#and it made me feel hurt and alienated from myself to imagine them as being wholly irrational or self constructed

[garpond]

extremely specifc and potentially just a me thing but. if ur aware that youre struggling with mental health issues but feel offended and defensive and upset by the common depiction of mental illness as a hostile entity living in your brain/a dark side of yourself/etc in a way that suggests that it's ego-dystonic and originating from some hostile internal factor. it might be worthwhile to consider that your struggles have their roots more substantially in traumatic experiences than they do in purely biological chemical imbalances in ur brain

[fleetingcalypso]

I am very sorry to bother you, but a very sweet prompt fleeted into my mind as I prepared myself to come out to my parents, and I'd thought I'd share it in the sheer hope you'd read it, enjoy the thought and perhaps write something based on it, if you're comfortable.

Just imagine, you're very close to Sirius Black (you can choose to which degree, platonically, romantically, interested but not together yet, preferably the last because hehe). You've known for a while you were transgender (FtM) but never had the strength to come out, fearing rejection and alienation from the friend group. Just a sweet little comfort fic because I'm anxious as fuck.

≋ What you're doing is extremely brave, I'm so very proud of you. I wish you the best, friend. Know that whatever goes down, you'll never be judged or rejected here. I'll pray your coming out will be met with love and affection.

≋ Sirius Black x TransMasc!Reader ≋

≋ Word Count: 2285 words.

≋TW: Dysphoria, Misgendering (not done by Sirius)

Hogwarts seemed intimidating, more than anything. Eleven year old me, sitting in that train, chewing my nails and staring out at the moving scenery, had not the slightest idea that finding friends would be as easy as breathing. At least it is when four troublemakers decide to adopt you into their friend group, barely a week after classes started.

‘The marauders’ they’d call themselves, not so slowly becoming every professor’s nightmare.

They each had something that made them so intriguing. The four of them were attached at the hip, and with me being dragged into their pranks and escapades things only got more entertaining. Even as my house was far away from the castle we studied at, every day I got to spend with them made it feel like I was home, with their jokes and their being able to light up a dull moment with only a couple of words. James, Sirius, Remus and Peter welcomed me in, as one of them.

In the midst of my lowest moments I wondered, would they still accept me if I let my walls down? I sprinkled seeds of the truth here and there: I cut my hair short, I opted for pants instead of the usual skirt, I was at my happiest during winter - when finally I could show off the baggiest of sweaters to conceal the appendages on my chest. It’s not purely a physical discomfort, though. It’s in the little things, small seemingly meaningless moments that no one appears to notice but me. 

People perceive me differently based on how I move even the tiniest of muscles, it is painfully obvious. The boys have never done it, not once, they’ve always treated me as one of them. Never has one of them implied me being weaker, more delicate or called me ‘sweetheart’ in that obnoxious way lots of people do when they’re trying to put me back in my place.

 My head constantly feels underwater with the knowledge that if I were to sit wrong I’d be labeled as a girl, if I walk in a specific way it’ll put attention on my hips, even just standing, unmoving, gives me anxiety. The most insignificant of movements could shoot down the image of me that I want people to see whenever they lay eyes on me.

I feared the worst each time I let my mind tug me into a daydream. Deep down I knew, they’d never turn their back on a friend, but fear nipped at my heels every day. Not only was I hiding who I was from them, but I was lying to their faces about it as well. What hurt me the most, though, was not being able to admit my identity to Sirius.

Sirius Orion Black, he’s been the one that made sure I felt safe around him and the lads. More than once I caught myself being entranced by his words as he let the rest of us know what a nightmare his family life was. He was the total opposite of what his mother wanted him to be, yet that didn’t stop him from being his pure unfiltered self, if anything he enhanced each trait she found disgusting. Sirius wasn’t scared to be his true self, even if it meant going against his blood.

It sparked something in me. My heart has been his, for a long time now.

Sirius, with his raven locks, smooth skin and ever present smirk on his face is the one and only subject of all my dreams. He constantly looks as though he knows everyone’s secrets. The thought makes my stomach twist. When I awake, with the moon still high up in the sky, I almost turn to the pillow beside me, to take a peek at him, they’re that realistic. 

At any rate, if there’s someone that I feel should be the one to know the true me, it is him. I contemplated asking all four of them to meet me, but I don’t think I could rip the bandaid that easily. I want to talk to the one who knows -somewhat- how it feels to have expectations placed on oneself, the one who knows that being someone you’re not is more painful than the Crucio curse itself. Of course our situations are oceans apart: he doesn’t deal with having the need to hide certain parts of my body, or with the numerous wailing moments caused by being born in the wrong body, but I think he'd be the first one to accept me.

I had a whole speech prepared, a letter pages and pages long that I was going to give him, so he could read it without my presence, but as I hear his footsteps approaching me, I can imagine him already. His wand resting behind his ear and tie loosened, hands comfortably and nonchalantly situated in the pockets of his jeans with his luscious hair possibly styled into a bun.

“You’ve been rather gloomy lately, mate.” His foot taps my leg, before he lowers himself to sit next to me. We’ve always enjoyed sitting in the astronomy tower together, in the short span of time between a prank or two. Here, we don’t have to worry about being something else, we’re just humans admiring the stars. In hindsight, I should have figured out he knew I’d be hiding out here, as for my ‘being gloomy’, well, I thought I’d done a good job pretending. Apparently not. It makes me wonder if he’s seen through all of my white lies.

“You know how it is, life is hard.” I turn to him, expecting a silly joke like ‘Life is hard, but I’m harder’, something stupid to cheer me up as he usually does, but said joke never makes it into reality. He’s not even smiling, his lip is caught between his teeth in a clearly troubled look, it doesn’t suit him. No trace of a bun holding his luscious hair in place, what a shame.

