a picture of him in my Disney Adventures magazine and put my tracing paper picture in my journal. That was the first year I started using markers, too, as my preferred tools for coloring were my awful, cheap, scribbly colored pencils, or my smelly childhood box of Crayola crayons with the built in sharpener.

I started my first Darkwing Duck fanfic in this journal. It was originally going to be a play between me and my then best friend, but I got stumped on how to include her in the story, since I knew she’d want an important role. I asked her for ideas and wrote the ending as she relayed it, with her as the random side character barreling in to save the day and defeat the whole hoard of villains. She was happy with that ending. I…was not. I wanted the hero to actually do something besides be the damsel in distress. 😆 So I started a new copy on loose leaf lined note paper. I redrew DW in the same pose and tried to draw Audubon Bay Bridge, and copied down my favorite prose that I wrote as a kid, and embellished the story with more details, more setting and mood, and ended up with a lot more angst. I remember taking my folder with all those loose pieces of paper on a trip to Arizona and New Mexico and trying to write in the car, and on my grandma’s coffee table. Physical comfort always took a sideline to my need to pour out an ongoing story while I was in Writing Mode. Even though I did not have access to Darkwing Duck episodes or comics then, I wrote from memory and later looked for the comics and episodes I referred to.

**Long post and triggering story ahead. Proceed with caution. Mentions of depression, cancer, death, grief, etc. **

Fast forward to 2010. I finally finished my hard copy of “The Villains’ Revolt” and decided it was high time to start typing the darn thing before my pencil copy became too blurry and faded to read. It was August 11, around six pm… I had just typed “One night, the city of St. Canard was unusually quiet.” And then I got hit with the worst bombshell of my life… My mom came in and said my dad, who was laying on a cot in our living room, suffering from debilitating, rare Lung Cancer that attacked his spinal fluid and shut down his organs and body functions one by one over the course of four months, was on his last breath. She asked me to come downstairs.

I saved my file, turned off the computer, left “Villains’ Revolt” on my desk, and descended into the worst depression of my life. I held my dad’s hand, read to him, showed him magazine pictures, choked out a song for him with other family members, and told him it was okay to let go… That we’d be okay… I was not okay. I didn’t want to let go. I wanted a miracle. I got one, but it was more like a hallucination than the miracle I was praying for… Dad gasped his last, and I hugged him one last time and walked away, told the hospice nurse I was okay, and shut down for the rest of the month, letting my relatives handle all the arrangements. It was awful. It was the worst pain I have ever felt in my chest. It was a weight I physically carried for the next fifteen months. I could not think, feel, or do anything normal without crying or feeling like I was watching from some other plain or existence. I could feel myself slipping away and feared leaving my devastated, depression-paralyzed mother alone. She wasn’t cooking, doing laundry, cleaning or doing anything for herself then except laying in bed for weeks and filling out forms and making phone calls. We were both overwhelmed.

I stepped up. I took over all the housework, lawn care, cooking, cleaning, and tried to find a new normal for Mom and me. I struggled to keep us on a meal schedule and sleep schedule. I struggled to be present for myself and my dog, who stayed quietly by my side, even when I forgot to feed or walk him. We survived. We pulled through.

But my heart needed an outlet. I had to release that volcano of feelings somehow.

I started a new story. “My Daughter, My Life.” I poured everything into that. All of my pain, fear, grief, confusion, vulnerability, struggles to make a new normal and find who I was again without the guidance of a parent or mentor, or even a friend. I was completely isolated by physical distance and emotional distance from everyone I knew…

Writing kept me alive. It gave me purpose. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with a story I could never publish but I had to have a safe outlet to process my feelings and project onto characters who I could relate to.

It was exhausting and painful but I finished three stories, and a bit of research led me to Fan fiction .net. I was scared to share so much of myself, but I was so lonely, even a critique would have been welcome. Just being noticed and acknowledged as a living person was enough. I figured the worst that could happen was I’d be ignored. I’d lose nothing by posting. So I did.

That is my history, and the beginning of the new me.

My stories were accepted with open arms, and a fan wrote to me to suggest a new story idea based off of my short story. I did some more research, and found a whole fandom on a forum I never knew existed. I needed a little bit of encouragement to approach so many strangers online, but I joined the forum and quickly found a friendly fun community that made me feel like I actually fit in for the first time in my life.

That community was my home for the next ten years, and it will always have a piece of my heart. They helped me grow so much as a person, opening my eyes and mind and filling me with more dopamine and excitement than I could contain! I had more energy from talking about anthro ducks online than I had as a growing child! It was amazing, and I made some amazing friends online that I still talk with on a near daily basis.

Nice year old me would be surprised to see where old me is now, and very confused by my new perspectives, but she’d be relieved to see that I wasn’t alone my whole life. I didn’t suffer endlessly in silence. I’m still here. I’m still writing. And I’ll keep writing for as long as there is a spark of inspiration and flexibility in my aching hands.

This is my story. My past and my present. And I am proud of how far I’ve come. What happens next? Who knows! The future awaits!

[illicitjoy]

tw: are you surprised? suicide and SH

do you know why tumblr is the best?

at least to me?

nobody uses it. my family never thinks to stalk me on tumblr. i could say whatever i want and just rant every thought i could ever think of. i love the community guidelines. i mean this app used to be all porn in middle school and high school so it’s a little better, but i talk about how bad my mental health is and it’s like my own little journal, just for me.

i feel like everyone just judge me for how shitty my mental health is and how i just want to die and hurt myself to feel some peace. i feel like i don’t have a hard enough life to be this depressed. i feel like i don’t deserve to feel this bad.

i don’t know if that’s to give me some closure, or if it just helps me deal so i can actually get out of bed and be an actual adult. if i could i would stay in bed and just stare at a wall with all my thoughts or just sleep my life away, but that’s not how life works. or at least not mine.

tumblr is great to just express how i’m feeling and go back and read how dramatic i was in the post. it helps to just let go. it’s also really nice for when i have to go to my psychiatrist and i have all these notes about how pitiful and depressed i am.

