#and him being thrown into a manic depressive state

[violettwrites]

tp!daryl — your relationship with his older brother

a/n: i fear i am world building i am so sorry 😭 but !! i have a love/hate relationship with merle and everything he does, so here’s my take on his relationship with reader.

yes i had to go scour the internet to find a photo of young(ish) merle, and this is the best i got so !

as always, if you enjoy my stuff, don’t forget to like, reblog, and/or comment !

my ask box is open for requests, or even if you just wanna have a chat !

➸ tp!daryl masterlist

➸ regular masterlist

resources: divider by @adornedwithlight

your relationship with merle dixon was like being caught in the middle of a storm— chaotic, wild, and unpredictable. daryl, on the other hand, was your anchor. he’s your best friend, the one who grounds you when everything else feels like it’s spinning out of control. he’s quiet, steady, and always there, even when words aren’t needed.

but merle, daryl’s older brother, is everything daryl isn’t— loud, abrasive, and constantly stirring up trouble. from the moment you had met him, merle had always been a thorn in your side, always teasing, always pushing your buttons. he thrives on getting under your skin, and you swear it’s become a sport for him. wether it’s his crude jokes or his constant attempts to get a rise out of you, merle has perfected the art of annoyance.

you had first met him not long after meeting daryl, only being young and a scrawny little thing. he was much older, with a cigarette between his lips, and a beer bottle in hand. at first, you were almost sure he was daryl’s dad, but when daryl had mumbled the words “this is my big brother, merle.” well, you were a little shocked to say the least.

“yer the (l/n) kid, ain’t ya,” he spoke, the same southern twang in his voice that daryl had, just a tad more mature. if you could call merle mature. “ya look like ya eat scraps, girlie ! what’s wrong with ya !”

and that was how you met merle dixon.

you’d spent a lot of time with both daryl and merle growing up, shoved between the two of them in the old truck merle drove around, hands pressed between your thighs in attempt to make yourself smaller, all three of you staring out the front windshield of the truck. or squished on the couch together between the two brothers, watching whatever shitty war movie was on the tv. you eventually learned why you were always shoved between the two of them.

to stop them fighting.

you remember the first time you ever witnessed daryl and merle get into a fight. watching daryl tackle merle to the ground, dust kicking up about them as they rolled around on the dirt. profanities being thrown around along with fists. you were stunned, not knowing what to do until you’re grabbing onto someone’s elbow, trying to pull them off the other. until you’re elbowed in the face yourself.

and that was the story of how merle dixon gave you a blood nose for the first time.

“merle you fucking idiot !” daryl shouted at him, crouching down next to you, an arm around your shoulder while you cradled your nose. you had tears in your eyes, not because you were upset, but because he whacked you right on the nose and it just fucking hurt.

daryl claimed it needed to be fair, that you deserved to hit merle back, to make it even. merle, of course, protested. “i ain’t done nothin’ wrong ! girlie over here got in the way ! it’s ‘er own fault !”

you were just thirteen when you got to punch merle in the nose for the first time.

you had seen merle in several different states during your time at the trailer park. happy, sad, drunk, high, manic, depressed— you name it. he had most likely felt it. you had seen him trip down the steps of their trailer, face planting into the mud when it was storming. you had also watched him almost fall into the fire pit one night, drunk as a skunk. the only reason he didn’t end up in the fire was because daryl was quick to push him the other way.

daryl claimed he hated merle, but he obviously cared.

merle was often the one to drop the both of you off at school. pantera blasting through his shitty truck speakers as he told the both of you to “get the fuck outta my truck and go do some learnin’ !”

he wouldn’t stop listening to pantera. it was his favourite band.

you had been teased relentlessly throughout the years by merle. he’d often call you names like girlie, pipsqueak, bag o’ bones— the list was endless. however, when you got to that age where you were turning into a “woman”, the nicknames changed. sugar, sweetheart, doll face. you couldn’t escape it.

but there was one thing he never did, and it was lay a finger on you. unless you obviously count the time he elbowed you in the nose. but you agreed. that was an accident.

you were never afraid to bite back. you had that feisty nature from growing up with those two boys, and you always had a comeback. no matter what. even if it was telling him to “shut the fuck up.” that was a big part of your vocabulary growing up.

he treated you like his own— he protected you like his own. you never thought you’d admit it, but you did care about merle. his chaos never seemed malicious. it was more like he was trying to break down your walls, see what you’re made of. and while he drives you insane, there’s a strange sort of balance in your lives. daryl’s your rock, your calm. but merle, in his chaotic way, forces you out of your comfort zone. he keeps your sharp, on your toes.

even if he pissed you off to no end.

[radioactive-earthshine]

On the other hand Geoff Johns did to Tim and Kon what any fan probably would have done; immediately canonized their deepest and most fervent headcanons. He wanted them to be the bestest of friends soooo bad as confirmed in at least two letters to the editor he sent in the 90s.

[midnitevintage]

Characters I Headcanon have Bipolar disorder

(From the perspective of someone living with Bipolar 2)

**Disclaimer**

This is all meant to be in good fun and I’m no mental health expert; merely someone who has been through lots of therapy

Let’s Begin!

1. Rin Okumura from Blue Exorcist

I’ve always related to Rin Okumura, especially during the time I was under the mistaken diagnosis of ADD. I was surprised to learn from this that a lot of symptoms of bipolar can look like ADD/ADHD at times.

For example, Rin is shown to be someone who is easily distracted or fixated on new topics. He also tends to sleep a lot which is confirmed in the manga by the fact that this boy sleeps 12 hours every night. And finally a major factor that clued me in is how easily he is swayed by his emotions which leads him to act impulsively.

Rin’s emotions tie him to his demonic half which in turn can cause a lot of inner turmoil for him. I’m sure anyone with bipolar can relate in feeling like their change to either a manic/hypomanic state can cause them to feel like a demon and out of control. But as is shown in the series, by practicing to focus on his emotions, Rin learns to lessen and control his symptoms.

2. Gangle from The Amazing Digital Circus

I know I know, I’m lowkey pulling for stereotypes here with the tragedy and comedy masks. And on top of that this is a series with only a pilot so we hardly know anything concrete about her character. 😂

Everyone in the digital circus seems to play a role based off of their avatar given to them. As a being with two different masks, Gangle is very sensitive to the way in which she acts when her comedy mask is broken.

She tends to be very anxious and sensitive to the events that unfold around her both physically and mentally (she unravels from a mere bowling ball being thrown her way by Jax).

In some fandom interpretations of her character I’ve seen interesting depictions that also heavily give bipolar vibes like Gangle having an abstracted self tied to her ribbons or forcing on her comedy mask. I love Gangle and this pilot.

3. Captain SpaceBoy from Omori

Oh poor Captain SpaceBoy. He’s so heavily influenced by any mood swings he experiences that he seems to take on an entirely new persona whether it be SpaceBoyfriend, Space-ExBoyfriend, SpaceHusband, or Space-ExHusband.

When you first meet his character, you can clearly see he is depressed as he refuses to leave his bed and throws away any special possessions that remind him of his heart ache. Later on he even goes as far as to isolate himself on top of a snowy mountain when the heartache returns to him again..

He is also easily consumed by a rage which seems similar to a manic/hypomanic state that leads him to fight the main cast of characters. Also when it comes to his special boss battle I find it interesting how you can only defeat him by fighting him in certain states of emotion.

4. Howl Jenkins Pendragon from Howl’s Moving Castle

Howl is undeniably a drama Queen, but some of the ways in which he takes certain actions give me some bipolar vibes.

There is of course the infamous scene in which he throws a tantrum due to Sophie organizing his hair dye potions. He swings very quickly from being irritated and enraged to absolutely inconsolable and depressed. He even spends that next couple hours in bed after this scene.

Howl also tends to lead himself to danger as he appears to be in heightened states of euphoria when he pushes himself to the limit with his magic. He is also rather impulsive when it comes to the relationships he makes with others if we are going off of his book persona.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But above all!! All these characters are shown to be good people who genuinely care about the feelings of others and try to do their best to help even when their own mental health is bringing them down.

Bipolar individuals are more than their disorder; we are all kind people ♥️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And that’s all! Lemme know what you think :)

[valleyofthe-lily]

Journal Entry #1

My days are pretty normal now. I think I’ve figured out how to function like a regular human being. This was not something I accomplished on my own, of course. A hearty dose of Lamictal, Vraylar, Adderall, and Hydroxyzine have all aided me in my journey of mental stability. That and extensive therapy. It also helps that my new psychiatrist, whom I’ve been seeing for almost two years now, actually believes what I tell him. It’s gratifying, finally being understood by a professional who takes my afflictions seriously. 

I wake up very early now. I always wake up very early when I’m unstable, so, when this began, I was appropriately concerned. I’ve been relatively stable for about ten months now, and I have no interest in reverting to a depressed or hypomanic state. Instability can be interesting or even fun at times, but I’ve found that the pros of hypomania eventually dissipate into the worst depressions I’ve ever experienced. I’ve had so many episodes at this point, all of increasing severity, that I know I can’t afford to go through any others. It’s been long enough now waking up early that it no longer concerns me, though.

I don’t think most people understand just how life-altering a serious depression or manic episode can be. Everytime I have an episode, my life is thrown completely off kilter. I withdraw from school, I lose my scholarships, I can’t work, I spend all the money I have, I don’t have any cares whatsoever. I’m constantly left picking up the pieces and trying to salvage the course of life I was on before. For the first time, I’m convinced that I’ll be able to stick out the stability I’m experiencing for a long time. I think that I’ve finally found the right mix of medications that work for me, with minimal side effects, and my routine and quality of life have never been better.

I don’t think I’ll ever be a happy person, but I’m content with where I’m at, and that’s all I can ever ask for. Even though I’m only taking one class right now, at least I didn’t have to withdraw from all of them again. My medical petition from last year was approved, so I have almost $2000 dollars of scholarship money I had to repay into my student account for tuition next semester. I even have a daily routine now. People who struggle with chronic depression understand just how difficult routines can be to maintain when you can barely even function each day. I think we all understand how important routines are for maintaining stability, but I’ve never been able to successfully sustain one. Now, I sleep a normal seven to eight hours a night (instead of twelve, plus three hour naps everyday), wake up from 1:30 to 5:45 in the morning, do my homework, go to class, eat regular meals, and I make time for myself in the evenings. I’ve also regularly been seeing my friends, and I’ve made a few new ones this year, too. 

Waking up extremely early has been my favorite aspect of my new routine. If I wake up early enough, from one to three, I’ll wake and bake. If I do this, I’ll usually do the dishes, get my laundry out of the way, clean the apartment, make breakfast, and end with a movie. I can usually get all of this done before 8 AM. Despite my currently extremely productive lifestyle, I still struggle in certain areas of my life. I still probably abuse weed; I use it at least once a day. At this point, I’m trying to be intentional about my usage. I no longer do it when I’m bored and have nothing else to do. I found that having a routine with your weed consumption also helps with intentional usage. I’m also still severely addicted to nicotine. I have no excuses for intentional use there. I’ve made a goal to finally quit by the end of the next semester, and, although I’m apprehensive, I’m determined to cut it out of my life. I know it only makes my symptoms worse when I’m in a bad place, and I don’t want it interfering with my progress in any way. Quitting is easier said than done, obviously. Life is looking up for me, though, in all other regards. I’ve been thinking I might actually make it lately.

[sauerkrauted]

Anyone want a 600+ word outline of a Joker!Deku AU origins i wrote in my notes? If someone wants to uses this for a fic, PLEASE DO!!! all i ask is you tell me so i can read it too!! Im not a writer but i like making up concepts :)

*CW for bullying, abuse, gore, violence, death, suicide and probably more - it's dark y'all

The "Deku!Joker" AU

- Izuku is bullied more ruthlessly than canon.

- Hisashi, his father, is a cop. When izuku is labeled quirkless, his father becomes extremely abusive to him and inko for years before he decides he's bored and transfers to another city and leaves them when izuku is 12.

- inko tried to be a good mom, told him to keep smiling like all might no matter what.

- but inko took most of the abuse for izuku and starts to become depressed, dissociative and neglectful, leaving izuku to basically raises himself.

- to cope he creates a mask of the cheerful kid that smiles when he is being bullied because All Might smiles no matter what!

- he still loves all might, hero's are the only thing keeping him going.

- Bullying becomes increasingly physical in middle school (middle schoolers are evil) and he gets constant beatings, threats, suicide baiting; teachers letting it happen in front of them, joining in, and blooming him for fights, lower his test grades and "lose" his homework.

- by his last year in middle school, izuku is starting to break, he's extremely depressed, contemplating suicide, and starting to have violent thoughts of revenge (which for now he staunchly suppresses and berates himself for, repeatedly telling himself to keep smiling)

- a week before the sludge incident inko commits suicide, leaving izuku a note that ends with "keep smiling"

- izuku is too scared to go into foster care so he takes her body and buries her and pretends like nothing happened.

- he's strangely empty about his mothers death and goes through the next week in a daze

- his classmates go extra hard on him this week because he's not responding and they try to get a rise out of him, it doesn't work, bakugo says his bit throws the journal

- sludge villain happens, izuku is not really caring weather he lives or dies but hope sparks in his chest when All Might appears.