“Are you okay though?” He whispers, even if we are the only beating hearts in the room and the sincerity in his voice almost brings me to tears. “I mean it when I say you haven’t been yourself lately.” I haven’t fully been myself for ages, but he doesn’t know that. Of course he doesn’t. I’ve been everything but myself. Oh, how many times have I hoped I could just rip my chest apart and rid myself of this body that doesn’t belong to me, before emerging from the depth of it as the man I know I am.

My tongue is threatening me to run faster than my mind. ‘I’m a man’ I want to shout, ‘I have always been a man, from the moment I was born, and I hope you can accept me for what I am.’ It sounds so easy in my head, which is why I hate it more than anything when my throat dries up as soon as I part my lips. His gaze falls to them, but it comes back up to meet my eyes when only a sigh escapes from them.

In being faced with my hesitation he speaks again, a subtle comforting smile on his face, “Hey, I’m not holding you hostage. You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t feel like it.” His elbow meeting my side in a gentle shove sends my heart ablaze, it is just a simple touch, not even skin on skin, yet it makes my entire body warm up.

“If one day you woke up and saw that you were trapped in a cage, what would you do?” I tentatively ask, testing the waters of the ocean I know I am going to dive in today. My question causes a corner of his lips to tilt upwards, “I’d pick the lock,” He says, as if the solution would be that easy. I foolishly hope it was.

“What if there is no lock to pick? What if you could escape it, but you’d have to face one of the biggest fears in your life in order to do so?” 

His answer, before I can even finish the last syllable, “I’d do it. If it means freedom, I’d do anything. You know it.” His hand rests on my shoulder, I can feel his thumb pressing into my muscles, more than anything I want to hug him and confess my reality with my face hidden in his neck. But I don’t. I’m tired of hiding. My life has turned into a twisted version of hide and seek, where I’m both the seeker and the one hiding. I seek a day where I won’t have to hold back anymore, a day where I’ll be able to use a masculine pronoun without expecting weird looks towards me, yet I hide away in the darkness, afraid of the future, afraid of losing everything I’ve built so far. 

I’ve built mansions, cathedrals, palaces with precarious foundations and I think the time has come to fix that. 

“What’s with all the philosophical talk today? Cages and fears and whatnot. Is it a new idea for a prank? Because if it is you need to hear one James had just a while ago-”

“I’ve been lying to you, Sirius.” I confess with the taste of bile in the back of my throat. The letter I had prepared and read so many times I’d memorized it sits deep in the pockets of my pants, I’m running on no script and no idea of where this conversation will bring us. I have no patience to hear what he might say, so I don’t even stop to breathe before I speak again.

“I’ve been lying to all of you, even to myself at times. I want to preface this by saying that I understand if this is confusing to you, or if you don’t understand where this is coming from but I am not the girl you boys befriended all those years ago. I’ve never been a girl, not once, but this doesn’t mean I’ve been faking to be your friend. I’m still the friend that helped you get out of detention, I’m still the friend that sent professors down the wrong hallway when they would ask for you mid prank preparation, I’m still the friend that would do your essays for you in exchange for part of your food at lunch. I’m still your friend, just not the friend you thought you had.” The words flow out like a river overflowing, it is only as I say the last word that I notice the tears rolling down my cheeks, “I’m not a girl,” I say again, my voice cracking in a sob, “I’m a guy.” 

The grip he had on my shoulder tightens for a moment before he lets out the loudest sigh of relief I’ve ever heard, “By Merlin’s beard, you scared me half to death there.” His other hand rests on his chest, most likely trying to relax his beating heart that, if it’s pounding half the speed of mine, then it must be fighting tooth and nail to escape his ribcage. Something halfway through another sigh and a chuckle comes from him as his head shakes, “So, you’re a bloke, huh? Is that what you’re telling me?” 

I nod, swallowing the gulp stuck in my throat, I can’t force myself to make a sound. The arm wrapping itself around my shoulder and pulling me into Sirius takes me by surprise, “You were always one of the lads, mate.” He says, grinning ear to ear, “Thank you for telling me. I can’t imagine this was easy for you…” The weight on my back does not abandon me completely, it is only the tiniest amount lighter. The first step is taken, there is no going back, little by little he’ll be able to uncover all of me. One small step at a time. Now it is no time to let him know how the only things I smelled while brewing amortentia was his cologne, butterbeer and the occasional cigarette. 

I don’t know what else to say, it feels like I just lept from a flying broom awaiting contact with the ground, but the crash never comes, my bones never break and no absurd pain breaks through me. “Thank you for still being here.” I choke out. His thumb runs over the corners of my eyes, the silver rings on his fingers graze my hot skin, “Thank you for telling me.” He repeats, dragging my body closer to his in a warm hug, “I want you to know, telling the others, that’s your choice. I won’t say a word. There’s no rush. I’ll even hold your hand while you do it.”

I melt in his arms. His last remark, as teasing as it was, is enough to pull a smile out of me. “I’ll make sure to let you know whenever I’m ready so you can wash your hands first. Who knows what you’ve touched.”

“Wow, rude much.” Sirius holds me for what feels like a lifetime. They say Hogwarts is the safest place there is, but I think I’ve found a worthy adversary to that claim. We don’t say anything, I said my piece and he listened. That’s all that was important. One day I’m going to have to tell James, Remus and Peter as well, but that can wait for now. The worst is done. 

“Do you feel a little more free now?” He murmurs in my ear, “Has that cage began to feel like something you could escape from?”

“Yes.” And I mean it when I say it. The future looks brighter than it ever has.

[idontknowwhoiam465]

Not Alone. Not Anymore. Not Ever.

The reader met the Doctor three months ago, and already he's become so important to her. Her anxieties about being left alone start to show, and the Doctor makes sure she knows thats not going to happen. Not ever.