now, let’s talk about how bad i’m hurting inside to see if it’ll relieve some pressure on my brain before i have some kind of brain bleed or something.

i want to die. plan and simple, but not. i also want to live. (can you see where i’m struggling here?) if i could have a death that wasn’t painful to me or anyone around me i probably would. if i could just be gone and it didn’t hurt anyone, i would be gone. but, i want to get married, have kids, be terrified of the kids because, i never wanted kids. i want to feel joy, but i don’t know if i ever will, and that makes me want to disappear. (it’s the whole failure to thrive depression thing.)

tumblr is so great to just breathe, and not have someone find a random notebook in my room and read it and be like “oh shit, she needs to go on a grippy sock vacation.” even though both doctors and myself agree it wouldn’t be a bad idea. but i’ll never go. i can’t leave my friends and girlfriend. i don’t know if my girlfriend could handle it.

she’s told me multiple times that if i went manic and broke up with her again (i don’t remember what exactly happened because i was manic, but i know it happened at some point) she wouldn’t come back. she couldn’t handle it. and that my depression is a downer and that every time i raise my voice she’s “preparing to be broken up with” and “it’s just triggering to her” because i have a mental disorder that is very hard to control, but i’m doing it. she’s told me that she would never want to be my favorite person because it’s “overwhelming and overbearing.” she has great parts of her, but sometimes i feel like i have to be perfect and not break or else she’ll leave me and i’ll be a scared five year old again.

the best part of tumblr is knowing that if anyone found your blog.. you would be dead, because either your killed yourself or your mom killed you. it’s a fun gamble. see who wins first.

you also want to know what’s a fun gamble. how deep you can cut yourself before you start bubbling. from what i learned you’ve got about a 1/4 of an inch before you’re stitching yourself up because you can’t admit to anyone else that you relapsed. now you accidentally go 3/4 or an inch, you’ll learn you have white blood. and that is the most terrifying thing you could do to yourself. i’ve been clean for a little over a year and four months, and my scars are fading. you thought fresh cuts were triggering? imagine how i feel with no scars. all the pain and release i did to myself for years? gone. and that’s the most triggering thing. another fun one! when your friends say that they cut themselves and when they do normal human things, they break open. why can you cut, and i can’t? how is that fair? i just want to feel some kind of release.

i am in pain.

and i read this over and over again trying to find peace.

but i’m in pain.

thank you tumblr for being my out, because i would be judged for everything i just said.

this is why tumblr is the best app.

[ridreamir]

Am back with a new idea.

Clumsy reader. But only in the sense that they accidentally hurt pokemon, or get hurt by them. Like stepping on a Glameow’s tail or accidentally touching a Ponyta’s flames while trying to assess a wound on it.

Outside of that they’re more precise and careful than a well aimed Aerial Ace.

But I can just imagine they’re out on the field and someone hears the caterwaul of a pained Pokémon and it’s just a cut to the reader holding a Glameow away from their scratched up face at arms length all “don’t worry! It was my fault! I got this!” *angry Glameow noises* “I said I was sorry!”

I can also see Volo being the only one to find it hilarious. Seeing such a well composed Galaxy Team member end up so clumsy around Pokémon that it’s the only time they get hurt. Deep down he’s concerned, but right in the moment he’s too busy laughing at their misfortune.

Small trigger warning: Mildly violent content

Perhaps it's because Volo is the only other person who minds not the time nor terrain, but he's been witness to a lot of your blunders out in the field-- in fact, he's always around, whether convenient or not. Well, it feels that way sometimes. But more so, it could just be that you like frequenting areas that he's interested in or has already taken a liking to. He's not seeking you out, truth be told.

For you, it's not an uncommon sight to see a sleeping bag out in the elements, underneath the waxing and waning moon, sheltered by nothing more than the half-caved-in ceiling of an old ruin. Plus, it's not like he's welcome elsewhere, so he's in a uniquely favorable position when it comes to finding you where others wouldn't. Even so, the two of you have gone your separate ways, and have not met face to face in a very long time. Despite that, it's not hard to run into you, even though it probably should be. As for what he's stumbled upon you doing thus far, it hasn't really been much. You're very careful in what you do, boringly so. At first he thought you'd be interesting to watch, but he learned a long time ago that watching you plop down in the grass and write in that field journal gets dull for him. It's no fun now that he can't sneak up on you like he used to. And yet still, he stays in his place, spying from afar. He doesn't know why he does it, it's not like it really does anything anymore- not when he's no longer of any use to you and vice versa.

But still, it's better than nothing at all somehow. You don't have to know he's there, and he doesn't have to interact with you. Though there are still things you do that irk him. He doesn't really intend to be mean-spirited, not really, but sometimes it's more a reactionary thing than a conscious effort on his part. He thinks it's maybe why he used to find a little bit of pleasure in watching you struggle on occasion. You who gets handed the world without even asking, feeling even just a fraction of what he's felt his entire life-- the constant roadblocks, the bottomless disappointment. Maybe then, he would think, you'd understand why he did what he did, if even just a little bit. But that was then, now it hasn't been feeling so good at all lately. Not when for a moment it looked like things had gone too far-- when he witnessed something he wished he hadn't. And he knows he shouldn't care, he genuinely shouldn't. Honestly he didn't know what was wrong with him, but the way his heart sped up and choked him didn't sit right, and now even the more milder things were spurring these kinds of reactions. He'd start struggling to breathe the moment he'd spot the droplet of blood trickling from a scratch. No one would have came to rescue you. No one would have known that you were mauled to death had you not managed to defend yourself.

He used to laugh at it. Something about that didn't settle in him right either. He'd much rather find it funny like it used to be, as disgusting as that sounds.

He wonders if his own scars will stop aching when he looks at yours.

[adviceformefromme]

Hello my dear. How do I heal my wounded feminine? I read through your posts on the subject and could relate to a lot of the self sabotaging behaviors listed because I did just that in my last relationship, which I believe ultimately drove my beaux away leaving me heartbroken. I would very much love to heal my feminine because the hurt has caused grief in my romantic and professional life, if you have any tips for a woman in need of some serious healing please let me know. Thank you so much.