- all might doesn't end up revealing his secret because he has a bit more time than canon, but he's getting desperate to get away from this kid and ends up being a bit more harsh to him, and says, with a smile (grimace) still on his face "no, a quirkless person could not be a hero in todays age, they're is nothing they could do" (meaning nothing they could do to become a hero, but vague wording makes it sound like he's saying a quirkless person can't do anything) and he leaves before izuku and respond

- when all might leaves, izuku snaps, he starts hurting himself and goes into a mental breakdown crying and screaming on the rooftop

- he makes a makeshift weapon from a piece of metal found on the roof and manically starts carving a smile into his face mumbling "keep smiling, keep smiling, keep smiling" before someone calls the cops on him for the noise.

- seeing the manic state he's in, holding a weapon and covered in blood, they think he is a villain and arrest him.

- by this time izuku has come down from the breakdown and is dissociated in the interrogation room.

- the cops figure out who he is, and try to contact his mother, getting no response they begin to investigate.

- they come to the conclusion that inko is dead and it must have been izuku who killed her

- he's thrown into a max security psych ward and treated like a criminal

- izuku quickly spirals and with his only coping mechanism turned a traitor in his own mind he begins to entertain the violent thoughts he's been having about his classmates, teachers, father, and now hero's

- he gets sicker and sicker in the psych ward until he comes to the conclusion that he wants revenge and breaks himself out.

- he begins by planning revenge on his classmates...

- tbc

*this is not edited just thought of on the spot, so if there's glaring plot holes, ignore them.

[galaxiesandstarlightinherveins]

Something Good Can Work

Dhawan!Master x Reader

Summary: Reader has a flare up and the Master is there to comfort you. Hurt/Comfort 

CW: Depression. Chronic Illness. 

A/N: I’ve never written Y/N before. Never been into it to be honest. But I’m obsessed with Dhawan!Master and I’ve been having a flare up so here we are. 

It was nine at night, a mindless television show filled the silence of your lonely apartment, and you were overwhelmed. It snuck up on you, a slow creeping suffocation that stole your breath and led your mind to dark places. The panic of it all made you restless. Your foot tapping out a familiar beat of four as you stared off into space. You couldn’t focus. There was a haze that overtook you and muddled your thoughts. It was a struggle to maintain any sense of coherence.  

The Master left you on Earth weeks ago saying that he couldn’t afford to waste time looking after his pet when he had a delicate scheme to execute. It wasn’t his leaving you that made you like this so much as it was the absence of the distraction he could provide. The mania, chaos, the do or die that so very often came with his travels, and the destruction he enjoyed bringing to the universe provided a constant distraction from the tangled mess in your head and the tremors in your body. 

Now that he was gone, it all came rushing back. You’ve always been isolated from the people around you. Your mental state and bad rough making it difficult for you to keep up with friendships. You have long since stopped talking to your family, no longer able to handle the toxicity that came with your mother. What little social skills you had were especially shot after traveling with the Master for so long. 

You were bored and lonely and in so much pain. The Master knew of your chronic illness but you rarely ever discussed it with him. You were constantly pushing yourself past your limits to keep up with him. After all, you didn’t want to give him any reason to leave you for good. So you pushed and you pushed. Fatigue left your body heavy with pain and still you pushed. You made sure that he would never know of just how much of a struggle it was for you to travel with him. It often led to flare ups like this when he leaves you and you can finally stop for a minute and let your body rest. 

“Shh…” You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt the Master wiping away your tears. You didn’t even hear him arrive. You’ve never seen him so concerned before. He was on his knees before you, looking up at you with his sad puppy eyes. His eyes, usually so manic and angry, were soft at the sight of you. It was disconcerting to say the least. 

“Master?” Your voice was timid, scared of what he may say. You’ve spent so much time and effort avoiding having him see you in such a state. You didn't want him to know. He already thought you weak, there was no telling what he’d think of you now. 

“Y/N, what's wrong?” The Master held your face in between his palms. Those hands have destroyed planets, brought entire dynasties to their knees, seduced kings and queens, and now they’re comforting you. “Hey, I’m here now, love. What happened?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to talk. You simply didn’t have the focus or energy to. Instead, you felt yourself break even more as you wrapped your arms around his neck, sending the both of you tumbling to the ground. He held you as you sobbed and you couldn’t hold back your emotions any longer. 

“Oi, who do I have to kill?” He said softly in an attempt to make you smile. You knew it was only half jokingly as you were aware that he’d slaughter anyone who made you upset. He has actually. You briefly remembered a commander on some planet who had said some rather cruel insults concerning you and the ensuing takeover led by an irate Time Lord. 

“No one.” You muttered, thinking you only had yourself to blame for this situation. You and your stupid body. A part of you was just happy to have him like this. He was always so sharp and callous even in his treatment of you. Your mind screamed at you, telling you that this was only a dream and that he’d never actually be here comforting you. You heard him inhale sharply and gripped you tighter. The both of you were laid out on the flour with you on his chest and you couldn’t help but hold him tighter. There was no telling the next time you could touch him like this. 

“You’re projecting, dear.” He muttered quietly, causing you to freeze. This was it. He finally realized how much of a wreck you were and he was going to leave you. The Master rubbed your shoulders in an attempt to ground you. He started to sit up, bringing you with him. His back was now against the couch and he held you against his chest. His heartbeat calmed you as it gave you something other than sheer panic to focus on. “No, no no. I wouldn’t leave you, love.” 

“But you do, all the time. I never know if you’re going to come back for me.” You admitted softly. 

“I’ll always come back, pet.” He sighed. “This is how you recuperate, right? I know that you have problems with your health and I assumed you prefer being here to heal. Our travels aren't always the easiest on you.”

“You knew? About how I…?” You trailed off. 

“How you struggle? Yes, love. You’re not exactly good at hiding your thoughts.” 

“And you still came back? I thought you hated me like this.”

“What part of I’ll always come back don’t you get.” He was annoyed and suddenly you were scared again. He ran a callous hand through his hair. “Oi. Don’t be like that. You don’t have to be scared. Just talk to me.”

“Huh?” He wanted you to talk to him? You thought he hated it when you rambled. 

“Do you really think so little of me? I know I haven’t exactly been the kindest to you, but surely you aren’t that frightened of me?” 

You didn’t have anything to respond to that. He was often so volatile that you never knew what to say without risking him exploding. You tried to be patient, knowing that he often needed to vent and have someone to go off on. But it left you unsure where you stood with him. Were you companions, friends, partners or were you nothing more than a pet to him. 

“Fuck. You are, aren't you? Is this why you never talk to me?” 

“Not frightened, no. Just nervous.” You gathered up all your nerves, knowing you were going to need them to have this conversation. Neither of you were particularly good with emotions. “There are days that you seem happy to have me around and there are days which I can't seem to do anything right. You always yell, regardless.” 

“Y/N, I, fuck.” He sighed deeply. You’ve never seen him so hesitant before. “I’m sorry. You’re always so resilient to whatever gets thrown your way. I never gave any thought to my words.” 

You chuckled sadly. “I have to be most days. It's hard living like this, traveling with you. But I love it, especially on the good days. I could do without the constant pain and fatigue, though.” 

“About that;” The Master turned you around to where he was eye to eye with you. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad? Don’t try to lie, please, I can feel it radiating from you.”

“I didn’t want to be abandoned. But you knew that already.” You buried your face in his neck, unable to look him in the eye. 

“It can’t be just that, love.” It was nice having him run his fingers through your hair. You never realized how touch starved you were before this. “There’s more to it then that. You can tell me.”

“Hmm.” By the stars, it was so nice having him here like this. Never would you have imagined him holding you and comforting you. “I didn’t want you to think any less of me. I know you hate humans already.” I couldn’t bear you hating me, you thought knowing that he’ll hear you.

“I couldn’t possibly hate you, dear.” He knew what those pet names did to you. “What I hate is thinking of you suffering in silence; too scared to talk to me.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for. I should have been more aware of your needs.” 

You tensed at that. “I’m not a pet.” 

“No, you’re not. You’re still mine; however, and I need to start taking better care of you.” He grabbed your face again, caressing your jaw. “Which means, I need you to communicate with me. Stop trying to take on everything by yourself, especially me. You can tell me to shut up, you know.” 

You started to laugh. You couldn't imagine telling the Master of all people to shut up. That would be suicide for anyone else.  You poked him in the chest. “I actually like to hear you talk most of the time. Just don’t yell, ok?” 

“I can do that.” He grinned. You probably just gave him a huge ego boost which is the last thing he needed. “In return, I need you to be open with me about your health. Let me help you.”

You nodded and bit your lip. The next request you were going to make could change everything, if he’ll allow it. “Can I stay on the TARDIS, permanently? I don’t want to be on Earth any more. At least, not without you.”

“Of course you can, dear. In fact, I would be ecstatic to have you on board full-time.”

“Then why do you leave me here? I thought you didn’t want me in the way.” 

“I thought this was how you recuperated. Whenever I come back for you after a couple of weeks, you always seem renewed.” He was playing with your hair again. It was nice. 

“You’re not wrong, but not for the reasons you think. It catches up to me when I’m here. Everything stops and I crash. Then I sleep and rest as much as I can.” You wanted to cry again. The intimacy and honesty of the situation baffled you. You weren’t used to this. The Master was being soft to you, caring for you, and it was everything you ever wanted since you started traveling with him. “Sometimes I end up in the hospital.” 

He tensed at that. “You should have told me.” 

“Yea. I should have. I’m sorry.” 

“No apologizing. We’ve been over this.”

“I’m…” You felt a finger against your lips and the Master gave you a look. “Ok, no more apologizing.”

You felt a kiss on your forehead and you froze. This was getting to be too much. 

He chuckled at your blush. “Come on now, love. Let's get you officially moved in.” 

[rochey1010]

I must be the only one who liked these clips. I think many of you put eliott on a pedastal. He's this dashing prince that can't be flawed or dark. Thinking like that does a great disservice to his character.

I have a mental illness. Let me tell you why i relate to characters like Eliott and Lola. Because their thinking in those clips, and in life is 100% true. I made a post early on in the season of Eliott hitting bottom. And it's coming true. Of words said that would end up foreshadowing events to come. And they're coming true.

Mentally ill people's thinking are basically a barrage of negative thoughts that permeates the mind and sometimes drown out rationality and logic. Things like self loathing, toxicity, inadequacy, wrong, defective, freak.

And what helps those words stick is others through ignorance, hate or judgement reinforcing them. Eliott's own love Lucas did it in S3. Remember guys words hurt, sterotypes and predjudices hurt. How many times has Eliott stood around people with judging eyes that Eliott can't think for himself or is about to go mental. Hell the freakin fans are guilty of it. And how many people look at Lola and think she's gonna fall off the wagon and is a lost cause. You have to understand that it's not just Eliott and Lola's thinking. It's society and their thinking and how they treat others.

There was a time when a mental illness was a dirty, shameful secret and people were thrown in institutions to rot. That they were considered a waste of humanity and beyond help. Even today there are stigmas. Do you remember how we acted when Fifi died. Oh no eliott's gonna break and spiral. Waiting for eliott to slip. Even when other fans who understood bipolar posted that it's harmful to keep that kind of thinking. Not everthing a person does is because of their mental illness, that eliott is strong and can cope with upsets etc. There you freakin go. Now ask yourself why eliott feels that way when we clearly do about him.

And then lets hammer it home with lola knowing about the manic episode on the barge. Eliott's worst night, a night of shame and chaos for him. And it's spread around like it's the best story ever. Like it's some gossip. And if Lola heard it. It means the crew talked about it. Hey maybe some even laughed at how funny it was. And now ask yourself why people care and relate to Eliott. 😭

That conversation at the table with lola and eliott is so godamn relatable. Lola is bottom and hurting. She's hurting herself with vices but she knows how to hurt others with the weapon of words. She's very adept at it. And she has being doing it with Eliott. Picking at his fears and insecurities and not because she's evil but because it's lonely being rock bottom and you want someone to hurt with you.

I said this about Eliott. The root of his bipolar is believing he's a fuck up and too much. This is very much confirmed. It's why he hides, omitts, and runs, because he believes if those he loves know the true him. They'll write him off as he's everything his negative thoughts tell him he is.

I said he was the darkest Even. And i knew he'd gone off the rails in the past and done self destructive shit. It does not matter how much Eliott loves Lucas. His mental illness does not care. It screams as loud as possible and twists his thinking. His fears and insecurities are dependent on 2 things:

Control

Inadequecy

You have to understand that a mentally ill mind doesn't work the same. These 2 Lola and Eliott. A depressive and a bipolar have no control over their moods and emotions, struggle with power and agency and fear it being taken from them. That's why Eliott didn't pull rank on Lola and turn into her dad. Because he tried to take her home first and it didn't work. She made a scene and pulled away. So he asked her what she needed and she said a friend and someone to drink with. You don't tell Lola what to do. Because when you do it goes badly. And how does Eliott know that? Because telling Eliott what to do is something he hates and goes badly.

So yeah i liked seeing flawed Eliott who messes up because he's young and struggles. Life isn't a cake walk for him. And Tiff's friend took the video which means it's getting posted. And Eliott will have to address his issues once and for all. And Lola will have to come to terms with her dragging a friend who has been nothing but supportive and sweet to her. This is going to hit Lola hard at what she did to Eliott. I Love Lola but she was acting toxic in this clip and had an agenda. She knew what her words were as we've seen them several times over the season. She basically stuck the knife into Eliott and preyed on his insecurities and fears. And like i said, this is just objective. I'm not blaming Lola and don't want others to either. As both Eliott and Lola are young living daily with mental illnesses.

So based on my post. Eliott will hit bottom and that crying BTS is about to happen. And it looks like Lucas and Eliott are gonna address their issues. And Lola now has video evidence of her with her top off and Eliott being punched trying to help her. It's now self reflection time for Lola. I think she's gonna hate herself when she sees the state of Eliott.