----------------------------------

I'd been traveling with the Doctor for almost three months now, and already the larger than life TARDIS had started to feel more like home than anywhere on Earth ever did. The Doctor and I had settled into a comfortable companionship early on, and I could see the joy in his eyes whenever he watched closely at my reactions to a new planet, or species, or some corner of the universe I never thought imaginable.

The Doctor had quickly become my favourite person to be around. His quirky excitable personality, and outfit to match, drew me in from the moment I saw him. Whenever we were sat in the control room of the tardis and he was tinkering away fixing something or other, he'd often tell me stories of places he'd been as I kept him company. Tell me tales of the adventures he'd had and the people he'd seen. Songs he's heard, and lives he's lived.

Sometimes he'd mention a name of a past companion and a flash of sorrow would show in his eyes, before brightening up again, so quick I almost wouldn't notice. It's in these moments that I realise how lonely he gets. How afraid he is to be alone again. These are the moments that scare me. I see myself in him. His eyes a reflection of my own.

I spent my whole life caring so much about the people around me. Loving them with everything I had in me. Only for them to get bored of me, or decide I was too much to deal with, and just walk away. And it hurt. It hurt like hell. Anytime someone new would come into my life, I'd wonder how long. How long until they get bored of me? How long until I drive them away? How long before they decided they dont want me anymore?

Sometimes, when I see that pain in the Doctors eyes, I want to tell him I know how he feels. I know what its like to be left on your own time and time again. But I can't. His eyes show the pain of someone who hasn't just been left behind, but rather, had the people he loved ripped away. My loneliness can't compare to that.

Sometimes my anxiety gets the better of me. I find myself wondering if he's going to leave me behind too. If I'm another burden, that im putting on his already heavy shoulders.

I also wonder if, just as I see the loneliness in his eyes, he sees it in mine.

Of course, he does. I just didn't realise that yet.

---------------------------------------

I was too busy constantly overthinking the idea of him leaving me, that I didn't even notice everything he was doing to make me trust that he wouldn't.

The comforting smiles and endless rescues when we went to a planet, and it didn't quite go as planned. The time he put a beanbag in the control room for me, because he knew I couldn't sit comfortably still on a chair. Keeping hold of my hand, never letting go, as we'd explore dark creepy tunnels. The little music box he secretly bought for me, after noticing me looking at it longingly at an alien marketplace. And the way he seemed to know when I was afraid, before I knew myself, and made sure he was by my side.

Despite all this, my anxieties about him leaving me behind only grew.

It was when we went to Victorian London, that I fell apart.

--

I peered out of the doors of the TARDIS around the Doctor's shoulder as he (quite overly dramatically) opened them. I gasped at the snow lining the streets as the faint glow of the streetlamps lit the dark road. The snow glittered as each flake reflected the light, creating a sparkling blanket, resting peacefuly on the ground.

I turned to the Doctor excitedly, 'Where - no, wait - When are we? When and where?'.

'Victorian London,' He licked his finger and held it up in the air as he stepped out of the blue box, '1873, 5:23 pm, December 24th, Wednesday. Good. Not a Thursday. Don't like Thursdays. Today is Christmas Eve, Christmas ball day. And we,' he winked at me as he pulled out his psychic paper, 'have got an invitation.'

I stared at him eyes wide. 'Christmas ball day. You're taking me to a christmas ball. In Victorian London.' I looked outside as I breathed out a silent wow.

I looked down at the clothes I was wearing, 'Oh my god, I need to go get a dress!'

As I turned to get to the wardrobe room of the TARDIS, the Doctor stopped me.

'I uh, actually, Y/N, may have already bought one for you. If you want it that is, I don't mean to force you to wear it if you dont want to. Thats not what I want to do at all actually, I just saw it and thought you might like it. Tell me if you -'

I cut him off with a grin.

'Show me the way to my new dress Doctor'

'Well, yes, okay then, follow me'

--------------------------------------

I opened my eyes to see the most beautiful dress I could have ever imagined. Hanging in front of me was a sea of green. Layers upon layers of fabric, all folded over eachother. Stunning embroidery and beads and lace all creating so many beatiful patterns that I could sit there all day and find new designs and still find more later.

The Doctor's voice came from behind me, 'I thought the colour would work well with your hair, seeing as you insist on dying it red.'

He thought that far into it. He thought about whether or not it would match my hair. I turned to him silently not knowing what to say. Before I even knew I was crying, the Doctor took a step towards me.

'Hey, what's wrong? Do you not like the dress? I'm sorry, I didnt mean to upset you.'

The Doctor wiped a tear off my cheek as I whispered through a shaky breath, 'The dress is beautiful Doctor. Really, I love it. That's not the problem at all.'

He held his hand on the side of my face and gently asked, 'Then talk to me, what's wrong?'

'It's nothing. Don't worry about it. It's stupid.' I said shaking my head slightly.

He took one of my hands in his and looked at me with his bluey-green eyes full of so much care, 'Oh Y/N, nothing that makes you sad or hurt could ever be stupid. Please talk to me.'

'Its just, well, you're important to me right,' I managed, tears coming quicker now, 'My best friend. And that scares me. I told you. It's stupid. But everyone, everyone I've ever cared about has decided at one point or another that they're bored of me. Or that they dont want to deal with me anymore. I always push everyone away. And you're doing all this nice stuff for me. The bean bag and the music box, and now this stunning dress. And it makes it worse. Because what if you decide you dont want me anymore. I can't get left behind again. I just, I just can't. And I couldn't tell you, because I see it in your eyes. You've been alone before, but your eyes tell a different story. You weren't just left behind. I can see the pain and the grief. They were taken from you. And my fear of being alone is small and silly compared to that.' I looked down at the floor, scared to look at him and see him looking at me as though I'm making a big deal out of nothing.