Hey sweetie, this are some top tips:

1. Next time you get triggered. Stop, don't react. Don't lash out. Create space and figure out wtf is going on inside of you. Make the pain that comes up when the wounded feminine gets activated about YOU, not what he did / said, about you. Once you sit with yourself, you'll need to do some digging to see what happened in your past that is either a. allowing you to be in certain situations that are hurting you, or b. causing you to be sensitive / overreact to certain situations. Use a journal to connect with yourself and document your emotions.

2. Read / study. Self growth / development is essential. A woman who is focused on becoming her best version is going to be tapped into her feminine energy, she is healing, she is expanding. My fave reads are Return to Love by Marianne Williamson, and Women who Run with the Wolves, by Clarissa Pinkola. Both amazing and inspiring books, they may/may not resonate with you. Either way, go to the book store and find some books that inspire you, that connect with you, that allow you to see things from another perspective and inspire change.

3. Notice the voice in your head. What does she say to you when you feel upset / triggered? Is she supportive, does she fear the worst? Is she judgemental? Whatever your inner voice sounds like, just start to notice. Once you're clear on your inner voice (which you may even notice imitates an abusive parent or someone controlling), you'll want to make steps to reprogram your inner voice. You want to become your own cheerleader, someone you can rely on, someone who loves you unconditionally, that doesn't put you down when you fuck up. Another thing to check out is re-parenting yourself (there's loads online, youtube etc on this topic).

4. Tap into your body. When you're operating from the wounded feminine you are in your head and thoughts and not focusing on how you feel. The empowered feminine is in touch with her body, she isn't caught up in the overthinking and stuck in her mind. She use's dance, and movement to stay grounded. Try making a playlist that makes you wanna move, and feel sexy, dance each day in the mirror, while you clean, in the shower. Not only does it feel good to move, it also gets the energy moving around the body. Imagine water in a lake that is stale and doesn't move. You want to be like the ocean, powerful, a life force, constantly moving and in flow.

5. MAKE TIME FOR YOUR HEALING AND GROWTH. One more time for those who didn't hear in the back. MAKE FUCKING TIME FOR YOUR HEALING AND GROWTH. Sorry if that sounded harsh, but honestly. Dedicating to your healing and growth will be the best investment you will ever make. Whatever you're going through right now, can 1000% be a thing of the past. I say that with confidence as I was an anxious, triggered, mess before I started doing the inner work. Healthy relationships exist, the very best version of you exists, she is within you, ready to live her best life right now. She's just waiting for you to let go of the excess baggage from the past and step into your power. 💕

Ps. My DMs are open if you want/need extra support on this xoxo

[watery-pancake]

For the First Time

So, as usual, it was my BPD. I could've communicated it healthily. I did for so long. No wonder it felt like I had a mask on for so long, it was me pretending and coping to be normal. When the arguments with my brother and mom happened, it made me snap. I didn't realize until now the problem wasn't that he was working, it was that it triggered me. It feels so 2016 to say that word. But it's true. The instability in my home isn't exactly something unordinary, it's what I grew up with after all. No wonder I developed BPD. I'm so used to the instability. No wonder I felt a switch click after that day. It wasn't him changing. It was me needing constant support and constant attention, and it broke him down. I was so used to the petty arguments with my mom, side eyes with my brother. But to go on a long ramble to my mother and she listens to nothing, and to talk to my brother and he only hears my tone and no words. It broke me. It made me completely shatter the image I've been trying so hard to build. I was doing so well, taking a step back, managing my emotions, thinking through things rationally. But that day, it just brought me back to who I really am, a self destructive psycho. I keep trying to shake off the destruction in my mind, but I'm right back to this version.

It always felt like I had two brains, one rational, one irrational. I even wrote about it in my journal. The difference was at the time I was doing so, so well. I was keeping it behind closed doors. I was talking it out with myself. This is why I never wanted to drink or try weed. I knew I would need it. Living like this feels like hell. I can't love, because I latch onto it like I need it to live. I can't live normally, I always find things wrong with everything in my life. I can't cushion the pain with substances, it's terrible for my body.

Match made in hell. BPD girl who hyper focuses on things to an obsessive degree, and BP boy who doesn't understand how to cushion his truth.

The thing is, things usually end before they get this far. The only reason it lasted so long with my ex was because he too thought I would get better. He believed me when I said the problem was my mom, not me. But what neither of us were able to understand was the effect years of being treated like... not the best, does to a person. My mother completely destroyed me mentally, and my brother and father were the supporting characters. I was the only one for so many years that saw through her delusions, and it's only now at 23 does my brother see it too instead of joining with her against me. It makes sense why my ex gf ghosted me. I deserved getting cheated on. It was completely my fault. Even me as I am now, was not nearly as bad as I was then.

The thing is, if we break up in the morning, I completely get it. I'm not scared of it. I feel such a weight lifted off my chest, that for once in my life, for the first time of any relationship I've had, I had someone to understand me, to the degree I felt comfortable sharing this part of me. He can say "well it was obvious by your behavior" but it's another thing for me to actually sit down and type out all the symptoms of it, and to apologize and acknowledge it. Like I said, they always leave before it gets to this part. I've never done this before with any other human, to admit my biggest fault. I remember before we started dating we discussed our red flags, and I never mentioned this, because at the time I was so convinced I'd finally recovered and gotten over it. It was just because I didn't have a person to hyperfocus on, that I felt normal. It was boring to be so normal instead of the emotional chaos I'm used to, so I wanted to sleep around in college. I didn't think I would meet someone like him.

If we break up, I'll be okay, and so will he. He'll move on, and find another girl to love him at his worst, like I've tried my best to. No wonder I tried so hard to get him to admit what was wrong with him, I was refusing to look inside. To admit my mind was splitting every week. To admit this mental illness of mine is, indeed, real, and isn't just some quirky thing. Even now, he still hasn't acknowledged at all the long paragraphs I typed of all my BPD quirks (desperately apologizing). But I still feel this inner peace. I was finally, truly honest, and not just saying I'm fine to cushion the blow.