[allandoflimbo]

Take It Back (Chapter 26)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary:  About five years ago, a one night stand with Y/N tore Bucky’s life apart. It was also the night before his wedding. Now he’s married to her sister and she needs a place to stay.

Chapter Warnings: None.

Take It Back Full Masterpage |

Boys workin' on empty Is that the kind'a way to face the burning heat? I just think about my baby I'm so full of love I could barely eat

Paris, France

She was a sight to behold - a silver tweed dress that fell just above the knees, accompanied by black six-inch heels with red soles; Louboutins.

Her long hair cascaded down her exposed back as she threw her head back in a gorgeous sounding laugh that had all the men around ogling her.

She held a tight grip on the vanilla flavored champagne, the other hand holding onto the clutch that carried her spare euros and a MAC matte red lipstick.

A particular brunette man had his hand on her lower back as she reached over to put her glass down, his wide smile mimicking hers.

Where his black suit hugged his male-model physique, her tan legs ran for days passed the edges of her dress and into her shoes- toned and appearing worked out to perfection.

At least that’s what the envious woman around her thought. Especially little blonde Kelly Sanders who eyed her from across the banquet floor, in a Valentino and all.

Little did they - Kelly especially - know that she was genetically lucky. Not having to go a day to the gym, she’d been blessed with curves in the right spots, a decent speed metabolism, and imperfections that were constantly overlooked, but to Ashlyn were bluntly obvious.

Not that she wanted people to see her imperfections or for them to vocally state their awareness about it - she had enough of that to deal with from her nagging self because of her extremely low self-confidence - but, sometimes, she wondered if the love the people around her showed her was really genuine.

She knew Tony’s wasn’t.

The only genuine thing in her life right now was Bucky, and she was ruining it because she thought she had been doing them a favor. Anything that once had a potential to be good in her life had been jeopardized by her, and she had spent the last five years trying to make up for it.

She’d do anything for her husband.

When you had turned to her in the train that one day many years ago, and brought up Kelly and her boyfriend and how they had gotten engaged after only five months of dating, any doubt she had about moving too quickly with Bucky had left her mind.

There was no doubt in her mind that what she had with him was rare and true love.

When she had seen his perfect blue eyes for the first time and the way he had reached out to flick a snowflake off of her hair, she had been caught in a trance.

It was like something out of a movie and her heart had fluttered when he gave her that iconic smile.

The smile that would soon belong to the man she’d end up marrying.

She knew who he was when she met him, but she had lied and pretended like she didn’t know. She was afraid of coming clean after so many months, afraid that it would make it look like she did it out of using him, when the truth was that she didn’t want him to think that his reputation was why she wanted to be with him in the first place.

They had swapped numbers after their first encounter, and she fell in love with him after two weeks, and she was certain he felt the same way.

Even you saw it; that un-denying chemistry.

Bucky was sweet, he was kind, and he was everything she had been waiting for since her parents had died.

After their death, she had felt more alone than ever.

She had already faced bipolar and other emotional issues before their death, you (her little sister), seeming to be the only light in her life anymore.

She knew there was times where she felt like she did things that didn’t make sense, or say things that didn’t make any sense either.

She would most often than not, realize it too late, but she knew.

She did it because of herself. She felt worthless and she felt like she deserved every consequence that was handed her way. She didn’t know why- maybe it was whatever unbalanced chemicals that were being produced in her brain that made her feel a certain way about herself.

Since a child, she never really found her true herself or who she was.

She was never certain about her identity, to begin with.

She didn’t help her mother cook in the kitchen like you did, and she never fit into any clique at school. She’d ditch going out on Friday nights to instead help you with your homework or your hair and makeup so you could go out and meet your friends.

Her senior year she had ditched the cafeteria and resorted to eating her lunch in the bathroom stall, the loneliness and the fear of being alone forever engulfing her.

The echoes of the footsteps in the bathroom from her classmates as she chewed her peanut butter and jelly sandwich - swallowed down by a gulp of chocolate milk - were her lullabies.

Not too long after, she was diagnosed with bipolar and depression by age nineteen, making sure she was keeping it from everyone around her.  

The last thing she wanted was to be treated the way she viewed herself.

The reason people were distant wasn’t because she was bullied or because people thought she was weird, she just didn’t know who exactly she was.

She didn’t know who she was until Bucky Barnes showed it to her.

He saved her in many more ways than she could ever say, and she goddamn loved him for it. He was her saving grace, and his presence reminded her just how much she needed to take care after you.

After your parent’s death she had become distant again, her depression was worst and she took it out on you, by no fault of her own.

When Bucky came into the picture, and he had upped her spirits in surprising ways that made her unbelievably happy, it was like a fog was cleared from her eyes and she was reminded that she had to take care of you.

It happened all because of him.

Ashlyn loved him with all her heart, but it came with a price.

Because of him, she discovered herself, and what she liked was material things and doing things for her husband, that in the long run, would benefit him [them].

Everything that she had transformed herself to become, which was now making her happier than ever, she had done it because of and for him.

And now that she’d been doing better mentally, after taking many drugs and lots of therapy, she found herself falling into the arms of another man.

When Mr. Barnes had taken her aside after their first interview, he had looked at her a certain way that made her tummy turn in uncertainty.

She had trembled slightly in apprehension as she saw a familiar form in his hand.

Resting his leg on his desk, his eyes darkened but remained on her.

It wasn’t to deny, Mr. Barnes had been a beautiful man (a silver fox in all ways), but he had made her feel uneasy with the way he stared at her ass when she had greeted her son earlier in the lobby.

The interview had gone well until she saw in his right hand a piece of paper that would either make or break it all.

“You didn’t have to keep this from us. Not me, especially my son, as I’m assuming he doesn’t know. Is there a reason why you chose to not mention this?”

He took Ashlyn’s silence as his answer and makes a sound of understanding.

“Why,” he taps the papers against his legs and walks around to sit in his big chair behind his desk, “did you keep your medical records a secret?”

Ashlyn swallowed nervously, her mouth opening but no sound coming out.

“Did you think this would stop me from hiring you?” Mr. Barnes wasn’t yelling, but his voice was strong. When she doesn’t say anything, he leans over his desk, drops the paper down, and with crossed hands continues, “look, you’re a sweet girl. And I see a lot of potential in you. You have good qualities, you stick up for what you want regardless of if it’s right or wrong-“

She couldn’t help it.

“I’m sorry, you got that from a fifteen-minute interview?” Ashlyn chuckles nervously.

Mr. Barnes smiles.

“Trust me, I have good instinct. Anyway, am I wrong?” When Ashlyn doesn’t respond, Mr. Barnes smirks, eyes drifting once more to her gorgeous legs, “bipolar, depression, anxiety, personality disorder, a manic episode-“ Ashlyn flinches with each word thrown at her, she feels it eating away at her bones and most importantly - her dignity. He notices and his eyes soften, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Many famous businessmen, celebrities, big figure names—suffer from the same illnesses. It doesn’t make you any less human or capable.”

A breath of relief escapes her lungs.

Ashlyn nodded.

He smirked.

“Come here, I want to show you something.”

She had followed him out to the large window and stood there next to her for a few minutes before continuing.

“You see this?” Ashlyn followed his gaze out into the city, the hundreds of people walking below in the streets, the famous buildings hanging high in the skies like goddamn trophies, “Barnes Enterprises owns about seventy five percent of everything you’re seeing. From the Hudson to the bay-“ He turned slowly to Ashlyn and examined her face, “I see the way your eyes shine when you look at it.”

Ashlyn swallows as her eyes drift down, “It’s all really nice. Everything he’s done for me so far, it’s almost like he knows exactly what I need. It’s like he’s cured me.” She trembled slightly under his heavy gaze and as his finger played with a strand of her that was on her shoulder.

“And what is it that you need?”

Ashlyn thought about it- really thought about it. The answer was simple, and it wasn’t one that she had ever expected to be the answer to all her issues. After Bucky had given her the apartment, the job, and now looking at the city, she knew exactly what it was that she wanted.

“Everything.”

Barnes’ bit his bottom lip and nodded, looking once more out the window.

“Perfect. Look I think you’ll be perfect for this job more than you think. If anything I’m going to want your help, but it’s something that can only stay between us. It will make you happy and it will help you.” “Of course, anything.”

Mr. Barnes sighed.

“Look, Bucky’s a great kid, as I’m sure you know. But he’s got some weaknesses. He thinks too much with his heart. I’m going to want you to work under my eye, and there are certain tasks you might have to do that at first won’t make sense to you, but in the long run you will see it pay off. That is, if I choose you to stay.”

His words at first had surprised her. Bucky’s own father wanted Ashlyn to keep a secret from him. She loved Bucky and she loved the things he was doing for her.

“It will help me?” Her voice shook with uncertainty.

“Yes.”

It was on their trip to Paris that it had happened.

It was a simple assistant job, follow Mr. Barnes around like a fucking chihuahua taking his calls, making sure everything was in order, keeping appointments, etc.

She made sure that all his emails were read and she read lines with him on what he had to say to Tony at their meeting the following night.

Everything was all set until it was time for her to go to her own hotel room when Mr. Barnes stopped her.

She spun around with a small frown and asked if there was something she had missed. He simply shook his head and beckoned her with his finger to walk over to him.

She hesitated for a moment until those familiar eyes took her in, shivering at how it sent a weird warmth down her body that she didn’t expect.

Somewhere along the way, she’d ended up between his legs. His hands had been on her waist and her own hands in his silver luxurious hair.

He had started with simple kisses around her belly button around the heavy rummaging of his corse hands on her denim were the only sound.

In the back of her head, she had that burning guilt of the reminder of her boyfriend and she pushed him away softly, almost painfully.

“Mr. Barnes, this is wrong.”

“Remember that test I was telling you about? This is it, Ashlyn. If you can do this, you can do anything. And you can have anything you want.”

She wanted to be cured, she wanted to be okay again like when she was a child. She hated her illness, and the only thing that seemed to make her better was what Mr. Barnes was offering her.

He was right. Wasn’t he?

She felt a heavy knot in her throat.

“You can’t tell Bucky.”

“No. Never. That would ruin everything.”

She took in his words and after a few more seconds succumbed to his ‘test’.

She’d gone down on him and she had felt disgusted with herself. When he was finished, she wanted to run out of that room and call Bucky, tell him she loved him.

She was turned away and had wiped her mouth one more time on the back of her hand when that husky voice from behind her started again.

“Have you ever owned a five thousand dollar purse before?”

She had thought that was a weird question, especially after just giving a man a blowjob.

“No.”

“It’d look good on you. I’ll take you tomorrow to get one.”

Her brows furrowed.

“I don’t have five thousand dollars.”

“Yes, yes you do.”

The second he said it everything in her head finally clicked.

Anything she wanted really could be hers.

The first few work ‘trips’ and ‘meetings’ after that night killed her. Her love for Bucky was still so strong and the guilt ate her alive.

But Mr. Barnes promised her that what she was doing would be for him, too. It was good for the both of you, he had said. And Ashlyn believed him.

She had to convince Stark and Pymm for a percentage of their company's proceeds and it was up to her. She hated that she was spending more time away from her boyfriend and she noticed how much it was tearing them apart.

But it was strange because part of her was no longer depressed. She finally felt beautiful and happy, like she was meantfor something.

She felt wanted.

Her happiness soon became bigger than the pain she felt for cheating on Bucky. He still loved her anyway.

He wouldn’t leave her.

Her escapades with Hank had been brief and almost felt pointless.

For the most part, he’d just lay there beneath her like the old man he was and let her ride him until his body jerked.

She’d go back to Barnes’ shower and scrub her skin until it was raw, almost certain that with the way their sex was going it wasn’t going to turn into a good result.

They weren’t going to get the percentage Barnes Enterprises was hoping for.

To say she was surprised when Mr. Barnes told her they’d gotten forty percent of the gross pay, after their disappointing fuck fest, was an understatement.

Maybe she was better than she thought.

Maybe Bucky was right, she really was perfect.

Then she met Tony.

She thought that what she had with Bucky was true love until Tony.

Unfortunately, it was unrequited.

She had been shattered at the thought of what she had allowed her heart to feel and what she had ruined. When Bucky had run out that night to God knows where, she had finally had a taste of her own medicine. And it was fucking bitter.

She needed Bucky in her life. He was her guardian angel.

But she also needed to do it for her health. She couldn’t risk the chance of Bucky finding out about what she had done and and leaving her with nothing.

She was afraid of what would happen to her sanity.  

So her and Mr. Barnes came up with a plan. It would not only help salvage the company but it would keep Ashlyn at peace. After all, he’d convinced her that she was mentally stronger at keeping a better financial outcome for the company than Bucky ever would.

His thought process was too logical, hers was more practical.

The moment she promised herself that she would no longer cheat was exactly four years ago, about a year into their marriage.

Her change of heart was mainly because there was no longer a reason for it, she had the money she needed, THEY had it all.

She tried so hard to love him again and to make him love her again.

And one day, it almost seemed like they did.

It almost seemed too good to be true. And now, they had a baby on the way.

This was their second chance.

She thought for many nights of asking Bucky about the one night he ran out on her many years ago. She thought about asking where it was he had ran to, but she knew she couldn’t handle it.

She was thankful he never brought it up again.

For a while, everything seemed great.

Until you showed up again, the so-called light of her life.

It was like Bucky’s switch flipped and it had been how it used to be five years ago.

And that’s how she ended up at Steve’s front door.

It didn’t take more than three persistent knocks for the door to swing open.