I felt his hand leave my cheek and tilt my chin up to look at him. His eyes searched mine for a moment, before he pulled me in for a hug and held me like our lives depended on it.

'My amazing Y/N. Just because we feel different pain, it doesnt mean your's is lesser. You hear me? You are allowed to feel just as sad as anyone else. Don't think you have to hide it from me. And listen I am not going anywhere without you, you are coming to the ends of the universe with me whether you like it or not. You are not alone. Not anymore. Not ever.'

I pulled back to look at him, my turn to search his eyes. 'You promise?' I whispered.

'Cross both my hearts and hope to die. Well, not really hope to die, the idea doesnt seem particularly appealing to me personally. Honestly that phrase should probably have some adjustments made. But yes, I promise. You're stuck with me I'm afraid.'

My lips curled up slightly at his rambling, and the sincerity I saw in his face.

His face turned into a grin, 'There we go Bright Eyes. There's that smile I love. Now, haven't you got a dress to try on?'

I looked behind me at the dress, and turned back to him with my own grin. 'Absolutely. And then, we have a ball to attend.'

======================================

Thankyou so much for reading, it's my first fic, so hopefully you liked it. Lmk what i can do to make future ones better of if theres anything you want me to do :)

[meatsex]

its suicide awareness week (in the states at least) in fact, it ends right on my birthday this saturday (which stings on a personal level), i feel like to some degree its my duty to make some kind of insight about this considering its been a struggle for me this year and that ive been making it a struggle for others by posting about it here, but realistically i dont know what to say

im not asking for pity with this post, i just need to let out some of it, and in a way apologize for all the times i have scared people with how i can get when im in "the hole":

this year has been hard, a lot of things have happened, mostly internal realizations, but also small daily negative things that began to slowly deteriorate me to a breaking point. i began to externalize my feelings more in my art, at the cost of feeling embarassment and fear of being shunned or laughed at, but in return i have also found that it brings comfort to others, and that makes me happy. ive been trying to be more open about my issues, to be able to ask for help, but its also been hard, people dont take anything seriously, you arr selfish for wanting to kill yourself, you are an attention seeker for hurting yourself, you are just some jobless loser, these are the kind of things ive experienced and see others be told, it hurts a lot, my head hurts a lot right now, because even if im not hurting at this moment, in a way ive been hurting the entire year, and even some more time.

its not anyone's duty to help someone that really needs it, its complicated, its frustrating, no one is ever fully prepared for it, im not sure if i would be, but at least for me (because this is about me personally) even just checking in once means a lot.

even among others with the same struggles, i feel distant and less, undeserving of help, and i have even tried to push away from my life the people that have tried to help me, "they are going to get so mad they will stop trying", its a scary thought, the less people around you, the easier and closer becomes the choice of going through with it, once others have no emotional links to you, you are unstoppable, or at least thats how i imagine it.

i think the thing that has hurt me the most is finding out feeling this way isn't the normal way to be, that not everyone in the world lives life thinking "i want to kill myself so bad", it was so alienating, it made me realize just how bad my situation can get, and in how much denial ive been my entire life.

"my issues arent real" "im a faker because i dont cut myself" "someone else has it worse so i shouldnt complain", its still hard to push away these thoughts, in all honesty i still believe all of them, but im trying to listen to people both on a friends level to outright my therapist, when they tell me that they are in fact very real.

theres no happy note to end this post on, at least not right now, just some bittersweet statements, because even if im fine right now, i know ill go back to it, in fact, maybe ill never "heal" from it, but if i can keep my head above water with the help i get when i need it, then i think thats okay, and if you could try and do the same for someone else, even if its scary, even if you feel like you are not helping, even if it feels like they only want you to go away, well, i think that might be enough for that person.

[rivnedell]

Tolkien saved me

Just some thoughts I need to write down / Mental health issues mentioned

Not the usual tone of my blog but I just felt a urge to write, sorry

Parental death tw

I'm marked with parental alienation. I was 6 when my mom took us three, her, my sister and I far away to escape. She saved us. But I couldn't understand the bravery and the strength she needed to do that, taking us, a few clothes and driving as fast as she could while he was at work, 900km back to her parents and sisters. We lived a while with one of my aunts then my mom met step-dad. My Dad in heart actually. Fortunately it's a tremendously amazing and caring person, and he helped us to go through the hell.

I was asked to choose between my (bioligical) father and my mom, well my father asked me so. He manipulated me to choose him if I was asked by social workers who do I wanted to live with. He kept insulting my mom in front of me, degrading her, and mocking her when I was with him. Then I was menaced, insulted, degraded, violated, forced to feel guilty about about everything, being under massive and constant psychological control.

And I still feel like I betrayed my mom when I was 7.

The hell lasted until I was 17 and half. I stopped going at his, and I could finally breath, make my studies away and my life from him. In 2018, I was 21, I reconnected with him, I tried to put the negative aside, but it became impossible. It grew as 'it's him or me' and I chose myself, for survival again. It just lasted a year. And for 4 years before he died in nov 22 I could live far away from all of this, far from him, no contact and that felt like a relief.

In reality, I just put everything under the rug and locked it secured.

His death brought back everything, even stronger than it already was.

It felt weird, because I guess I still had a tiny hope that he would change at some point, and that I could someday, be ready to face him and to tell him how much he hurt me, how much he frightened me.

But that will never happen. And all the traumatic memories resurfaced like I was living them in my present. And it's hard. What do I do ? Put it under the rug again and try to survive like nothing ?

No, I don't feel I wanna do this anymore. I'm tired of struggling in the dark. I'm exhausted. Exhausted of being on a constant level of survival mode, while I don't need it.

-

All of this causes me to deal with CPTSD and its consequences. And it's tough to hang on.