I need therapy.

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 5

A/N  Sorry for the long break between chapters.  As some of you might have seen from my Tumblr blog, I’ve been off on vacation these past two weeks.  Plus, when I felt the urge to write, it was my new Vaquero AU that kept calling to me (21,000 words and counting!), rather than this fic.  Which is probably a good argument for why I don’t like to post WIPs.  In any event, here is the next chapter some of you have been asking for, entitled Third Appointment.  Be careful what you wish for.  Angst ahead, plus a trigger warning for infertility trauma, miscarriage.

The first four chapters are available on my AO3 page.

The Thursday after her impromptu encounter with Jamie and his niece at the Royal Hospital for Children, Claire woke with a strange twisting pain in her gut.  Skipping breakfast, she was halfway to her office before she diagnosed herself with an acute case of nerves, the kind that sprouted between her lungs and ribcage like a vestigial organ whose sole purpose was to unsettle her.

She wasn’t in the habit of meeting patients outside of the clinical confines of her practice, but it was more than that.  Jamie had caught her in a moment of weakness, with both her personal and professional armour missing.  What he might have seen and how he could have interpreted it had occupied her thoughts ever since.

Eating lunch was out of the question.  By the time two o’clock approached, her insides were a buzzing hornets’ nest of anxiety, her palms clammy with sweat.  A half-empty bottle of Xanax called to her from the bottom of her purse.  Before she could weigh the implications of taking one at work on an empty stomach, Jamie’s familiar knock intervened.

She could tell as soon as he entered that Maggie hadn’t needed a transfusion that week.  His russet curls shone like garnets in the midday sun and his uncanny eyes glittered like sapphires.  Still, he avoided looking directly her way as he settled into his usual chair, and she wondered if the overlap of their personal and professional lives had left him feeling unnerved as well.

“No wheat grass smoothie,” he commented, his gaze running over her desk.

“No, I didn’t have time for lunch today.”  It was a blatant falsehood, since she’d spent her lunch hour picking her cuticles until they bled, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Ye should eat more, Sassen..., Doctor Beauchamp.  Ye canna help anyone else if ye’re no’ properly nourished.”  She caught the slip, and for some reason it angered her.

“Is this your attempt to negotiate a reduction in your fees, Jamie?  Dietary advice in return for counselling?  Because if so, I’m afraid I don’t bill on the barter system,” she snapped, despising her churlish tone.

Jamie’s eyes narrowed, then dimmed.  Message received, he sat up straighter in the armchair and crossed a foot over his knee, assuming a position of poised and detached calm that had no doubt served him well during business negotiations.  She regrouped by pretending to glance at her journal for the notes from their previous session, although the space next to his name was accusingly blank.

Boundaries thus defined, the session went surprising well.  Jamie spoke of his relief that Maggie’s latest round of chemotherapy was over, allowing her to return home and to some semblance of a regular life for a child of six.  Claire coaxed him gently towards the topic of his overwhelming guilt for abandoning his family when he was most needed.  Jamie processed pain through the recounting of stories, coming to terms with his self-decreed transgression by weaving together the tale of those he loved and pointing to the holes his absence had caused.

As his resonant voice spun its web of words, Claire became aware of an underlying hum.  At first it was subtle, like the mumble of traffic from a far-off motorway.  But as their hour together ticked by, it grew in strength until she could no longer ignore the buzz that pressed against her from all directions.

“... saw that it was really Jenny and Ian who I was... Claire?  Doctor Beauchamp, are ye well?”  Jamie was watching her with concern, and she realized she’d been shaking her head, trying to dislodge the omnipresent hum.

“Yes, I’m... yes.  Sorry.  Just a funny noise that’s...  Please, continue.”  When Jamie didn’t immediately pick up the thread of his narrative, she tried again.  “You were saying something about Jenny and Ian?”

Instead of continuing his previous thought, Jamie picked that moment to broach the topic she’d desperately hoped he would avoid.

“I hope ye’re no’ upset about the other day, at the hospital.  I didna mean tae impose or tae... o’erstep the bounds of our relationship.  No’ that we have a relationship, mind,” he hastened to add.  “Only a professional one.  But when I saw ye, I couldna resist introducing ye tae wee Maggie.  I hadna told ye about her yet, and I thought...”

“Jamie, it’s fine,” she cut in, halting his rambling explanation.  “She’s a lovely girl.  They all are.  It’s only that, I’m sort of...”

“Ye’re verra good with them.  Children, that is.  Ye’ll make a fine mother one day.”

All the oxygen left the room at once.  Her heart beat so hard there was a bruised feeling behind her sternum.   Launching to her feet, Claire stumbled blindly away from her desk.  She wanted to run, to scream, but her vision was a narrow chasm and a now-deafening throb filled her ears.  She only made it a few steps before her knees buckled and the carpet floated upwards to meet her.

“Ifrinn!”  Jamie leapt to her side, catching her by the shoulders before her head could hit the floor.  He lowered them both carefully to the ground, resting her body against his lap.  “Sassenach?  Claire?  Can ye hear me?  Do I need tae call an ambulance?”  The words reached her from very far away, but the threat of medical intervention acted like a dose of smelling salts.

“No,” she groaned, the room spinning around her like a kaleidoscope.  “No hospital.  I just... need to eat,” she grasped at the most innocuous explanation for her current state.

Without dislodging her, Jamie stretched his long arm and brought back the small basket of miniature muffins that were the day’s offering from Geillis.  With surprising dexterity, he peeled away the paper one-handed and broke apart a bite-sized morsel, holding it gently against her lips.  Realizing that her dignity couldn’t get any more battered, Claire opened her mouth and allowed Jamie to feed her.  After only a few bites, the buzzing disappeared and she was able to sit up on her own.

“Thank you,” she murmured, afraid to look into his eyes for fear of the pity she knew she’d see there.  “You were right. I  should have eaten lunch, I guess.”