She was met with Steve’s distraught expression which quickly turned into shock.

“Ashlyn.”

Ashlyn was momentarily stunned as she looked back at the face that she hadn’t seen in years.

“Steve.”

Steve swallowed hard as his eyes darted down her body, his grip on the door tightening.

“What are you doing here?”

“I think you know why I’m here.”

Multiple possibilities swam through Steve’s head and a strange fear that he couldn’t place crept up his spine.

He tilted his head.

“I can’t talk right now—“

“Like hell, you can’t, Rogers.”

Ashlyn had moved up until her our hand was on his door, trying to pry it open. He stared up at her, eyes still bloodshot.

“What do you want?” He whispered painfully.

Her eyes were just as pained, “I need to talk to you, please.”

He looked at her for a second longer, contemplating if he would be able to handle another wave of drama after what he had just experienced in his now ex-girlfriend’s hotel room, before finally letting Ashlyn in.

“Please tell me what you were doing with Bucky.”

She says after he has the door closed. She notes the way the muscles in his back tense at her words, the heavy puff of air that escapes his lungs as his fingers flex against the wood of the door.

“Please, Steve. What don’t I know?”

“I-“ his breath catches in his throat as he plays back the image of his best friend and his girl next to a used condom, “You should call him.”

“He’d hiding something isn’t he?” Steve took in a deep breath as he ran a hand down his face, “Please, Ash—“

“Is it business-related, or does it have to do with something else?” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, “You don’t know what I’ve been through, how hard I have tried to salvage our marriage. And just when I thought I had him back, he’s hiding something and I know it.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve mumbles as he turns around to make his way to the living room, walking right past Ashlyn with a stern face.

“If you’re sorry you would tell me what you know, you would tell me the real reason you left, you would explain to me-“

“Will you stop?”

His sudden shout shocks both of them. Ashlyn’s breathing hard as she sees the fresh tears sprung his eyes.

“I know it’s hard. It’s fucking hard, I know. But I’m not in the mood right now to be anyone’s psychologist or couples mediator. You want to know everything, why don’t you try communicating with your husband? Why don’t you ask him your damn self, Ashlyn?”  He watches as she started to cave into herself, eyes looking away from him in shame.

“I’m afraid.”

It comes out quietly. Steve’s sighs in disappointment - disappointment with himself for the way he snapped at you.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s hard to ask something you secretly don’t want the answer to, and damnit, I feel horrible that I can’t be the one to speak to you about it. It has to be him.”

A few tears run down her face as they both stand there in silence.

Steve’s eyebrows dart up as he sees Ashlyn reach for the buttons of her wool coat, unbuttoning it slowly.

It isn’t until she has it draped over her right arm and she faces him completely -eyes darting towards her belly- that he realizes what she was showing him.

His eyes dart immediately to her stomach. If it wasn’t for her move or for where her gaze was, he wouldn’t have even noticed the small little bump.

He swallows thickly as many emotions course through his body.

“Are you…?” It comes out softly.

She nods.

He was angry at his best friend for doing what he did to his wife - his pregnant wife-, he was confused because did you know about this, and he felt pain for Ashlyn. For the betrayal, she would feel when she found out what Bucky did to her.

He felt pity.

Steve walked over to his couched and motioned for Ashlyn to follow him.

“Please.”

She became timid under his gaze as she brushed a few tears off her face.

“Tell me everything.”

Ashlyn took a deep breath and started from the beginning, but leaving out the inappropriate details that involved Mr. Barnes, Tony, and Hank.

“—I knew we were going through a rough patch, and it was mostly my fault because I was so busy with work, but he shouldn’t have given up on me so easily. I still tried so hard to fight for us, but something was distracting him. I don’t know what, I mean at one point I thought maybe he was even cheating on me- kissing some other girl on the side- but never actually fornicating. He’s too good.”

Steve’s gaze trailed down the side of the couch, his heart grew heavy.

“Right?”

Steve reached over and took Ashlyn’s hand in his, “I’m sorry you’ve both been going through all this. You don’t deserve it. But I can’t tell you what I know.” “Why?” “Because it’s not my place. But you need to talk to him as soon as possible,” Steve ran his hand through his hair, “I can’t stand that son of a bitch right now, but at the end of the day,  I can’t get it out of my head that he’s still that same little boy I grew up with. I want to hate him so much, but I still have some kind of respect that I just can’t shake.”

“What happened between both of you, if it doesn’t relate to me? You seem shaken up.”

Steve was caught off guard by her questions.

“Look, I think you should go—“

Steve stood up quickly before the tears could make its way up his throat.

“Steve-“

“Please take care of yourself, Ashlyn.”

“It’s so hard not being able to touch you,” you whimper when you get a chance to pull away from his mouth, “But we can’t. Not until we tell her.”

His fingers continued to trail down your chin and you got lost in his touch again.

“James.”

You whimpered softly. You were hypnotized by his presence as he leaned in to kiss you.

You kissed him back deeply, moaning the second his tongue flicked against yours.

You ran your left hand up through his hair and your leg wrapped around his waist. He groaned as he ground up against you.

“Just once more.” He whimpered into the soft skin of your neck.

“We can’t keep doing this—“ your hands drifted down to the buckle of his belt, “we can’t.”

You continued to open up his fly.

He was panting while he looked down at what you were doing.

“Then stop,” he met your eyes in an intense stare that left you shaking, “I dare you.”

Your only response was to raise yourself higher onto your elbows, grabbing him in a harsh kiss.

“One more time.” You breathed out.

He kissed you again and again.

You shuddered as you felt the tips of his fingers on the waist of your jeans and underwear.

Your kisses began to get heated and you had to physically pull yourself away from him.

“Bucky, wait.”

“What’s wrong?” “We’re good people, but look at what we’re doing to the people around us. I love you so much, but I can’t keep doing this knowing that they are still hurting.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” “We need to speak to Steve. We need to explain everything. And then Ashlyn needs to know.” You watched as he visibly swallowed hard. You reached for his left hand and played with the ring there, “I can’t keep having sex with you when you’re still married to her.”

“You’re right. No, I agree.”

You’re both sitting next to each other and Bucky reaches over to grab his leather coat when a vibrating sound startles the both of you. Your eyes furrow together as an unknown caller comes up on the screen.

“Hello?” “Why hello to you, too.” “Nat?”

Yours and Bucky’s eyes meet briefly.

“The one and only.”

Nat sits in a coffee shop, and she twirls the edge of her mug with a pointer finger. Across from her is Wanda, her face in her hands.

“How have you been? You cut me off and not even an “I miss you” either?”

You let out a long sigh, guilt consuming you.

“Look, Nat. Its been a hard five years,” your eyes flicker up to Bucky again and he gives you a sad look, “I’m sorry, I do miss you. I missed all of you.”

“Listen, tell Bucky I need to steal you for tonight. He wouldn’t mind now would he?” Nat smirked while Wanda groaned into her hand.

You’re shocked, and you’re quite positive Bucky heard her judging by his equally stunned face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You add in a fake/nervous laugh for extra measure.

“Who do you think sent Barnes after you in the first place?” You don’t answer still shocked, “Tonight, come out to dinner with me and my friend. We have a plan. I’ll text you details.”

She hangs up on you and you're left fazed and confused as you look down at your phone.

“What was that?” Bucky asks concerned.

“Nat wants to meet up with me tonight. She says she has some sort of plan.” “Plan for what?” “I have no idea.”

Bucky nods. He’s just got his shows slipped on when he walks over to you, planting a deep kiss on your swollen lips.

You part them slightly, letting your hand go to the back of his neck, pulling him in deeper into you.

When you both pull away he smiles at you,

“Everything will be fine. You go meet Nat, as I’m sure she misses you just as much as you miss her. I think I’m gonna go to talk to Steve.” “Are you sure?”

Bucky nodded, “Yeah. Bro to bro.”

Steve knew that by the second time that evening if one more person were to knock crazily on his front door, he would burn his apartment down along with his body.

He was so exhausted he didn’t even care to look through the peephole before ripping it open.

What he was face to face with was the last thing he was expecting.

He sucked in a deep breath through his nose.

He didn’t hesitate before shutting it closed again in Bucky’s face.

“Come on, man.” Bucky sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. He raised his hand and knocked once more, “Please.”

Steve remained silent, back leaned up against his door.

“I know all of this is a mess, but I want to explain myself. It’ll make sense if you just let me talk,” Steve’s eyes closed tight together, “Steve, please.” Bucky leaned his hand down to the doorknob and jiggled it, “Come on. You’re my best friend.”

Steve let his back drag down the door, bringing his knees to his chest.

Bucky took a deep breath, “Fine. I’ll talk and you can listen.”

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@wxntersoldxer16 @void-imaginations @heykarsyn @avashroom @sarcastic-and-cool @lunaticbarnes @benhardygalileo @wildmavs @runaway-escape @stevieboyharrington @kimvmarvel @chipilerendi @hardygal69 

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Boys when my baby found me I was three days on a drunken sin I woke with her walls around me Nothin' in her room but an empty crib

[moving-blogs-dm-for-new-one]

T*cc* Toby character and story redesign :D

Toby and his family moved across the states after the accident. They were moving to West Virginia, a more rural town surrounded by forest. He didn't want to be there, but he didn't have much of a choice. Really didn't help his mood when his father basically screamed at his mother for the entire three day trip. He was slumped in the back of the car, ticcing uncontrollably, one hour to go on the drive. He winced when his father yelled at him to shut up, sighing and trying to hold his vocal tics, again. Maybe he could make it until they reached the new house.

They reached the house, and he quietly helped unload the car, gently helping his mom climb out. Sighing, he patched her up quietly later in the bathroom, and let her cry on his shoulder, ticcing quietly.

For the next two and a half weeks of summer, Toby pretty much just laid in bed. He didn't have much energy or will to do anything. He would pull out his computer and play some games, but his father broke hit before their trip even began. He pulled out his old ipod from his 14th birthday, and laid back in bed, staring at the ceiling and looping the same playlist on shuffle endlessly to block out his father. Same old, same old.

When school started, he absolutely did not want to be there. His Tourette's was neigh uncontrollable, and he couldn't help but tic through every day. Of course, the other kids in class were horrible to him about it. He was bullied relentlessly, and was beat up on the first day of school, and many days after that. He went home, his mother patched him up, his father mocked him, and he went to lie in bed again. It went on like this for a few weeks. It was August second when his dad broke his mothers nose. They got into a fight and he slammed her head on the counter. Toby was furious, but he quietly patched her up, ignoring his father egging him on.

That night, he had sleep paralysis again for the first time in a month or two, but it was different this time. His eyes opened, and there was a being standing at the end of his bed. He couldn't tell who or what it is. Could have been his father if it wasn't so tall. They stared at each other for around three hours before Toby fell back asleep. He was afraid, yes. But not much bothered him since Lyra died.

He mourned her every day. He never stopped. His mother mourned in silence, afraid, and his father cursed him to move on, but he didn't. He was never one to pray, but he lit candles for her the way she used to, prayed to a god they'd both loved, Dionysus. He cried for her at night. She never left his mind. He missed his sister more than anything in the world. He had a small alter in the back of his closet so his Father wouldn't find it, candles, pictures of her, foods she loved and special items.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Toby began having hallucinations of the creature he saw. It was everywhere. It was in the reflections of mirrors and windows, across the school yard while he was being kicked, at the end of the street when he pulled down his blinds, and behind his eyelids every night when he tried to sleep. He couldn't understand why it was haunting him.

His mother noticed his extreme paranoia, depression, and unrelenting tics/tic attacks, and scheduled him for a meeting with a local psychiatrist. She talked him up for the whole drive, and he smiled and nodded, not wanting to be there but not wanting to further sadden or worry his mother. Her arm was in a sling today. It was bad enough she was driving him.

He met with the psych, sitting down in the office. She asked him how he'd been. He didn't know how to respond, but suddenly felt bitter.

"Fantastic. Obviously that's why mom brought me here."

"I'm sorry, Tobias. I thought I'd let you give your own input." He felt bad for a moment, before wincing at the usage of his full name, getting more frustrated. He hated this already.

"Don't call me that. It's Toby. I'm Toby." He was fighting his vocal tics as he spoke, but his physical tics were getting worse in response, and he saw her flinch and lean a bit further away in his chair. He felt a pang through his heart, immediately angry. But he wouldn't blow up. He wasn't him.

Then he saw the figure behind her.

He didn't even hear what she was saying. He just stared at it. For some reason for as much as he'd been seeing it, he'd never seen it in such clarity, and it was still fuzzing around the edges, almost as if it wasn't fully there. It towered over the back of her chair, slowly leaning down to him.

"Toby," It spoke, and he could barely comprehend its voice. It was garbled, layered, echoed over itself endlessly and buzzed and burned inside his ears. "I want to help you. Let me help you."

He screamed, grabbing a lamp off the side table next to him and whipping it at the creature. He heard the psych scream and froze, whipping his gaze to where she was holding her arms over her face, ceramic and glass sprawled on the floor behind her at the base of the wall. They made eye contact, and he felt sick. He didn't understand. He wanted to say sorry. He suddenly wanted to explain everything. He wanted to say he wasn't him. He wanted his mother. He wanted Lyra.

He passed out.

Toby awoke later in his room, still feeling sick. The lights were out, his room only illuminated by the moonlight casting in through the blinds and the yellow light seeping in from under his doorway. (tw heavy abuse and murder after this) He could hear his parents screaming downstairs. There was a smash, his mother was crying. He jolted upright, tics coming back harshly as he tried to quietly make his way to the top of the stairs, peering down. His father was screaming about him.