I'm currently at a upper max level of procrastination where I am now feeling so numbed in and like a cocoon I am freaked out to leave. I'm freaked out to make actions, to make things happen.

Impostor syndrome, rejection fear, not feeling legit at anything in life, struggling with the simple will of existing. I do want not to stop existing, but I am afraid of fully existing, because of all the above wounds and fears.

But still, I'm avoiding life, while his death awaken in me the fear of not existing anymore.

Paradox.

And, almost, nothing is helping me hanging on, helping me wanting to bring myself back in life.

-

All my life I've been hanging tight on Tolkien's work and Peter Jackson's vision to abandon myself into this fantasy land that is Middle Earth, to escape reality. The reality at home that was made of mental insecurity, psychological violence, control and manipulation. In my childhood I used to imagine myself fighting with legolas with a bow and going home in Rivendell after chasing some orcs with Aragorn, meeting Gandalf and Galadriel occasionally. All those characters are so engraved in me and dear to my heart. All this imagination, this entire world, mythological world, and languages seized me when I was 5. And I never let go, and never will.

Middle Earth saved me and helped me wanting to stay alive in a time I was crushed by violence and psychological pressure and control.

-

But my child self is still rulling me, and I'm trrying to take my actual own conscious power back.

She (little me) used to be afraid, to be frightened, to be insulted, to be violated, to constantly be on survival mode. And she still is, rulling me according her methods for survival.

While.. I, the 26 woman I am now, does no longer need.

So it's a battle between me and me. Because I no longer need to protect myself from a menace that no longer exist, literally.

It's really hard to let go, I think it's the hardest thing I would have ever havr to do in my life. Just let it go and leave the past to the past.

-

I feel alone and lonely sometimes. Feeling like I would annoy everybody with my whining..

I'm just sharing this with hope that it could awake something in someone and.. Though I'm feeling alone, I don't want anyone to feel like I feel so, I'm saying this to you, you're not alone, we're together, we're fighting.

It's not you're fault.

And to be honest.. I'm not gonna lie, it feels good to write it down.

Thanks if you red til here ❤️

[capricorn-season]

From Trans to TERF: My experience as a desister

Hazel

9 September 2023No Comments

I’m Hazel. I’m a 31 year old woman, who was diagnosed as autistic in adulthood. At age 17, I experienced Rapid Onset Gender Dysphoria. Here is my story.

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of self harm and suicide.

Background

Looking back, I can see how several things in my childhood and teenage years contributed to the fact that I ended up experiencing gender dysphoria.

My mother was the type to relish the fact she had a daughter. She wanted to dress me up in pretty dresses, with bows in my hair and frilly socks. If you know anything about autistic sensory issues and Pathological Demand Avoidance, you can probably begin to understand why being pushed to dress in uncomfortable, excessively girly clothes would be unpleasant to an autistic girl. I started to eventually reject everything ‘girly’. I refused to wear dresses or skirts – it was jeans and t-shirts exclusively, even at weddings. I rejected the colour pink, despised the idea of make-up, and ended up in friendships with exclusively boys. It didn’t help that my mother would often tell me that I ‘should have been born a boy’ in reference to my gender non-conformity.

Feeling ‘not like the other girls’ (and not in the quirky, attention seeking way) is quite common in autistic girls (and women). Being autistic in general can make you feel like you don’t fit in, that you’re different to everyone around you. I didn’t ‘feel’ like a girl, because the girls around me felt so alien to me. I didn’t relate to them at all. In my early teens, I used to look at them like odd sheep, all with the same hair, clothes, bags etc. They were the weird ones. But by my mid-to-late teens, I felt like the weird one. I didn’t fit in. I didn’t feel like a ‘normal’ girl. It is easy to see how, when introduced to trans ideology, it would be so easy for me to latch onto it, convincing myself that I ‘should’ have been a boy.

My peer group didn’t help. It’s not easy, being an atypical teen. I was told to ‘stay in my gender’, amongst other hurtful things. I couldn’t make friends with girls, and I didn’t feel like I could fit in with my guy friends, because I wasn’t one of them. I wanted to dress ‘like a boy’ and act ‘like a boy’, without strange looks, bullying or criticism from my college classmates. Sadly, it didn’t seem possible. It felt like the only way I could live how I wanted was to become male.

Period of Dysphoria

My period of acute gender dysphoria began in September 2009, 3.5 months short of my 18th birthday. It was all-encompassing. I felt like I needed to transition NOW to ease my dysphoria, otherwise I would surely end up committing suicide. It didn’t take long to come out to my then-boyfriend, my mother, and some of my friends. It was easily one of the worst periods of my life. I wouldn’t have listened to anyone who told me that I was wrong about how I felt. I was self-harming daily. The urges to end my life were intrusive. I really did feel like I was just surviving day-to-day, trying to stave off the urges to commit suicide by imagining a future where I’d be on hormones and have surgery. A future where I would feel like myself. My mental state ended with my mother telling me that I was ‘fucked up’ and ‘not welcome’ under her roof until I’d had psychiatric help. (My mother was emotionally abusive and we haven’t been on speaking terms since this happened, but that’s another story.)

I cut my hair very short, and I started to dress more ‘like a boy’ than I ever had previously. I’d never been entirely comfortable with my body, but now I couldn’t stand it. I’d sleep in boxers, but the presence of my breasts made me want to die. Transition, and surviving long enough to get that far, was the only thing on my mind.

My suicidal feelings lifted a bit after my mother kicked me out, and I went to live with my dad. Her emotional abuse undoubtedly contributed to my depression. The gender dysphoria persisted for about a month after that. It actually dissipated on night, along with my depression, almost like magic. I was home alone, and my plan was to get into the bathtub with my self-harm blade, and cut myself deeply, with the intent of bleeding out. Instead, I felt my depression and my dysphoria lift, and I got out of the bath feeling ‘female’ again. The next day, I went shopping and bought myself some feminine clothes. There was definitely some kind of shift that happened inside of me that night, one that I’m still not able to explain.