“Claire.”  Jamie made a prose poem of the single syllable of her name.  She looked up at him through her lashes, stunned to find him looking back, not with pity, but with something akin to adoration.  “Mo nighean donn,” he ran a tender hand through her loosened curls.  “Ye need tae care more for yerself.”

“I will.  I’ll try.”  And when she said it to him, she really meant it.  Jamie made the impossible seem probable.

They stared at one another, shoulder to shoulder on the floor of her office.  She couldn’t think of anything else to say, but nor did she move.  Her gaze flitted over his face, noticing a vestige of boyish freckles across the bridge of his nose, a mole hidden in the harvest stubble on his cheek.  Jamie was performing a parallel inventory, eyes finally coming to rest at the level of her mouth.

“Ye’ve got a wee crumb, jus’ there.”  Unconscious, her tongue swept out, triggering a predatory response, twin blue laser beams narrowing on the target she had just painted on her lower lip.

“I... I’d verra much like tae kiss ye, Claire.  May I?”

An amputated moan was all she could manage in response, but Jamie must have understood its meaning.  He bent his head until only a whisper separated them.  The air crackled, sending that extra organ plummeting towards her hollow womb.  Clenching her eyes shut in defeat, she closed the infinitesimal gap until they met in an effervescent caress of lip and tongue.

Cold washed over her skin, bathing her in gooseflesh.  Jamie tasted like he looked; a banquet of fresh, volatile flavours that called to mind a picnic in a meadow, a spray of sea foam, the warmth of hearth and home.  She could feel him trembling against her, his moist breath rushing against her cheek in shallow pants.  For a score of heartbeats, Claire was the happiest she had ever been.  Then, reality crashed down around her.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, pulling away.  “I... this can’t... I’m sorry.”

Jamie leaned back with a mixture of longing and resignation.  She hated adding herself to his list of regrets, but it was for the best.

“I’m your doctor, Jamie.  This isn’t right.”

“Aye, I ken.  I should apologize, but I canna seem tae find it in me tae repent.”

Jamie stood, reaching down to help Claire up as well.  As soon as it was apparent she was able to stand on her own, he dropped her hand as though it burned.  The line between his brows deepened, and she could see the question forming before he gave it voice.

“What if ye werena my doctor?  Would it be right then?”

“That’s neither here nor there, because I am, Jamie.  A relationship between patient and doctor of a romantic nature is ethically off-limits.”

Jamie nodded, apparently accepting her explanation at face value. Her heartbeat calmed.  He moved slowly, gathering his coat and starting to leave.  

“But what if ye weren’t?” he said, facing the door.  “If we’d met at the hospital, or out on the town?”

“I...�� she stammered, searching desperately for any answer except for the truth.  “No, Jamie,” she said at last, watching as she destroyed his last bastion of hope.  “I’m sorry.  I just don’t feel that way about you.”

Nodding abruptly, Jamie let himself out of the office.  She listened to his low murmuring voice through the door as he spoke to Geillis, heard him make an appointment for the following week, then the loud snap of the main door closing.  Only then did she allow herself to collapse once more to the floor, angry sobs overtaking her.

***

“Are ye out of yer fuckin’ mind?” Geillis inquired with her usual brutal eloquence.

With the help of a Xanax, Claire had managed to see her last two patients of the day, and only needed to navigate the shoals of her office manager’s ire before she could go home and fully medicate herself into a dreamless sleep.

“Jes so we’re clear, ye want me tae write a letter terminating your services as a doctor an’ suggesting suitable alternative providers?  An’ ye want me tae send this letter, over email, tae Jamie Fraser?”

“That’s right.”  She had determined that icy calm was the best antidote to this conversation, which was fortuitous, since she felt numb all over.

“An’ what reason am I tae give fer this abrupt conclusion tae yer association wi’ Mr. Fraser?”

“I don’t owe him an explanation.  Only sufficient notice and an opportunity to seek counselling elsewhere,” she said, feigning reasonableness.

Pushed past her limits, Geillis rose from behind her desk, a tiny tempest of moral indignation.

“Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, ye are a good friend, a fine doctor an’ a fair employer.  But I swear by the Almighty that if ye dinna drop the façade and tell me wha’ is going on I am going tae smack ye until yer ears ring!”

There was a certain relief in knowing that Geillis wouldn’t take no for an answer.  And unlike Jamie, she knew where Claire lived and would not let her rest until the truth came out.

“He kissed me.  Or rather, I kissed him.  And I liked it!  That’s why, Geillis.”

Her friend’s shoulders sagged, all righteousness gone in an instant.  She reached around Claire’s frame and held her in a bone-crushing one-sided hug.

“Och, hen.  An’ ye figured ye could deal wi’ those pesky feelings by jes, what? firing him as yer patient?”  

“I can’t deal with this right now, Geillis.  I can’t feel the way he makes me feel.  And this practice is all that I have left.  There’s no way I can risk losing it just for an affair that won’t even last the summer.”

She didn’t need to elaborate on her reasons for that dire prediction.  Geillis knew them as well as anyone.

“He’s an intelligent man, Claire. He’s gonna ken something is up.  Moreover, he’s a good man.  He deserves tae hear the truth.”

Shaking her head sadly, Claire walked towards the door.  Just before exiting, she called back softly to her friend.

“Geillis?  Make sure to include Dr. Rafferty’s name on the list of referrals.  I think they’d be a good match.

***

Monday morning dawned with little promise for the fledgling week.  Moving robotically through her weekend routine, Claire thought frequently of chickens.  How their bodies kept moving once their heads were lopped off, nerves and muscle and bone continuing to function for a time despite the fatal blow.

The elevator chimed its arrival on her floor.  As the doors slide open, Jamie was the first thing she saw.  He loomed by her still-locked office, a sun-topped thundercloud gripping a sheet of printer paper.

She’d worn her best black suit and a pair of chunky heels that brought her closer to his height.  Perhaps, on some subconscious level, she’d anticipated this confrontation.  Perversely, she relished it.  Vitriol and deceit didn’t suit her, but it was preferable to feeling absolutely nothing.

“Do ye mind tellin’ me,” Jamie began before she’d even set foot in the hallway, “jus’ what this is about, Claire?” He brandished the paper like a wanted poster.