"We have to get rid of him, Evelyn," He screamed, furious. "He's a disaster. He's dangerous and annoying and he's a fucking nuisance anyways!! And now I owe that stupid fucking psychiatrist so much goddamn money!! What is wrong with you!!" His mother cowered away from him, shaking, but angry as well.

"We are NOT getting rid of our SON, Greg! He's just scared and sick!" Toby winced at the phrasing of "sick", but continued watching, listening. He felt static pulling at the edges of his vision, but ignored it, honing his eyes in on his father.

"He goes. Tonight, or tomorrow, your choice, Evelyn, but he's fucking going. He's young enough to get thrown at the orphanage." He took a large swig of beer, stumbling slightly, and Toby twitched, hands tightening so much on the railing bars he thought he might splinter them.

"No. He is not." His mother shook, standing up to him, fists clenched. He stopped, and both Toby and his mother held their breath.

"Excuse me?"

"He's not going. No."

The next few minutes were a blur. His mother was hurt, and hurt bad. She was crying, and his father was screaming at her. The living room was trashed. Toby ran down the stairs and his father heard, spinning around and screaming after him as he darted into the garage, heart thumping almost as loud as Greg's thundering footsteps. He found his fathers old hatchets in the back of the garage, his blood pumping in his ears. Everything was hazy and the static crept further into his vision.

"Let me help you."

He spun around, hatchets gripped tight in his hands as he shook and ticced. His father tore into the room, drunk and furious. He saw Toby bearing the hatchets and laughed deliriously.

"Now what are you gonna do with those, boy?" Toby almost blacked out at the name, screaming and sprinting forwards. A mass fight ensued, the two of them struggling against each other to gain headway, Toby's mother screaming in the background. Toby pinned him down. He spat curses and slurs and all kinds of horrible things about him, his mother, his sister, Lyra. He raised the hatchet, and brought it down on his skull. Blood sprayed and his mother distantly screamed in horror, but he didn't stop. Another swing, another, another, another, another. Tears poured down his face, but he didn't feel it, notice, or care. His arms stopped swinging. He looked up. His mother was holding his arms gently, but securely, the creature standing behind her, looming over the both of them. He was towering.

"Toby," She whispered. "That's enough. He's dead, love." He looked down, sniffling and ticcing, and he was.

She helped him up quietly, and he whimpered.

"Are you gonna turn me in?" She stared at him, then shook her head.

"You're my son. I'm not getting rid of you."

She cleaned him up quietly in the bathroom, and held him close as he cried, openly, for the first time in months. He clung to her, whimpering and ticcing and sobbing, and told her everything. She listened quietly, gently soothing him and brushing his hair. Eventually, she shushed him gently, making him look at her.

"We have to go, love. Quickly. You can tell me more once we're gone, okay?" He nodded, sniffling and taking her hand. They gathered their things, climbed into their car. She paused. Got back out. They lit the house together, and watched it burn for a moment. He felt the presence behind him, and saw his mother take his hand.

"Come on honey," She whispered. "Lets go."

They never looked back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Toby: (notes)

- 6'3", 17 years old, tall and broad. Always been heavier set and naturally slightly chubby, and decently strong.

- Has a nerve issue from birth where he can't feel a good 70% of his body, mostly the upper half and patches of the lower.

- Nonbinary (He/they/it), and pansexual. Gender dysphoric. Occasionally tucks and wears bras and other things sometimes.

- Has Tourette's, OCD, BPD, PTSD, Manic, ADHD, depression, s/icidal tendencies, struggles with compulsive sh, and has mild paranoid schizophrenia.

- Sees the Slenderman more than his mother, but she can see it on occasion. It doesn't hurt them. Guides them more or less. Helps Toby target similar individuals to his father.

- Stims a lot by cracking his knuckles, flapping his hands, tapping his foot and cracking his neck. (I also have a list of his tics!!)

- Loves his mother and Lyra so goddamn much

Evelyn: (notes)

- 43 years old, 5'2", small but definitely not frail. Will fuck you up if needed. Doesn't take shit anymore after leaving her husband. Also bisexual queen

- Huge soft spot for kids, and Toby. Loves Toby so much and lets him basically get away with everything (not that he uses this for any harm to her or those who don't deserve it)

- Knows Toby is a serial killer, assists him with some cleanup/travel/medical care/etc. Reminds him to take care of himself/cooks for him/helps drive him around/etc

- Takes up cooking and martial arts as hobbies

- Loves her son so so so much he's so stupid and crazy but she adores him and would do anything for him

- Do NOT fuck with power duo Evelyn and Tobias Rodgers they WILL destroy you

[redhoodieone]

Star-Crossed Universe

A/N: Yes!!! I’M BACK!!! This project has been on the back burner for so long and its finally time to upload it on here. I’m not sure what you all will think but hey...it’s fan fiction and everything and anything goes.

Warnings: Language, Humor (bad and good jokes), Sexual Conversations, and an ultimate Team-Up.

Plot: When Y/N is thrown into a mission way out of her league, she, and magician best friend Zatanna must stop strong demonic forces from entering earth through an unknown portal that John Constantine may have opened. With the assistance from the Dark Knight himself, a mysterious 1967 black Impala arrives in Gotham just when things start to go to hell. But who called the Winchesters? Why is there a clairvoyant bond between Y/N and Dean Winchester? And why does Castiel, an angel of the Lord, believe John Constantine isn’t who he says he is? And will Dean wear the Batsuit?

Move over Scooby-Natural because it’s Batman’s turn! The Winchesters join Batman and Y/N (You!) in taking down a villain who isn’t an everyday monster for Supernatural!

Please enjoy and comment! If you want a Part 2, please let me know.

  Part 1

 I don’t remember a time where tears felt like my own. Of course, it doesn’t help that I’m standing on the ledge when Gotham is down pouring like it always does at night. It shouldn’t be a surprise, really. Gotham is the only city in the US of A that is dark, depressing, manic, and suicidal.

 Even Superman refuses to stay here for more than a day.

 I’m not any better. The only reason why I’m literally dangling my feet over the edge is because I’m numb.

 Numb to feelings.

Numb to pain.

Numb to life.

 Bottom line is breakups fucking suck period. Especially if your ex-boyfriend is Bruce Wayne.

 And Batman.

 I don’t know why I put myself through this. The bitter pain of having to work with someone you love but to know they’ll never love you as much. Maybe this is why I should have never worked with Bruce.

 Dick left first and has successfully made a name for himself, Nightwing, in Bludhaven.

 Jason comes and goes throughout the months and has his own team of misfits who do good but cause chaos as well.

 Even Tim and Damian are working together. They’re training and leading the Titans. The last I heard from them is that they’re doing just fine.

 Except me.

 Who am I kidding? I can’t compare myself to Bruce’s kids even though I’m closer to Dick’s age than Bruce’s.

 Maybe that’s why it didn’t work out between us. Bruce is almost my father’s age, late forties early fifties. And he’s still sexy as fuck; stronger than ever.

 And here I am in my early thirties, expecting more than just a wordless promise of something more than casual sex and the uncertainty of the future.

 After three months ago, I’m trying desperately hard to not care anymore. The only constant thing in my life is being Night Bat, and I’ll die with only that part of me.

 Death.

 The one place where everything and nothing hurts anymore.

 “Y/N.”

 My head jerks to the right side where Zatanna is standing. With her hands on her hips, I can see her blue eyes blinking sadness and guilt. For a beautiful woman like Z, her broken expression is almost tragic enough to make me cry like her.

 If my own tears were my own. Maybe my tears are Gotham’s.

 “It’s Etrigan. He’s...” Zatanna chokes on her words. She literally holds her neck and tries to stop sobbing. “He’s dead.”

 I can feel my eyebrows raise as confusion and disbelief crash over me.

 “Dead?” I repeat. I can’t even believe that word is coming from my mouth. Etrigan is tough. Etrigan is a shithead. Etrigan cannot be dead. “How?”

 Zatanna shrugs her shoulders as her lips quiver. Seeing her broken up makes me feel like an asshole for not comforting her. So, I stand up and go over to her. Taking her by surprise, I hug her tightly.

 She’s my best friend. My sister. My partner in crime whenever we get into bad shit. (Sometimes...maybe).

 After Zatanna hugs me, she takes a step back and wipes her tears with her gloved hand.

 “He-he was stabbed. I... I don’t know by what but he bled and he was never one to really bleed, you know? I checked everything out and he’s dead. He’s really gone. But it was...a very fucking strange thing. Really,” Zatanna rambles on anxiously. Whenever she cusses, I know she’s angry and stressed out. “Whatever killed him, it’s not from around here. What I sensed near him, it’s not human. It’s not magical. It’s not even Kryptonian or extraterrestrial.”

 I swallow hard. “What do you think it is then?”

 “Demonic.”

_________________________________________________

 “Have you contacted John?” I ask. My voice is rough and breathless. I’m busy shoving as much weapons as I can in my backpack, along with a few clothes and a book from Alfred about demonology. He said it was a gift from Constantine himself.

 I stare down at my long, silver triple-edged dagger that I found on one of my solo missions in Kansas when Bruce was fighting

 “Not in... six months.”

 The guilt in her voice makes me turn to glance at her. “Seriously?”

 I glance down at my black pants and boots to make sure I’m appropriately and comfortably dressed for tonight. I slip on a red and black checkered flannel over my form fitting black tank top.  After rolling up the sleeves to my elbows, I put on my black leather jacket and turn to face Zatanna.

 “What, am I supposed to keep in touch with my ex-boyfriend? I thought ex-boyfriends were meant to stay ex-boyfriends, not friends. And besides, you keep in touch with Bruce,” Zatanna responds smugly.

 “He’s...a co-worker...that’s-thats different.”

 “Bullshit,” Z laughs.

 I roll my eyes. “Whatever. I need a drink before we start...” I say, waving my hand up dramatically. “Whatever this is. I think a stop at Lucky’s is what we need.”

 “A trip to the bar is what YOU need,” Zatanna replies.

 She follows me out of my apartment until we stop in the parking lot where my motorcycle is parked. I don’t see her standing behind me with her arms crossed and eyebrow raised, as I take a seat on my bike and set myself up to ride.

 “What?” I ask, genuinely confused.

 “I could just you know...poof is there.”

 “Yeah, you could like you always do, but I need to ride my baby right now. It’s like, therapy for the low self-esteem, loner, rebels,” I say.

 To my surprise, Zatanna nods her head and gives me a small smile. I’m grateful she understands how much riding my motorcycle makes me happy. Makes me breathe. Makes me feel alive.

 “I’ll see you there, Y/N/N.”

 “See ya, Z.”

 And with that, Zatanna poofs for real. Her magic still surprises me. Whenever I see her perform her spells and tricks, I feel like I’m reliving magic shows I saw as a kid that I used to believe were real and powerful.

 But to know what Zatanna does is real is still unbelievable sometimes.

 And to think we have been best friends for five years now...amazing how time flies by I’m between laughs and heartbreaks.

 Revving my bike, I waste no time speeding out of the parking garage and into the streets of Gotham. The rain and wind in my hair sends me chills, as the lights and buildings pass me by so fast that I feel like everything I see is a blur; almost like in a dream-like state.

 Lucky’s is just a small country rustic bar outside of Gotham. City people usually don’t go there as the place is purely meant for drifters and stranded loners. I happen to love the bar. If I’m ever feeling down or angry, I always drop by to get drunk or frisky if I’m ever in the mood. Bruce was always disappointed in me for that. He always used to say I’m better than that and I shouldn’t put myself down.

 I sometimes think he’d want to say I’m easy, but Bruce is just so complicated sometimes. He can either be a total asshole or be the gentle sweetheart he is. You never know which side you’d see sometimes.

 Almost like Two-Face.

 Swerving into the mud to park alongside trucks and other bikes, I climb off my motorcycle and glance around the dirt lot. I recognize a few vehicles parked already. A new black Escalade parked closer to the bar is different and catches my attention rather quickly.  

 I pull my hair back into a ponytail and start my way over to the expensive ass vehicle when suddenly a black car speeds right pass me and parks right next to my bike, sending mud flying to my pants and on my bike! Rage suddenly takes over me. I can feel my blood boil and my jaw clench as several curse words come to mind. I twist around and instead make my way to that motherfucker’s car.

 A black 1967 Impala? What a fucking joke.

 As if this motherfucker owns this American classic. This self-righteous, prick probably stole it from some old fool or maybe his own old man.

 I’m ready to break this douchebag’s face. Knock all his teeth out and break his cock into two…maybe three pieces.

 I finally reach the driver’s door and quickly open it; door swinging back. This must piss off the man a lot, but I don’t care right now.

“Look, you motherfucker! You think you can just drive like a bat out of hell and get fucking mud on MY baby?!  Get out of this fucking car so I can break you apart with my bare hands!” I yell angrily and loudly.

The man climbs out of his car, but my anger suddenly vanishes. What the hell?

Holy fucking shit…this man is…hot.

Standing at 6’1, this man is almost intimidating. With short brown hair, tan skin, hypnotizing green eyes, and freckles splattered over his nose and cheeks, he’s fucking adorable…and sexy. I can’t help but stare up at him.

He smirks down at me. Underneath his dark jacket, he’s wearing a flannel shirt and black Henley, where I can already see his strong chest, muscled arms, and soft tummy.

“Looks like sweetheart likes what she sees, Sammy. I’d say we made the right choice for coming out to Gotham,” the man speaks smugly. His voice is deep and husky, more addicting than any liquor inside the bar.