I still occasionally feel ‘male’ even to this day. But it’s a feeling that I can easily shake. With age has come the ability to not care what people think of how I dress or how I behave. I now accept my body for what it is, and I no longer believe my body parts or my chromosomes should have any impact on how I should live my life. I am an adult human female, but by no means do I have to act like a stereotype.

The Depo Shot

One thing that has always stood out to me, is the fact that the onset of my gender dysphoria was exactly around the time I was weaning off the depo contraceptive injection. I’d only had one injection (intended to last 3 months) but the side effects were too much for me to handle, so I opted not to get the next shot when it was due. Throughout my gender dysphoria, my hormones were still messed up from the shot. I know this because I wrote in my transition journal that my period was late, and I was worried I may be pregnant, and about the impact that that would have on my dysphoria.

David Ludden Ph.D. at Psychology Today describes Rapid Onset Gender Dysphoria as occurring in adolescence, the overwhelming majority of which are females who had experienced no signs of dysphoria prior to puberty. It makes me wonder just how many of them experienced gender dysphoria starting around the time they started hormonal contraceptives. It’s by no means something I’ve studied, it’s just a thought that I’ve never been able to shake. If anyone has any relevant experience, I’d love for you to comment below, or to contact me on Xwitter.

Experience With Hormone Blockers

In my late 20s, I sought out treatment for Pre-Menstrual Dysphoric Disorder. This led to me being administed Zoladex, a GnRH Analogue (gonadotropin releasing hormone agonist) to stop my menstrual cycles. It is also referred to as chemical menopause.

GnRH Analogues are also used as puberty blockers for children with gender dysphoria. I want to share why I, as someone who has actually been on this medication, finds this practice to be horrific.

The side effects of Zoladex can be brutal. I felt so horribly depressed and suicidal in just the one month I stayed on it that I knew I couldn’t let myself have another injection. I felt so awful about myself – my self esteem was through the floor. Life felt pointless. That month was very difficult to survive. The thought of pre-pubescent children being given these very powerful medications chills me. Depression is listed as a side effect on the patient leaflet. Other side effects include loss of bone density leading to an increased risk of osteoporosis, reduced heart function, blood clots, liver problems and psychosis.

Where I’m At Now

How do I see gender now? I suppose I would call myself a gender atheist. I am now comfortable with the fact that how I choose to present myself to the world has nothing to do with what genitals I have. I am an adult human female, but by no means do I have to act like a stereotype.

I used to be a trans ally, even until very recently. However, the way things are going with the Trans Radical Activist community has me concerned. As a feminist, I despise the fact that trans-identified males are taking away from women at every turn. In sports, in private spaces, even in prisons and women’s shelters. As a woman who has been abused, I do not want men accepted into places where I am vulnerable, such as public bathrooms. Women have fought hard over many years for their safety and rights. I find it horrific to see those rights and safe spaces being ripped away by men who want to play dress-up. Women have always been oppressed. Only now, men are allowed to dress up as us, and oppress us further. If we have anything to say about it, if we are uncomfortable, we are labelled as bigots, TERFs, and often faced with violence and death threats.

The damage the trans community are doing to the LGB community is also very apparent. LGB people have fought for acceptance and the right to live peacefully for years. Their work is now being undone by garish, loud and violent trans-identified males, who have tarnished the Pride flag with their behaviour. Lesbians are being called bigots now because they refuse to sleep with trans-identified men. #LGBwithouttheT is now trending more than ever. I do hope that LGB people can protect the progress they have made, before too much damage has been done to their reputation.

The reaction from trans people to my speaking out as a desister has been… Interesting, to say the least. These are the same people who would have told me, aged 17, that if I felt like I was trans, then I was trans. The same people who would shout from the rooftops that only an individual gets to say what their gender identity is, and anyone who questions it is a bigot. Those people now tell me that I was ‘never really trans’, which is a phrase often used to silence desisters and detransitioners. It seems that these trans activists believe that anyone who desists or detransitions was ‘never really trans to start with’, a logic would conveniently put the detransition rate of actual trans people at 0%. I’ve also been told (just yesterday, actually) that I wasn’t a real person, and that my Xwitter account was fake, created just to discredit and harass trans people (despite my profile being 3 years old, and me mostly posting about cats). Trans-identified people are determined not to acknowledge the existence of desisters and detransitioners, so much so that they will deny what is right in front of them.

Quotes From My Transition Diary

I want to finish with some quotes from my Transition Journal. I hope that these will give some insight as to what went on in my head, as a 17-year-old autistic ‘trans’ kid.

‘I felt like I should have been dressed like all of the other guys there, and just didn’t feel right dressed as a girl. And the more masculine I dress, the more comfortable I feel. I wore a shirt and tie to college the other day and felt great until people started questioning me. And it feels like the only way I can be myself without being questioned is by being a boy… Which is fucking scary.‘

‘My entire life I’ve never worn make-up wilfully. I dressed entirely like a boy from the age of 14. I cut my hair short in January. All of this just makes me feel so much more comfortable. And it’s so hard making friends because they girls don’t like me and the guys don’t really understand why I am as I am. I’ve been told “stay in your own gender” and other things but I really just do what I feel comfortable with. I feel like everything would be so much fucking easier and so fucking right if I was a boy. I’d just be able to fit in fine, be friends with who I want, wear whatever I want, without being fucking questioned every step of the way.‘

‘I’m not a girl. Just looking at me – how could anyone have watched me grow up and think I was meant to be female? I’ve never been girly, I’ve never wanted to wear skirts or dresses or make-up… I’ve always wanted to play the drums and make male friends and play football… I remember wanting to be on the school football team in year 4 and in year 7, and always hating the idea of being on a girls team. An all-girls school has always sounded like a personal hell to me, and I always hated doing girls sports in PE. I remember wanting to join the boys PE class, too. It’s always been there, I’ve just never been conscious of it until recently.’