“I would think it was self-explanatory, actually.  I’m terminating our professional relationship,” she huffed, golden eyes coming to life for the first time since Thursday.

“Via email.  Sent tae me by Miss Duncan, because ye dinna have the guts tae do it yerself.  Christ, Sassenach, even my ninth grade sweetheart didna dump me so cruelly!”

“I’m not your sweetheart!” she burst out, a flood of emotion cresting with her rising anger.  “Don’t call me that!  I was your doctor, Jamie, and now I’m nothing to you.  Nothing.  Just go.  Please.  Just go,” she finished weakly and without any hope that he’d listen.

“All this jus’ because I kissed you?” Jamie persevered.  At her stubborn silence, he continued, “Nah, I dinna think so.  Ye’re many things, Claire, but a coward isna one of them.”

She found this hysterically funny, since a coward was the only role she played to perfection.  She didn’t have time to laugh, however, because Jamie was suddenly standing much closer, forcing her to lift her chin to meet his stormy eyes.

“Nah,” he continued smoothly, a big cat alerted to the smell of its prey.  “If ye’d objected tae the kiss, ye would have told me so.  Read me the riot act or kneed me in the bawls.  I think ye’re scared, Doctor Beauchamp.  I think that kiss terrified ye, because ye realized ye liked it.  Somethin’ ye couldna  plan for in yer wee journal, right there under yer nose.  Bet it made yer heart beat so fast. So fast, jus’ like it is now.”

Jamie’s hand rested gently over the placket of her suit jacket, where he could surely feel the trip hammering of her pulse.

“Please,” she begged.  “Don’t.  I can’t...”

“Can’t what, Sassenach?” he whispered back, goading her.

The truth hung on her lips, and the toll of the past few days meant that she no longer had the strength to stop it from spilling forth.

“Can’t have children.  Ever.  I tried, for years.  Fourteen miscarriages, fourteen lost chances.  And seeing you with those children last week.  I know it’s presumptive, but I could never deny you that chance, Jamie.  That’s why I can’t see you anymore.”

She was looking down, watching the buttons of his shirt rise and fall with his agitated breath, but as she finished speaking, their movement ceased.  Chancing a glance upward, she was stunned by the fury that had overtaken his expression. 

Jamie opened and closed his mouth several times before he managed to speak in a gritty growl.

“Mutation of the RUNX1 gene tha’ causes leukemia.  I was tested, along wi’ Jenny an’ Ian, after Maggie was diagnosed.  I have a fifty percent chance of passing it along tae my children.  An’ since I canna stand the thought of ano’er bairn havin’ tae suffer as Maggie has, as soon as I got the test results, I went out an’ had a vasectomy.”

Claire recoiled as though she’d been slapped, a high pitched whine in her ears.

“Ye’re no’ the only one who’s hurting, Claire!” Jamie continued, voice dashing against the rocks of her name.  “We’re no’ meant tae suffer alone.  Ye, of all people, should ken that.”

Stunned in the silence following the thunderclap of his revelation, she couldn’t find the words to express her sorrow, her outrage, and her crippling shame.  By the time the power of speech returned, Jamie was gone. 

[roetrolls]

Can you tell me the lore of your ocs and your blog? I'm fairly new and on mobile, so the embedded links in pinned don't work for me I'm afraid. 😅

Sure thing! Thank you so much for being interested in my characters ^^

I've actually been waiting until this plot concludes to update everything, so those links won't be much help anyways. There's quite a bit, but I'll do my best to give you everything relevant to the current happenings!

There are two converging plots going on right now: The Flashback arc and the Thorezille arc. We'll start with the former!

FLASHBACK ARC

It begins with Benjin Mahkir and his backstory. Ben's ancestor, the Dominion, is a prominent figure and the head of his own church where followers worship him as a god. It's a cult.

Now, the Dominion, AKA Harlan Mahkir, is uh. Not a good guy! He's also 10'8 and I will never stop mentioning it because oh my god that's so scary. Harlan is obsessed with his legacy, so he tracked his descendant down when Benjin was just a kid and snatched him up to be raised as a perfect successor.

This was all stuff I had before everyone's favorite agent of chaos @sasster came to play in my sandbox. So. We backplotted.

Turns out Harlan was moirails with Chase's troll Orfuse Saekul, a guy who can see events from both the past and future! He saw one day that Harlan would turn into a megalomaniacal tyrant and went "Uh-oh! I should fix him!" (Spoilers: He couldn't fix him)

There's a lot more to it than that, but I don't want this to get too long, so we'll leave it at that for this overview. All you need to understand right now is that Harlan was extremely possessive of Orfuse and also currently owns all the journals he wrote detailing the events of the future.

Now, back to Benjin. Forcibly adopted by his ancestor. Grew up in an environment that was just... SO fucked. Harlan has the power to compel people and, if they take something from his hands, puppet them completely for a time. He's done this to Ben so many times that Benjin has permanently lost some control of his body to Harlan.

Ben had resigned himself to his fate, but eventually askers convinced him to try escaping, which he did with the help of his only friend, Veylin Kenshe. Veylin is a psychic empath who can feel and manipulate the emotions of herself and others. She lived alone in the arctic to avoid the pain of involuntary empathic readings!

Anyways. Veylin helped Ben get in contact with some people who could help him escape, and they did, and he was safe and happy. But Harlan didn't really like losing his heir, so he kidnapped Veylin (who he knew about through Orfuse's journals) to 1) find a way to use her powers for his own gain and 2) bait Benjin back.

Soon after that, he went and kidnapped Orfuse's descendant too, just to have him. You know. As a keepsake. Veylin and Zurven get close while they're trapped together.

Then Benjin found out they had Veylin and came running back without thinking because that boy's got some MAJOR trauma from watching Harlan kill the last person he dared to care about.

And Harlan is thrilled. He's got his puppet (Ben), his tool (Veylin), and his trophy (Zurven) all right in front of him. He starts having fun.