Another man comes over to us from around from the car. This man, I’m assuming his Sammy, is FUCKING TALLER than the hot one in front of me!

Sammy chuckles lightly at me. Pushing his longer brown hair from his face, he quickly reaches out to shake my hand.

“Hi, I’m Sam Winchester and this is my brother, Dean.”

The second those words leave his mouth; we hear someone quickly approaching us. Zatanna. And from the looks of theirs, they’re shocked and surprised to see my friend in her usual, sexy magician number.

Zatanna smiles, nonetheless. “Well, if it isn’t the Winchesters. We’ve been expecting you.”

[isitreallyok]

Therapy, Medication, And Mental Help

I’m gonna level with y’all here. This post will likely not be quite as articulate as some of the other ones. It’s been a really rough morning, but I wanted to address this issue while it is still fresh in my mind. I have yet to ask for advice or feedback on a single one of my posts, but if anyone has any I’m definitely not opposed to receiving it on this one.

Uh oh. That doesn’t sound great. What’s going on?

I’m going to attempt to keep this as brief as possible, and it likely will still be quite lengthy, but I’m going to have to give a bit of context here as well. My current life situation has been radically altered in the last year. 2020 has thrown so many wrenches in my plans and Covid isn’t even the biggest of them. However, lets take this from the top.

When I was 9 years old my parents divorced. Not a huge deal. It happens to a lot of kids as sad as that is to say. I grew up with my mother, brother, and sister in a single parent household with a skewed picture of who my father was and didn’t want too much to do with him. Fast forward a few years, my dad moves to Idaho and remarries and has a wonderful relationship with my stepmother. I wasn’t able to visit too often, but it wasn’t horrible when I was able to make it out there. As much as I minimize the normalcy of being a child of divorce though it still had a horribly impact on my emotional well being and my mental health as a child. Many other kids throughout school came were content with their home life. They were able to enjoy being children and did not have to worry about the pressures of caring for their siblings started at a young age. I, on the other hand, was not content with where I was at in life and wanted desperately to change it.

My mother was incredibly supportive of us kids as best as she was able. She made sure that we had routine trips to the doctors, that we had what we needed in terms of food and shelter, and even got us therapy and psychiatric help. I was blessed to have that available to me as a child. Many children going through similar situations do not have access to that level of external help for a myriad of different reasons. However even though I had these things I still ran into trouble. As I was growing up my father discredited mental healthcare as a practice so I always had that rattling around in the back of my head. By the time I was 15, I decided to stop taking my bipolar and depression medications because I didn’t feel like they were helping me. This is honestly the biggest mistake I’ve made in my entire life. I continued to see my therapist, until I not longer had insurance at age 18, but I didn’t feel as if I was making any real strides there either because I had also adopted the mindset that nothing was working and therapy and caring for my mental health was a joke.

Wait. Isn’t this a place where you talk explicitly about your mental health and how to manage and cope with various aspects of it?

Why yes. Yes it is. I’ve been handling my manic depressive bipolar disorder unmedicated for the last 13 years. It has been absolute hell most days. A few years ago I hit rock bottom and realized that I needed help. The girl that I had been dating for a few years, was living with, and planned on proposing to cheated on me and I ended up moving back in with my parents because of the situation, I slept on a futon mattress on the floor for months before we ended up moving, and due to this my mental state deteriorated to the point of suicidal ideation with intent.

This is when I realized that I was wrong in my views on medication and therapy. I had been putting myself in a position where I was running people out of my life due to the fact that I was using my friends as free therapy and they drew a line and I had to respect it. There was only one problem with finally accepting that I needed to get help. That problem is that help is expensive. I had been uninsured for mental health since I was 18. I accepted the fact that I needed to get help, but the fact that I could afford it drove me even deeper into despair about my circumstances.

So what did you do? Did you get the help you needed? Clearly you didn’t give into your suicidal tendencies.

Well. Yes and no. I didn’t get the help I needed, but I managed to find a way to distract myself from the troubles of the real world. I poured myself into my job and decided that that was the time to go to college. I do understand the irony or going to college after complaining that therapy was too expensive. Believe me that is not lost on me. The difference is you can’t get student loans for learning how to take care of yourself.

Rather than allowing myself to begin working through the existing trauma in my life, I decided to put myself in a position to where I could start to try to live a “normal” life again. Whatever the hell that means. I had a routine, albeit a poor one, I was socializing, albeit minimally in my classes and typically only for group projects, and I was too distracted by other pressures to reminisce on how much I hated my life. I started taking steps that I felt like a therapist would tell me to and began working towards chasing a dream again. This felt different, but I don’t think I’d venture as far as to say it felt good. It was just a different kind of stress that I was piling on myself. I still felt like I needed help handling the day to day. Learning to cope with my bipolar unmedicated took years and the singular trauma of living with my family again meant that all the coping mechanisms I had worked to develop became even more difficult to manage and I had to once again learn different strategies to handle all the new challenges.

Instead of schooling and attempting normalcy on your own wouldn’t it have been easier to get help?

Easier? No. More beneficial? Absolutely. The hoops that one has to jump through even to get seen by a therapist nowadays is challenging enough and that doesn’t even include financial ramifications for those without health insurance that covers mental health, which most workplace insurance plans don’t. With that in mind, the benefits of getting the help that you need often are not able to outweigh the cost.

Realistically, even if I had been able to afford to get myself the care that I need I likely wouldn’t have. I have always been the type of person to do everything on my own until I have exhausted all of my options. This is not something I recommend. One of the biggest things that I want to learn to do is ask for help when I need it instead of asking after I am already at the end of my rope. Even as I’m typing this I am beyond frustrated and want nothing to do with with the stress I’m under from today and it took me hitting that point to finally open up about talking about it even though it was among the first topics I decided to address when I first started this blog. Asking for help at appropriate times is a topic all on it’s own so we’ll save that conversation for another day.

So I’m starting to see a bit of where you’re coming from, but what happened today?

So this part of the background info I plan to address more in depth in the future and will keep the context of this very brief. Remember how I said that my dad and I had a strained relationship even after he moved? Well that changed once I was about 20. We reconnected and for years spoke nearly every day and he became a close confidant and more of what most people with a healthy relationship with their father have. We disagreed on a lot of things, but we were able to understand each other. A few years ago my stepmother passed away. Even before she passed my dad was diagnosed with early stage dementia. He had been having memory issues and it felt like he was a completely different person. At the start of this year he moved back in with my family and that has been a challenge having my divorced parents living under the same room without the ability to properly communicate with each other.

Fast forward to this morning. I woke up to both my mother and father bickering with each other about something related to Dad’s socks. Rather than handling it like adults they were both fighting like toddlers from what I could hear in my bedroom. This has become an increasingly common occurrence. One gets frustrated with the other, situation escalates, I feel pressured to step in and deescalate the situation, I typically end up frustrated and my mood is shot. Dad feels more comfortable talking and listening to me, Mom backs off because I get what needs to be done done, I wind up once again in the middle of a weird situation between my parents. I tolerate this because of the fact that I am able to assist in my father’s care in a way that is beneficial to his understand of what he needs and it eases the burden on other people that are trying to convey the same message with zero results. However over time this would wear anyone down and that point is where I finally reached this morning.

Rather than being able to calmly handle the situation with a level head I ended up snapping at all partied involved. I snapped at Dad for not wanting to do anything to mitigate the problems he complained of, I snapped at Mom for escalating the situation, I snapped at my sister who was just checking it see if I was okay, I ran the gambit of getting frustrated with people. Instead of handling the situation the way I normally would with patience and dignity, I mismanaged the situation and likely made it worse. 

This is where we get back to the topic at hand. I have finally managed to actually get myself on some half decent health insurance that has wonderful mental health coverage. This kicks in at the start of the year and I will be able to finally get some help with handling the fact that this entire situation has been traumatic and has left some serious scars. I’m excited but this also got me wondering about the part that I need help on.

My bipolar and resistance to most psychotropic medication had to come from somewhere, as it’s a disorder that is tied to genetics, and my mother is not bipolar. This tells me that my father, who exhibits clear symptoms of having bipolar depression, is where I got my proclivity for the development of this condition. That being said, with my father’s resistance towards getting psychiatric care, and being medicated to balance any chemical imbalances, puts me in a weird state for doing what is best for him and his care. Do I force this help on him? Do I accept that he’s not ready for it and sit idly by and continue to watch him deteriorate? With his dementia he’s less likely to be able to receive the care he desperately needs due to his inability to create a coherent thought in regards to what his needs are for the large scale rather than just being fine in that exact moment. So I truly am at a loss. This is the part where I ask for advice. If anyone who has read this far has any experience with dementia and psychiatric care I could really use some advice on how to best have these conversations with my dad. This has been one of the biggest hardships I have faced and I am getting to be at a proper loss for words in how to help the situation which as you can tell by the verbosity of this post is difficult to do.

You’re totally fine in not knowing how to handle this situation. This is a difficult situation to be in regardless of who you are. You’re doing well.

Thank you. All of that stuff is an absolute nightmare to handle and life has been absolute hell, but I hope that that helps you to understand where I’m coming from when I encourage you all to once again remember the three reminders! I know most days, including today, I need to remember them to so lets run through them together before we end things for today. You are so much stronger than you think, you are beautiful inside and out, and jinkies you are worth love, kindness, respect, admiration, and all those things you think you’re not worthy of. Lets turn today around together and kick some butt and take some names.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

The Matchmaker: Thirteen

The fire crackled in the hearth and Bucky stretched lazily, half awake. You had really picked a nice couch. Plush and soft. Good for napping. Or, the activities that he’d just been doing on the sofa with you.

He looked down and smiled a little, adjusting the blanket gently to cover your bottom where it had bunched up and was leaving you exposed. He didn’t want you getting chilled.

His belly was comfortably full of pasta, he’d had a few glasses of wine, and he had the love of his life asleep on his chest. It was a nice night. A quiet celebration to mark the last of your doctorate work getting done.  He knew you were worn out when you’d walked through the door.

It had radiated off of you. You looked exhausted and stressed. He always hated that. He looked up from the pasta sauce he was stirring and held out his arms, “Hey, Princess,” he said smiling, “Why don’t I run you a hot bath before dinner, huh?” You make a soft miserable sound. You’re cold and wet and it feels like the sides of your stomach are stuck together. You’d been too anxious to eat more than a couple bites of the chocolate chip pancakes Bucky had tried to get you to eat that morning. And what you had eaten you’d thrown up just from the nerves.

“I just wanna go to sleep,” you murmur, “I don’t even think I can eat.”  You walk into his arms and thud your head gently against his chest. 

He frowns and strokes your back tenderly, “What’s wrong, Sweetheart?”

You shake your head and sigh, “Nothing,” you murmur, “I’m just tired.” 

“At least go put on some dry clothes,” he says softly, “Get comfortable. Let yourself relax a little. Let your body realize you’re not running on adrenaline anymore.”

You nod and take a deep breath, “Okay,” you whisper.

“Good girl,” he praises gently, nudging you towards the stairs, “One step at a time.” He watches you go and shakes his head. He’s a little glad you turned down working for SHEILD. Some types of stress you could handle really well. A frenetic work pace. Lots of things at once, fine. All fine. But prolonged stress, being stressed out for days on end while you unsnarled tangles and had no apparent end to the worrying? Nope. You were built for sprints, not Marathons. SHEILD was constant stress. Constant pressure. He didn’t doubt that you could adjust but he’d prefer you not have to. The effects on your body aside, he wondered what it would do to your heart. 

Bucky listens with half an ear and nods to himself when he hears the shower start, adjusting the temperature of the stove and starting the water for pasta. He knew you’d sworn off carbs for right now, but he also knew that you were miserable. He figured breaking the diet that he didn’t even think was necessary wouldn’t hurt. Not for one day. Not if it meant that you went to sleep with a full belly and he didn’t find you awake at 3am possessed by some manic cleaning demon after an anxiety-induced nightmare vaulted you out of bed. Fully awake and already in a panic. He hated that too. How easily all the shit your older sister had said and done to you instilled that you were never going to be enough. How all the things stupid boys, who didn’t understand you, had perpetually made you question if it was a trap if anyone asked about things you were interested in. It was only now that he lived with you that he really noticed it. 

For a moment he’d thought you had a double life or something. But it wasn’t that. It was a massive, sprawling, fantasy epic you had spent the better part of 15 years writing and refining. There were multiple languages, cultures. All this detail and illustration... It had made his head spin when he’d found the stacks of journals and loose-leaf papers in binders. You’d very cautiously, shyly explained that it was how you’d put in to practice some of the theoretical things you read about when you were first wrestling with it. Without any real-world experience to really draw on. Or access. You’d just crafted one to test things out on. “Like Tolkein but like... Less racist and somehow more pretentious,” you’d told him. You looked like you were waiting for him to laugh at you. He couldn’t really do anything but stare. At least not for a moment. 

“Can I read it?” he asked. 

“No,” you answered hesitantly, hugging the binder you’re holding to your chest, like he might take it from you. Like someone probably had before. 

He hadn’t pressed. He’d simply nodded and very carefully added the journals and binders to the shelf next to your desk. Where you could get to them if you wanted them. 

Your quiet footfalls on the wood floors make him lookup. You’ve stolen one of his t-shirts and found a clean pair of pajama bottoms. Your hair is still dry, but your skin is pink. The water must have been hot. A lot hotter than Bucky liked it.You look better. Kinda. At least less frazzled. 

When your arms wrap around his waist and your cheek rests against his back he smiles, “Baby, I got a fire going before you got home,” he coaxed, “Why don’t you go cuddle up with a blanket... I’ll bring you some dinner and a glass of wine.”