[calico-heart]

10 fandoms, 10 characters, 10 tags

Basic rules: choose 10 fandoms that you are part of/support, and choose a favorite character from each of those. Then, tag ten folks!

Thanks for the tag @briar-ffxiv :3 idk how i'm supposed to pick a single favorite out of all these tho cries. Obvious fandoms are up top, but some (maybe. a little.) less common ones show up further down!

FFXIV // Alisaie Leveilluer

I think she's one of the most dynamic characters in the series, and I love love love seeing her come out of her shell as the expansions go on. Her personal arc focuses so heavily on surviving grief and learning to keep an open heart even when faced with loss over and over again, and I appreciate how well that ties into the main storyline, too.

Fallout 4 // Piper Wright

My wife <333 Piper's reckless go-gettem attitude and propensity for ruffling feathers on her quest to out the baddies really endeared me to her. Finding her soft heart under all the bravado and banter is really rewarding, and I love how committed she is to standing for her ideals, even if it means standing alone. Fo4 has such a cool setting to get immersed in overall, and I really do enjoy all the 50s/60s US tropes thrown into the mix with it.

Reth // Palia

The epitome of making objectively horrible choices for arguably noble reasons. I love this walking disaster. He made me soup. I like how most of the Palia characters have more to them than meets the eye at first meeting, and how many ways they can surprise you as you build relationships with them. But gaining the disgraced pariah Reth's trust? Becoming someone he's brave enough to ask for help from? I treasure it above all the others LOL

Gale Dekarios // Baldur's Gate 3

I'm NOT going to essay I'm NOT going to essay I'm not -- But seriously I do adore this guy's arc. I like how messy it is, even if in more subtle ways than, say, Astarion (ilu too boo.) Gale has so many "gifted kid" trademarks and strikes me as someone who's entire self worth has been based on how useful or interesting he is to others. It's hard to fault him for his ambition, when his magical prowess was the only avenue he had to make meaningful bonds up until the whole tadpole nonsense. BG3 exceeded my wildest expectations out of an RPG and continues to do so every time I pick it up.

Anders // Dragon Age II

I feel obligated to say I don't really consider myself part of the DA fandom because every time I've poked my head in I've found it to be a wretched hive of scum and villainy with the most inane batshit discourse I've ever seen in my life. But the game itself? Love the game. Love the characters. Anders broke my heart. I really enjoyed his internal turmoil and the very literal ideological battle between justice and vengeance he faced throughout the game. I'll eat that up.

Obi-Wan Kenobi // Star Wars

He's baby.

I definitely pick and choose which installations of the behemoth that is the Star Wars franchise to consider canon, and like Dragon Age I try not to actually get involved in fandom spaces. Ever. But I love Obi-Wan's story in the prequels especially, and if you've followed me very long I'm sure you know how much I like my hurt/comfort and angst, which he has in spades.

Halo 1-3, ODST, & Reach // The Arbiter

I grew up on Halo and even have a little poseable model of this guy decorating my bookshelf. Halo's a shooter game first, of course, and I spent a good chunk of my childhood rerunning levels, and playing ninjanaut with friends on splitscreen. But its lore also fell into that sort of early TES space for me, where you had enough of an idea of the world for it to capture your imagination and inspire you, without being overwhelming to keep track of. The angst. The mystique. The badass alien with a glowing sword. 10/10. My Spartan OC is called Artemis and my brother has one named Ares and yes we did slay in PvP as teenagers.

Firefly // Simon Tam

Choosing Firefly is predictable af but thats ok. It still makes me ache wishing we got to know more about the world, the characters - and maybe that unfinished homesick feeling is part of the appeal. I loved watching Simon be so out of his depth in the frontier of space, but willing to giving up everything for someone he cared about and learning to make a new place for himself with Firefly's motley crew.

Mizu // Blue Eye Samurai

I was not prepared for this show to WRECK me like it did. I thought it was going to be a run of the mill cheesy samurai anime and GOD. The thoughtful, clever storytelling and dynamic characters knocked me on my ass. I couldn't stop watching. The cast is incredible, the art style is gorgeous. Every single aspect of this show ties into this theme of being caught between two worlds, and Mizu's story is one I am not going to forget any time soon. If you haven't watched this, you're missing out.

Mal // The Dog Master

I'm not sure there's even really a FANDOM for this book. I haven't ever met anyone else who'd even heard of it, let alone read it. But a fandom can just be me, occasionally pitching it desperately to friends, right? XD The story follows several tribes, but the "main" character is Mal, who was kicked out of his tribe and survives partly by befriending a wolf and raising it. It's pretty cleverly written, with several timelines converging at unexpected moments to offer up plot twists and tie-ins that really wouldn't have been possible if it was written another way. I'm a little geeky about it just for the structural approach. But there's honestly not enough good caveman books out there, and this one has a wide cast of unique and interesting characters who feel very human.

--

I will tag @ronqueesha @bogglebabbles-main @sayonaramidnight @traveleorzea @orime-stories @silentletterwords @ellastara @rinka-fortemps @eriyu @jameswrites

And anyone else who wants to! I'd love to see your lists! But no pressure ofc <3

[ultravioart]

I am thinking about how WoY made me feel seen and understood in some sense, and in a way made me kinder to myself when I struggle with BFRB. (Body-focused repetitive behavior, includes things like messing with nails, hair, etc). I have OCD and Wander's behaviors are shown both for cartoonish comedy, but also simply just shown and sometimes some characters even empathize with Wander instead of reprimanding him. And I KNOW that Wander is just doing cartoony anxious antics, but things like how he HAS to help or it doesn't feel right, a compulsion and a comfort item that keeps him emotionally safe (hat that lets Wander go with the flow), a morning routine (morning wake up), and how he uses music to free himself (getting thought loops out through art to be free from them) ...