That's when we get 3 separate drabbles showing how he fucks with each member of Flashback in a specific way! Veylin gets his symbol carved into her arm, Zurven has his powers triggered beyond their limit, and Ben has to relive his traumatic childhood organ lessons for an audience (Zurv and Vey)

They're really only getting through this by leaning on each other. Anywho! That's status quo for PLOT ONE OF TWO. Harlan's fucked up game of house where he traumatizes 3 young adults for fun.

THOREZILLE ARC

Chase and I made new characters together, and then we roped @ask-the-troll-boys in as well. Hi Dami <3

Welcome to Thorezille, an idyllic town with an associated cavern, run by Remora Ofidis and Redivi Duxile respectively. Redivi is Chase's! Remora's his husband :) He's very in love! A little too in love, honestly. It's scary.

I can't tell you too much about Thorezille, because a lot of that is still being revealed, but everyone is aware by now that things aren't as perfect as the seem, as evidenced by my ship w/ Damien, Canidly Fowl Harts, made up of Theoci Chorda, Marqez Tsakal, and Hirsch Geweih (Damien's!) who live there.

Theo was raised in Thorezille by Redivi himself, but he moved away for unknown reasons before returning with his two boyfriends.

We (actually just you guys) don't know how these plots converge, just that they do, thanks to a vision Zurven had of Redivi being pissed about Veylin.

There are, of course, other characters and other plotlines going on, but this is getting long, so I'll leave it here unless you want me to explain certain character specifically!

[artisqueer]

RetroBangBoy AU - The Hangover (ao3)

Notes: 

hang·o·ver /ˈhaNGˌōvər/ noun 1. a thing that has survived from the past. Example: "a hangover from the fifties" 2. a severe headache or other after-effects caused by an excessive intake of alcohol or drugs

Characters: OT7

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Brief mentions of alcohol.

Jungkook wakes up parched, hungry, and with a pounding in his head. He pushes the covers off his face and down his chest. His long fluffy hair standing from the static of the sheets. He stretches out his arms above his head, dragging out a groggy yawn. It feels like he’s just woken up from a century-long nap. He looks up past his hands outstretched in the air. The posters above his bed are the same. He looks down, past his bare feet at the bottom of the bed. His drum set, books, and gadgets are all in their place too.

Huh…what year is it?

A heavy thump on the other side of the wall startles him out of bed. The crash is immediately followed by a low moan. Jungkook dashes out to the hall where Yoongi is already standing at the entrance of the bedroom next door. His eldest roommate chuckles behind a mug of coffee, head tilted 90 degrees to the side. Jungkook peers inside the room to see the source of the ruckus, his round head naturally tilts to the side as well. They both stand in the doorway, observing their housemate, Namjoon.

On the floor, upside down, legs folded over his shoulders.

“Where are we?” he asks as he looks up at them from between his thighs.

Yoongi shuffles back to the kitchen, holding his head in pain. “It looks like we’re not in Jeju anymore…” His voice is raspy and deep.

***

Jungkook’s round eyes bounce back and forth across their house, looking for clues to explain their current predicament. His head is throbbing with pain too. He suddenly remembers his thirst and runs to the kitchen for water.

Once Namjoon has restored himself to a perpendicular position, he joins them in the kitchen too.

“Why does my head hurt? Did we get shit-faced last night?” Jungkook groans into the kitchen counter.

“I can’t remember,” Yoongi grimaces between gulps of coffee.

“Is it a week-day? We have never gone out on a school night… I would never go out on a school night!” Namjoon folds his thick arms across his chest and blinks. “I’m so hungry.”

Jungkook turns away from the sink and his eyes pop at the sight. A whole ass meal, complaining about the lack of a meal...in the kitchen of all places. pls.

“Me too. We better go out for food. There’s nothing to eat here.” Yoongi says with very little energy.

“How can that be? I always stock up on groceries!” Namjoon frantically checks the cabinets and cupboards, finding them all bare.

“What the hell did we do?” The two eldest housemates look at one another, dumbfounded. Jungkook leans into the kitchen wall, aggressively chewing on his thumb. He's nervous, eyes big and wide. He opens his mouth to speak when the phone rings.

Ring ring ring.

Namjoon answers it, rather desperately. “Hello?”

“Good, you’re home.” The voice on the other end breathes out a sigh of relief. “It’s me. Taehyung. Emergency meeting. Your place. Now!”

***

“So, we’re all blacked out from yesterday. We have the worst hangover of our lives. And Bighead and Jin are missing…” Jungkook repeats as he paces back and forth the living room.

Hoseok enters the breakfast nook and sets down an extra-large pan of sunny side eggs and sausage. He steps back before the starved men wipe it clean.

“What’s gotten into you? You’re all so hungry today,” Hoseok scorns them as a smile grows on his lips. He’s thrilled that he finally gets to cook for them. Jin normally does all the cooking.

“You’re not going to eat?” Jimin asks him from behind a mouth full of food.

“I just don’t feel hungry,” Hoseok shrugs. He wipes his hands on his apron. “I brought us enough groceries to last through the week, so eat well.” Oddly, Hoseok has more energy than everyone in the room put together.

Taehyung speaks from the head of the table. “Guys, we’re not all blacked out—which is why I called everyone here..."

They look up at him from their plates, still eating like the food will be taken away if they stop.

"I remember everything.”

Jungkook interrupts. “Wait. Has anyone checked the date?!” He wiggles out of his chair and nearly trips running to the front porch, where the Sunday paper should be.

Having just eaten to the brim, Yoongi yawns and casually turns on the TV set, out of habit. The display does something completely new. Huh, TVs don't have color? Jimin and Hoseok are most mesmerized by this, moving to sit at the foot of the screen as a Coca-Cola commercial plays:

It's more than taste,

Bigger than a name,

As big as your best times,

As good as your best friends,

As real as the way you feel…

Jungkook runs back with the newspaper all spread out into disarray like his long dark hair. “Um…guys?”

There’s a long pause in the room.

“We’re not in the fifties anymore…”

What—

Their wide eyes look from him to the television and back. There’s only one thing that could mean coming from Jungkook…and it’s not good.