“I still feel nauseous,” you tell him groggily.

He frowns, “At least try, Princess. You need to eat. You might even feel better if we get a little something in your stomach.”

He watches you go as you shuffle through the doorway and frowns. You really do need rest. He can practically see the anxiety and the depression it leaves behind gnawing at you. He knows this is a temporary state. A rudderlessness left behind after your life’s work this far getting handed over. But. He’d much rather drown you in pasta and cuddles until you fall asleep than just let you fall asleep face down on the bed like you are. 

It doesn’t take long to have a couple bowls and a couple glasses of wine put together on a tray. The TV is off but you have the record played on and playing softly. He smiles a little, you’re wrapped up in the fluffy throw off the couch hugging the stuffed dog he bought you as a joke when you asked for a puppy. “Here, Sweetheart,” he said handing you a bowl and a glass. When you take them your hands a trembling just a little and it reaffirms his assessment that you need food in your belly. 

You take them and take a deep breath. “Thank you,” you murmur. Bucky nods and sinks into the couch gently, “I made brownies too,” he said, proud of himself.

You smile up at him and take a sip of wine, “You’re getting pretty domestic,” you tease, “Don’t worry I won’t tell Sam.” Bucky grinned, “Well, I gotta get some skills. You know. Since you’re gonna be a Professor. And a Consultant for the UN... Once I retire I’m practically gonna be a trophy husband. I gotta keep you interested in me somehow.”

You laugh softly, “Well I appreciate the efforts. Even if you are gonna make me fat.” Bucky rolled his eyes, “Baby, you’re perfectly healthy. Fuck that magazine. You’re healthy. You work out more than I do. You can eat whatever you want.” You sigh, “I know. It’s still not nice to read while I’m trying to get groceries.”

Bucky nodded, “I know, Sugar.” He kisses you gently and smiles a little, “But let’s not worry about those assholes now, huh? Just relax and let me take care of you. You worked hard. You deserve a treat.” You nod and take another sip of wine, “Okay,” you sigh, “This actually looks really good... Food Network?”

“Facebook,” he said grinning. 

____________ 

He managed to coax you into most of the pasta and a brownie between two glasses of wine. You unwound slowly and Bucky felt better. He hated it when you had yourself worked up. 

It also hadn’t taken long for him to work you back up again in a completely different way. He applied considerable efforts into getting you sleepy and relaxed. He figured a slow, snuggly round of lovemaking would probably be just the thing. When he had you naked and squirming under his hands, he pinned you gently to the couch and lavished kisses down your body, nuzzling your stomach affectionately. There wasn’t much talking but there didn’t need to be. He knew what you liked. You knew that in the back of his mind, he was thinking about how pretty you’d look growing his baby. 

“I love you,” you’d panted, your legs wrapped around his waist to pull him closer. 

“Who doesn’t?” he teased, kissing you hungrily.

After he’d spent inside you and you were pleasantly tired instead of mind-numbingly exhausted, he’d held you. You’d snuggled into his arms and hid your face in his neck. 

It hadn’t taken long for you to fall asleep. The comfort of a full stomach, a gentle orgasm, and a warm body to cuddle paired with the sweetness of Bucky humming along with the record he’d put on had you fast asleep in a few minutes. 

Bucky felt like he was in heaven, drowsing there in a hazy, twilight state. It was a level of comfort he never thought was possible. He never knew it was possible to be this content. This blissed out. 

He adjusted the blanket over you gently and stroked your hair. This was home and he couldn’t wait to be a trophy husband. 

Tags: @lancsnerd​ @stevieang​ @golddaggers​ @blameitonthecauseway @qxeen-of-hearts​ @process-pending​ @xmarveled​ @beautybyfire, @etherealwaifgoddess, @mschellehitt, @mistressoftorture @thorfanficwriter, @ctinadiva, @innerpaperexpertcloud @amalthea9  @cdwmtjb8 @notyourtypicalrose

[jakey-beefed-it]

Trying to catalogue the ol’ comorbid disorders a bit so maybe i can do something about some of them possibly. Under a cut because hoo boy, not an exciting or fun analysis.

definitely have depression. prozac makes it better. not good. but better. manageable. no longer aggressively want to die. just sort of low-key don’t care if i do a lot of the time. sometimes forget that i have a physical form and am briefly almost happy. then see self in mirror or have difficulty fitting into a booth at a restaurant or smth and suddenly want to crawl into a hole and die

definitely have massive body-image issues (rimshot... see because.... massive body... because... it’s a fat joke... anyhow). sometimes wonder if i’m on the asexual spectrum but then remember how things were for me as a horndog teenager and probably it’s just that i’ve got a suppressed libido due to weight, depression, antidepressants, and overwhelming tsunamis of shame whenever i think about my body in any way shape or form

definitely have anxiety. plagued by nightmares and disrupted sleep and have like 2 full on anxiety attacks in any given year where i feel like i’m having a goddamn heart attack but heart attacks don’t respond to biofeedback, ya know? also, apparently, have night terrors such that i scream in my sleep. which is. kinda funny, in a humiliating way.

have been diagnosed as bipolar in the past but don’t really have proper manic phases anymore. at worst, have mixed states where brain is going very fast... about how much it hates me/itself/everything. less ‘mania’ and more ‘high-speed depression’. might not be bipolar actually based on -

almost certainly have adhd based on like... everything ...but reluctant to go and get a diagnosis and treatment because i’m so full of self-loathing that i feel like i don’t ‘deserve’ to get treated for being a useless sack of shit/due to just generally low self-esteem which is... wait for it... a symptom of adhd

apparently adults with adhd are like... pretty regularly misdiagnosed with bipolar disorder. because they’re obviously depressed (being brainweird is depressing and alienating) but also often hyperfocus and such.

anyhow yeah. almost certainly have adhd, basically tick every single box but especially hyperfocus but especially rejection-sensitive dysphoria. i’ve gottan a much better handle on responding to creative rejection or perceived rejection with anger but that sure did used to be a thing for Young and Craziest Jake between like 18 and 24 who had NO idea what the hell was wrong with him but it sure was a LOT. i always had a pretty solid handle on interpersonal rejection in that it would make me feel shitty (sinking, cold, numb chest, physical pain) but i would respond with ‘oh.’ and try to get the fuck out of that social interaction asap rather than being an entitled asshole about it. but hoo boy did i used to view any perceived slight on my creative pursuits as like, a thrown gauntlet. i’m much better about that nowadays at least! just reacting with ‘oh’ and wanting to get the fuck out is more eusocial than being a prick about it.

anyhow basically perceive self as fundamentally loathsome and disgusting, inside and out, without merit or value, and so naturally all pursuits that bring fleeting distraction from that are prized but can turn to ashes real goddamn fast if they’re not *quite* distracting enough and i have a moment of self-perception. while, say, painting miniatures- the image of a hunched and stinking sack of lard making ugly expressions with an ugly face while concentrating entirely too much on something utterly irrelevant. can ruin it for days. not even sure if that qualifies as anhedonia (which is another big thing i DO suffer from) as opposed to like... anti-hedonia whereby all my hobbies just remind me of what a piece of shit i see myself as. to the point where the other day i was strongly tempted to take the sisters of battle minis i’m currently working on and just smash them to bits in a fit of misplaced rage. they’re plastic, it’s not them i hate, it’s my damn self, and so destroying something that i put a lot of work into offers the promise of brief catharsis without more direct self-harm. suppressed the urge thankfully- learned how to do that the hard way over the past decades, too. the aftermath is always achingly regretful and not at all cathartic.

anyway. this situation. it’s not good, obviously. should really do something about it. maybe seek adhd diagnosis. maybe try to work on self-acceptance both mental and physical. that’s incredibly difficult though. to unlearn years and years of messages from within (and without, sometimes) that i’m unacceptable. have tried improving, have had some success in becoming better person, have had no success in giving a shit about that and still focus on all the negatives. 

tl;dr this is basically that dumb nietzche quote ‘acute crisis; in bed all week’ that people meme on except instead of being in bed i’ve been having difficulty staying asleep and instead sort of standing around like

which admittedly is something i do kind of a lot hence my fuckening icon but yeah. acute crisis.

nothing anyone can do about it but maybe me, so i guess i’d better either do that or try and work into a hyperfixation so i can put this all aside for a while and just be in the zone.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Weird: Boredom

Pet Owner Training manual.

Chapter 1 

How to Keep Your Human Happy

As you have learned by now, this manual has nothing to do with the upkeep of beasts, but more about the upkeep of human companions. As we all know, the Galactic Assembly does not categorize the human as a Pet species, but there has been some call from nonhuman- coworkers for a manual on dealing with their human companions. 

The publishers of this manual were unsure how insulted humans might be on the creation of this manual and therefore put it under a different name for we know that humans have an odd hatred for following concrete instructions, and therefore usually do not read users or construction guides.

We would like to begin by  stating a truth universally known: Time and time again, history has proven that an unhappy human is a destructive human. As a super-complex emotional species, the human has many ways of being unhappy, they can be angry, sad, depressed, annoyed, frustrated, hurt, betrayed, or bored.

In turn the influence of their destruction can be wide ranging or even dangerous. The spectrum can range from self destruction all the way to homicide. 

Humans are more emotionally complex than any species in the galaxy, but they are also one of the youngest sentient species as well with an extreme connection to their animalistic instincts compared to more evolved species.

Not to say that the human isn’t intelligent. The cortical capacity of a human is as wide ranging as their emotional spectrum. They can range from a low G-6 classification with brain damage to an A-9 genius level. 

The human cortical capacity to learn and grow is beyond what we have seen from almost any other species. They need to learn, and they need to be occupied to satisfy the brain, and thus the emotions, in an engaging way. While we will be discussing all classified forms of human negative emotion, we are first going to begin with one of the most dangerous and brilliant of human motivations.... boredom.

Boredom is characterized as the feeling a human gets when they are not being cognitively challenged, and ignoring the signs can have dire consequences. 

The inside of a rundi prison couldn’t be categorized as very homey. It was almost.... nothing.

It was the absence of extremes. The white walls reflected all light, the floors were not to hard or to soft, the atmosphere matched average body temperature, There was nothing to look at, and nothing to talk about. There was hardly any background noise at all.

Krill might have found the environment relaxing if it wasn’t for his human companion pacing angrily back and fourth across the cell. 

Ever since being thrown in this cell, the captain had grown increasingly agitated. The first few days he had quietly sat in the corner making smalltalk with Krill to let the time pass, but it was hard to define time in a place like this, and the human had grown increasingly agitated.

Krill felt fine, but the human clearly wasn’t.

“It’ll be fine captain, this is all just a misunderstanding. Once the crew finds a good negotiation strategy things will work out.”

The captain paused turning to face him with his one working eye, and the look Krill saw there was almost chilling. “If I don’t get out of here soon, I am going to go insane.”

Krill paused not sure if that was just exaggeration on the captain’s part or if it really was true, Humans tended to have odd reactions to things that normally wouldn’t bother the rest of the galaxy.

“Captain...” He ventured softly

“The walls are white, the floors are nothing, the sounds are nothing, the heat is nothing. I cant FEEL anything, and there’s nothing to do.”

Krill stared on in fascinated horror as the human continued his tirade which quickly devolved into nonsensical ramblings as if his only goal was to fill the room with noise. He paced pack and fourth at an increasing rate until the pacing turned into circles and the circles turned into frantic wandering.

“W-what’s wrong with you.... what’s wrong captain.”

“I’m BORED.” The man snapped flopping down on his back to stare up at the ceiling, He stayed that for a while before rolling over to beat his fists against the floor.

Krill pulled back.

The human stood lunging towards the door to beat on it savagely with his fists, “LET US OUT.... LET US OUT YOU BASTARDS.”

The human stepped away again before charging back towards the door.

He must have been at that for an hour before sliding down against the wall to stare at his feet.

Krill stayed fixated the entire time. 

When the human wasn’t sleeping he wasn’t still for long moving from one activity to the next at a manic pace. Krill had heard about a human state similar to this, but assumed it only appeared in the pathology of mental illness. He didn’t think the captain was ailed with such problems, but here he was growing more and more irritable by the minute, 

His quiet muttering turned to humming, and then the humming devolved into soft singing, then the singing became shouting.

He stared at the door as if hoping to get someone’s attention, and then he would fall back to the floor and fall asleep. He would sleep for hours upon hours before waking again to return to his manic state of before. 

“Talk.” The human demanded, “Don’t just sit there, say SOMETHING!” his one eye rolled with savage insanity 

Krill stammered, “Captain, I.... What do you want me to say.”

“Anything, Anything.... Please.” The human begged

“Oh ok.... um Ok.... how about I... teach you.... my language.”

The human paused lifting his head and tilting a little to the side. He walked over and calmly sat down next to Krill, “Go on, I’m interested.”

Inside Krill gave a sigh of relief. The human had relaxed though the way he was watching him, so intently, was rather unsettling. Humans had terrible focus, but here he was more focused than Krill had ever seen him.

This pattern continued for days, and the moment Krill let his guard down and allowed the room to go quiet, the human slowly started devolving back into the more savage state.

It was very stressful.

One morning, he rose from a meditative state to find that the human had disassembled his prosthetic leg and was using its pieces to build small animal figurines. He seemed relatively pleased with himself almost back to his normal state.... before he ran out of materials and grew board once again.

Didn’t take long before the human was speaking in full sentences with Krill without the aid of his universal translator. He had to admit it was rather nice.

Until the next morning. The human had admitted to him problems with sleeping, but Krill couldn’t keep an eye on him at all times, and the next morning he came too to find the walls painted with long wavelengths. 

Red

He shot up in shock and horror to find the human sitting by the wall using his fingers to paint pictures against the white. HIs fingers were coated in blood.

“Captain.” he shrilled in horror

The captain looked up at him and shrugged, “It’s alright,” He held up his hand, pricked my finger last night. Thought this place could use a little color.

Krill couldn’t stop staring. The human had gone insane.

The captain walked over and sat down beside him, “We were working on motion verbs yesterday.”  

How could that happen. He was insane one minute and almost calm the next.

“are you alright, Captain?”

The man shrugged, “I was bored last night, but then you woke up, and now I’m fine.”

Krill shook his head in consternation. He couldn’t take much more of this, and he doubted the captain could either.

When the crew finally came for them, the captain had systematically learned a second language, destroyed his prosthetic leg, scarred his hands, painted the room red, screamed his throat raw, and gone nearly insane.

Upon hear of the incident The Galactic Assembly took action voting to add a subsection on humans involving the intergalactic prison system*

*upon conviction, humans are to be housed in prison facilities equipped with an acceptable number of cognitive enhancing tasks to avoid the likelihood of prison cell insanity.

[theinfamousdoctorf]

So I’m finally back...

 Those few who know me personally will be aware that me and @theoverworldqueen have purchased a small rural house together. <3 It’s taken the better part of a year to make it happen and several months apart while I negotiated a transfer with my job and she logged work history in the place we were moving too for the mortgage requirements. [So we were apart for several more months then we‘d planned on. ;_: ]

 It took me almost two months to pack our household by myself, and several days to actually load the truck. The ‘friends’ who had promised to help us move faded away when they were actually needed, and I had to utilize some local kids who received cash and some friendly neighbors who were paid in furniture [that didn’t fit in the truck] and booze.

  When the day came to actually leave, I still had no volunteers to drive the truck because none of my friends could get time off work. [I had to drive my car with our eight cats inside.] The only people available to help were my parents.

The exact people I was moving to get the fuck away from.

 My mother refused to do any driving because the big truck was ‘too scary’. My pathetic excuse for a father, [from here on called jackass], would be doing all of the driving. Despite the fact that he’d just had several toes removed for diabetic reasons. My mother planned the route, later I realized she not only planned it with a paper atlas rather then choosing the fastest route via Google, [because she didn’t know how to use the app and wouldn’t ask for help] but also planned a very circuitous route in a vain attempt to avoid driving through any mountains. [Because they are also just too scary.]  So we start driving. A 26 foot Budget rental truck with a small horse trailer on it, and my car with me and the cats. Before we even got out of Texas, the horse trailer hit a bump and lost a wheel. It was then dragged about a mile while throwing an ocean of sparks where the metal edge was grinding against the asphalt. This was because it happened on a narrow highway with no breakdown lane. I barely managed to avoid getting hit with the wheel that flew off as well. We sat in a parking lot all night waiting for a tow driver who basically told us the king nut flew off and it was totaled. I had a partial mental breakdown and had to abandon most of the things I’d packed into the trailer. The truck was already stuffed up to the door and what little I saved was jammed in my car and thrown on top of everything else in the truck.   The cats were riding in a pair of pop-up zippered tents and were pretty mad by this point. My car stank of piss and fear pheromones.

 And then we drove, and drove and drove. Keep in mind that my destination was Washington state and I was coming from Galveston TX. It should have been a 2 and a half day drive with a stop to sleep each night. Around the third day I demanded to see the map and realized she had sent us across the widest part of Texas and New Mexico before turning north. There was a lot of arguing. Especially because I realized jackass was a terrible driver. So I had no choice but to watch helplessly as this colossal asshole drove a truck rented in my name, with nearly all my worldly goods inside, over every fucking curb, bumping it up and down and weaving all over the road. He hit a call box outside a Jack in the Box, he scraped a parked truck, he hit signs at more then one gas station and skirted far too close to the pumps with the back end of the truck. I went beyond the reasonable limits of human stress.

 The cats destroyed the zippers on the carriers and I was forced to just let them roam the car. First panting in the heat and then huddled freezing as we got further north. [I had them all in little safety vests and that kept them mostly calm, pro tip.]  On the fourth night jackass drove into a truck stop and then behind it. Up an unlit dirt road that said ‘dangerous blasting area authorized access only’. He then turned around several times and went back down to the truck stop where I blocked him with my car. He and my mother were having a screaming match because he wouldn’t explain what he was doing or why and wouldn’t stop doing donuts in the restricted area when she told him too.  I lost my shit. I screamed in his face and when he didn’t respond, I grabbed his horrible scraggy beard and then his throat and repeated myself. I took the keys and went to try and get some sleep in my car. [With so many animals in tow I couldn’t get a hotel room and really couldn’t leave the car unattended at all. So I hadn’t been able to properly shower in days. Plus I’d forgotten to bring a spare pair of shoes and my sandaled feet were red and freezing.]  The bastard has always tried to make my mother choose between me and him. He’s a psychotic manic depressive on a whole rainbow of medications. He’s a misogynist who really wanted a son, plus a racist and generally stingy and awful person. A running argument revolved around his insistence on cutting my lawn three times a week with the mower blade on the lowest setting so he was just killing anything green and kicking up dust. [My mother is pure enabler, always apologizing for his terrible behavior and gaslighting me like I’m over reacting.] He’s literally alienated so many people where I was living that I’ve lost out on jobs because he insists that I’m the terrible one and trash-talks me to everyone he meets.  So we finally get back on the road.

 In Wyoming I tried to get some sleep at a rest stop and someone hit my car and busted out a tail light. Several times we almost run out of gas because her planned route avoided any cities in case there was traffic. At this point I have a massive rash under my bra and just take it off.

 On the fifth night we arrive in a gas station in Idaho. I go to pee and come back outside to find jackass laying on the ground with three people hovering over him. I inform my mother that he fell and go back to my car. So emotionally dead at this point I don’t feel anything. 

 I am informed that jackass has broken his hip.

 I’ve spent most of my life praying for him to die, so that part doesn’t touch me. The part that ripped my heart out was that my mother told me that I’m now ‘on my own’. She is going to the hospital with him. She left me in a freezing parking lot with eight cats in a car and a giant moving truck with all my things in it.  Terrified and heartbroken I call my girlfriend Lie. She is eight hours away and leaving now to come rescue me. She’s bringing our friend Ashley as well. So I huddle in the car with the cats and try to sleep. After several hours I get a text from my mother telling me to bring her luggage and such to the hospital. At this point I’m furious. I tell her I will not do that. She says I will. I stop responding.  In the morning my rescuers arrive and we begin the long final limp over the mountains.  I get several more messages threatening me, trying to shame me for just ‘moving on without them’ and ‘not caring if your father dies’.  I was instructed to deal with my own problems like an adult. So that’s what I did. At that point the rental truck needed to be returned and I hadn’t even arrived yet. My job was waiting on me to show up the next day for orientation, and she’d basically wasted all the time I’d budgeted for unloading the truck. There was no way in hell I was going anywhere to give either of them anything.

 But we did finally get here. The Budget guy sent me his ex-wife who happily took some cash in exchange for unloading the truck with me, and we finally got rid of the thing. Unfortunately my car overheated from all the punishment it took and it’s currently non-functional. My job gave me a little extension so I’m using the time to get our household set up again.  My Etsy shop [https://www.etsy.com/shop/PatchworkLaboratory ] is still on vacation for the moment because the previous tenant didn’t like mail and just didn’t have a mailbox, but it should be up and running again soon. My other site is still good though if you’d like some funky cloth and want to throw a few dollars towards me fixing my car. [ https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/infamousdoctorf] I’ve got a paypal attached to nightshade518@yahoo.com as well. It’s going to be hard financially to keep all the bills paid, but I just couldn’t stand being near my abusive family anymore.

In conclusion. Take your giant cockroaches, fire ants, heat waves, and hurricanes; and go fuck yourself Galveston. Have fun with my awful relatives.

WA is home.

[diaryofasupergroupie]

This post is quite personal and talks about my mental health, my relationships and stuff I have been going through lately so if this is at all triggering please don’t read it. But I think it is important to be authentic and real like a lot of people who message me are with me. Enjoy! xoxo - K

Tour was thoroughly chaotic as to be expected. Sometimes things aren’t designed to run smoothly and at the very last moment things tend to fall apart for a reason. As the tour went on K began to become more chaotic and manic with how he spoke and what he did. All I wanted was to look after him and keep him safe but that is a lot easier said than done. He was completely exhausted after the whole act he was putting on through the show and with the fans. There were a group of kids who followed the entire tour and eventually when the doors were closed and everyone was gone he would want to fall to pieces. He begged for a hit so he would get to feel what he used to. I cared for him, I truly did and I had every intention of going on tour with him even while I was falling apart but things don’t always work out that way.

I was due to fly out alone before the plans changed to me flying out hours later but with my friend M and their photographer, before finally the flight was cancelled. It was one of those moments when everything seems to be conspiring against you and you have to wonder if the universe is trying to tell you something. My gut told me to pull out and with all the sorrys in the world I sent him my love and a care package with M who flew out today.

While I said I would update you on tour people have told me they like how honest I am when it comes to my own mental health and my toxic relationship with C. I can’t talk about this week without talking about the decline that led to me having a meltdown in a tiny shower room with M. I’m very good at maintaining a state of denial throughout my day. While I was busy living in that under the surface there was me wanting to pull my hair out with the thought of C touring the UK very soon and my age going up. For C if you have read my previous post on him you know why that would be making me anxious. But something I don’t think I have shared is just how much my age has got to me. Most of the girls trying to surround the bands I love are younger than me and the realisation that next September I will be studying for a Masters degree and then have to get a 9-5 job has been haunting me for a while now. When I decide to leave the scene it is always because I feel too old for it and I am so scared of what everyone else will think.

When I went on the road with the band this only got worse and not because I didn’t want to be there. I love touring and I love music, more than anything. It makes me feel something that I can’t even explain. Music for me can be like a spiritual experience and when I am there with it I feel like I am high. If you don’t feel like that I don’t know whether I can explain it to you really. But that feeling that I shouldn’t be there and should instead be focusing on being an adult despite all the bands being in their late twenties and thirties was driving me crazy.

I would never cry in front of the band or have anything resembling a meltdown. But when they went on stage I was with M and locked myself in the shower room. Having meltdowns is a lot less common for me than it used to be and honestly I thought I was over them. Maybe part of me was scared of being in the scene because of what happened with C but I think it was definitely a mixture of both. C is more of a temporary fear while my age and having to grow up is more of a permanent one. The real issue is when you’ve been in the scene for as long as I have and from such an early age all the meaningful relationships in your life come from the scene. My best friends are groupies just like I am deep inside. The man who has been there through everything and is like my big brother is in a band with his life revolving around music. The man who is like a father to me is in a huge band with his life revolving around the industry too. Separating myself from that leaves me not alone but definitely limited.

While I was having a meltdown M phoned A who called me by my real name and calmed me enough for me to breathe again. A had always had this effect on me and he is one of few that can do this with me. He was so busy at the time but he still from across the Atlantic somehow calmed me down. The next night I came home and over four hours of facetime we got drunk together. We talked and reminisced about when we met in ‘09 all those years ago when the industry was such a different place. We were different people too with him being so silly yet mysterious while I was filled with trauma that had yet to happen. He fondly describes me as a very nice girl who had a very big chip on her shoulder. I loved everything but he saw me as someone who was so dark but could be so light. With risk of this sounding rather depressing we saw something in each other. We also talked about his terrible fashion sense back then and how over backcombed my hair was. We’ve both gone through terrible fashion phases. We invented our very own drinking game where we would read fanfiction about him and the first to break character would drink. I drank an impossible amount and had the hangover of all hangovers the next day. At one point he got up and disappeared for a while too and when he returned told me he had thrown up before he poured himself another drink.

Before all that though he told me he didn’t understand me at all. Everyone who asked me to go to their gigs and to tour with them wanted me there and were friends with me. The words he spoke to me made me realise that he knew me so well and he knew the real me. K and the real me are not two different people. They are the same and it’s stupid to think otherwise. Sure, their behaviour is certainly different but the way K loves the music and would do anything for it is real and it is inside me every moment of the day. A told me that if I didn’t stop with this too old bullshit I would give myself a mental breakdown and if I am honest I think he’s right. If I stop myself from being in the scene I won’t be me or even the person I want to be. I have one year to experience everything and I intend to. I am also doing it different thanks to A as well, instead of just being there for the ride I am learning all I can. This year I want to work on my book, to do more photography, production and PR for my friends. I have been so focused on growing up that I forgot how hard it is to get a job. You need to experience and if the industry can be something else for me I am going to take it. Besides, I can’t ignore my talent for somehow getting to meet the headliner.

I love music and the people who make it and that is always going to be part of me. Being a groupie isn’t about the drama with other girls or the exs who try to tear you to pieces. It’s about the music and being close to it. This all comes to me being comfortable in the scene now. No one actually knows how old I am they just know I have always been there which is something M keeps reminding me and honestly I could pass for 18. I also won’t have it any other way when C comes here playing the song about how awful I am to his fans. I don’t know the point in sharing all this really but I try to be authentic and honest which may help you all believe that I am a real person and not some creature who doesn’t feel anything and just gets to go to all these nice places. This is entirely stream of consciousness but hopefully someone can take something from it, I’m just not sure what exactly. Either way I think I’m done caring what other people think.