“We, uh, must’ve jumped twenty-seven years into the future,” he scratches the back of his round head. “It’s...1985.”

Taehyung clears his throat. “You guys will need to sit down for this. I can explain.”

***

They gather in the living room. Namjoon and Yoongi take up the couch, Jungkook sits on the floor between them, and Hoseok and Jimin share the love seat.

Taehyung’s knack for taking pictures and love for journalism make him a natural storyteller. His fine hands sway in the air as he talks. “You all have varying degrees of memory loss. For some very strange reason, I can remember everything that’s happened to us in the last 48 hours.”

Tae recounts their field trip and the events leading up to the portal inside the Manjjanggul Lava tube. How Jin wanted to hide the portal from the lab, Heaven Inc., but Jungkook wanted to destroy it. How Namjoon, Hoseok, Jimin, and Yoongi stormed the cave clearing as Jungkook was opening the portal gate. How Namjoon and Jin fought each other as the cave collapsed. And most importantly, how they were all unexpectedly pulled into the warp after Jungkook. All, except Jin and their beloved Bighead.

Their memories start coming back to them, piece by piece. Oddly, it’s as though only Taehyung could trigger their recollections.

“I don’t understand.” Namjoon finds his glasses and puts them on. Suddenly, he looks more like a professor than a biker. Big-tiddied mathematician. “Why is Taehyung the only one who remembers what happened?”

Taehyung thinks for a moment before an unusual blush forms at his cheeks. “Probably ‘cause I appreciate art. So, I remembered.”

“Uhm, ok. And why doesn’t Hoseok have hangover symptoms like the rest of us?” Yoongi crosses his arms, which seemingly grew thicker in the micro-span of the jump.

Hoseok vibrates from his place next to Jimin. His bright smile radiating through the room. “Ooh, I know I know. ‘Cause I’m your hope! Everyone was totally beat, but I could give you my energy. Like sunshine to a dying plant or light at the end of a dark tunnel or a—”

“—mOtH tO a FlAmE,” the rest mock. Apparently, no one forgot Hoseok’s notorious house party pick-up lines. They all laugh.

Could this be? Do some of the jocks have certain abilities now? What about the bikers?

“We have another problem: where is Sweetcheeks, and Seokjin?” Taehyung seems frustrated.

“And another problem: why did we all get warped with Jungkook in the first place?” Jimin pouts. “What about our families, and my—”

“—Cat! Your cat! Cats have nine lives. For three they play, for three they stray and for the last three, they stay. Why...did I just say that? It feels so familiar, so stran—” Yoongi stops talking out loud, resorting to mumbling to himself instead. He quickly grabs the paper from Jungkook and begins searching it for something.

The others continue to talk over each other, flooded with their worries and bits of things they’re starting to remember. The upcoming homecoming game, the unattended house parties, mourning parents, exams, etc.

“Quiet!” Namjoon’s clear and booming voice silences the room.

“I don’t know,” Jungkook fiddles with his tattooed fingers. “I-I don’t know why I dragged you all here with me. That’s what I have to figure out. I will figure it out. I promise. I’m worried too. If Bighead and Jin didn’t get warped here with us, maybe they, they ended up in a different d—” they sit in silence, thinking the worst.

“No no, that can’t be,” Namjoon reassures. “Given everyone’s memory lapse and their expert recklessness, they may have just wandered off.”

“We have to go back,” Jungkook says. “We have to go back to 1958.”

“How? We’re stuck here,” Yoongi deadpans, his nose still in the paper.

“Actually,” Jimin recalls, “on my way over here I stopped by the coffee shop…and um…well my boss didn’t recognize me at all. He didn’t even know my name.” Jimin’s worries grow. It’s unlike Jimin to walk down the street without a single greeting. He is—was—very popular.

“It's starting to make sense...” Jungkook says under his breath.

“What does, Jungkook.” Namjoon’s jaw does the thing.

“People don’t recognize us in this place because,” he pauses, “because we’re not from here. I don’t mean this town, I mean, this dimension.”

Namjoon presses a finger to his lips, thinking.

“We should pick new names and find temporary jobs. To blend in. We can't go back to school, we don't have identification. We need the money anyway,” Yoongi advises, “to support ourselves while Jungkook figures out a way back.” Yoongi seems to have become incredibly wiser after the jump. He peels the paper apart, pen in hand, circling jobs from the employment section. He looks up from the paper again. “How did I know to say that?”

“Whoa, are you like, a genius now?” Jimin sasses, as much to tease him as to distract from the impending doom that is being stuck in the future.

“No.” Yoongi scoffs, withholding a severe blush. “It’s like I’ve read all the books at the library, and lived nine lives since we left 1958. I just, know things.”

Namjoon nods in agreement. “It’s the best plan we’ve got. If twenty-seven years have passed since our “disappearance”, then our sudden re-emergence could bring unwanted attention, or worse…”

“Could someone still be looking for us after all years?” Jimin asks Tae. Hoseok instantly understands and wraps him in a comforting embrace.

“We need to sort this out as quietly as possible. Let’s keep low profiles until we figure out a way to get back to 1958. I don’t want us to get tangled in loose ends.” Namjoon sighs somberly. Being the leader of the biker gang has made him a suitable leader for whatever mish-mosh-of-a-gang this is now. “We’re in a different dimension and we don’t entirely know what that means. It could be dangerous, but as long as we stick together we will be okay. My priority is to keep us all safe.”

At this declaration, all eyes sparkle. Especially, Jungkook’s.

“I got us here, Joon. You can trust me to find us a way home,” Jungkook gets up from the floor, making for the door.

“Stop!” Jimin interrupts. “We can’t go out dressed like this.”

They look down at their clothes. They are still in their 50s outfits.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Yoongi puts down the paper and pouts.

Hoseok pounces off the sofa, “YES! New clothes…get up get up! We’re off to the mall!” He tosses his apron aside and leads them out the front door. Namjoon and Yoongi groan, dragging their feet toward the back of the group.

Jungkook smiles ear to ear. Maybe the world is not quite right, but everything he truly wants is right here with him.