How in the episode "The Box" he keeps thinking about opening up the box in a thought loop and how Body-focused repetitive behavior (BFRB) is represented as Wander's means of dealing with his OCD. And he's not shamed for his BFRB, rather Sylvia shows concern and tries to stop the source of Wander's worries, or gently guide him away to support him thought a tough time. And before you say "Um, Wander wasn't confirmed to have OCD?" Wander exhibits so many symptoms that it's a pretty easy head canon. Wander's an incredibly free spirit and lively and fun, but also easily excitable. And that excitement can be SO endearing, but also can manifest in OCD symptoms in the show. And frankly, it is SO refreshing to see a well-meaning, genuinely kind character have OCD and not some stereotype villain or stereotyped 'uptight annoying friend'. You can tell Wander doesn't want those thoughts in "The Box" from the song/animation sequence and imo it represents the sometimes intriguing, but overwhelming and distressing aspects of thought loops. You can see the thought loop spiral and FEEL the discomfort. They are intrusive and unsettling thoughts and by the end of the episode, after it's revealed so actual item needed to be delivered, Sylvia tells off these fools on how this 'lesson' is backwards and ridiculous, and her friend is being hurt by the set up, because a lesson in patience does nothing to someone who knows patience, they suffer with OCD! Really, it's just nice to see a kind and sweet character struggling with OCD while trying to always do the right thing. It's very refreshing that it shows ANY kind of personality can struggle with OCD. I also see Dominator as embodying some aspects of BFRB, but not in the same way Wander does. Wanders is due to anxiety, and I imagine Dominator's is due to boredom. In her concept art she had a band aid on her knee, implying that she's rough and tumble, and that maybe some of the red dots might be from lava splat burns. Personally, I think that maybe her freckles are from itching and have left a scar or scab. Often times you don't see in cartoons to have red freckles on the thighs and mid arm, you usually only see them on face, or in cases of aliens the spots are darker, not lighter like the red on green.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

True Night: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: smut, canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I am so sorry I haven’t posted. I was sick with the flu and completely forgot about it. I will be posted both episodes now!

I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

"Superman is, after all, an alien life form. He's simply the acceptable face of invading realities." - Clive Barker

It's nice to take a break from painting and just to relax. Penelope is safe, everything in your life is going just right, and you and Spencer could not be happier. The best thing about living with the person you love the most, romantically, is having the entire place to yourselves. You're not expecting company, so the best thing you two could think of doing is sharing a bath together.

The candlelight is the only thing that is lighting up the room, soft music is playing through the speaker that is hooked up to your phone, there is rose petals inside the bath and on the floor right outside it, bubbles from a soap that smells amazing, and champagne that you had Spencer go pick up when he went on a walk earlier.

It's so romantic that you don't ever want to leave this little bubble that you've created. He's sitting right behind you, and you have your head resting against his chest. He has his glass of champagne in his left hand, and he's running his right hand up and down your arm, causing goosebumps to form in the warm water.

"Tell me something," you say quietly.

"What is it?" he asks and kisses your shoulder.

"Tell me where you see yourself in five years from now."

"Well," he clears his throat and sets his glass down on the edge of the bathtub closest to the wall so it doesn't fall on the ground, "I still see myself working at the BAU. I can't imagine my life without it, at least, not now. I'm sure that could change in a few years. I see myself with you, but not as boyfriend and girlfriend. Maybe as something more."

You smile and bite your lower lip from happiness.

"I like that," you whisper.

"What about you?"

"Well, for starters, I see myself out of this apartment and maybe into a house? We could have more room to do things. We could get a dog or a pet to keep ourselves company, and a pet to keep our pet company for when we leave. We'd have a room for Hannah if she wants to visit us. That house could be the start of our family. Nothing needs to happen now, but I see myself being with you for the rest of my life."

You slowly turn in his arms so you're facing him, not caring that some of the water spilled over the edge. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in, slotting you right over his growing erection. You wrap your arms around his neck and play with the baby hairs at the base of his hairline.

"I love you so much," you whisper. "So much so that it makes my heart hurt sometimes."

"That's a lot of love," he jokes.

You grin and lean in, pressing your lips to his. This is such a wholesome and pure moment that there is no need for speed. You like to take it slow every once in a while, and that's exactly what he was thinking as well.

Like it's second nature to you, you lift your hips, and he reaches in between you two to grasp his cock. He pumps it twice before resting it against your needy hole. Without thinking, you sink down onto him one inch at a time. His grip on your waist tightens to prevent himself from going to town on you.

You move your hips back and forth, finding a good rhythm that works well with the sloshing of the water. This is something you'll never get used to. It feels like you were made for him and only him. There's something about him that calls to you--something raw and sensual that you've never had with your previous lovers.

Spencer needs a bit more than what you're giving him, so he plants his feet on the bottom of the tub where the walls meets the ground, and he uses that stability to fuck into you. You gasp into the kiss and pull away only to lay your head on his shoulder. He doesn't go at a fast pace, but he does fuck you harder than he should for inside a bath.

You bite his shoulder and suck his skin, leaving behind an angry red mark.

"Spencer, fuck," you moan into his ear.

"You feel so good," he says with a strained voice. "So tight."

You reach down and slide your hand to your clit which is eager for some attention. You rub yourself in fast, hard circles to help build yourself up to the sweet release you know will be coming. Spencer sees you pleasuring yourself, and he gets a surge of confidence that causes him to flick your hand away so he can do what you were doing.

"Shit!" you gasp and fall forward onto him even more. "Fuck, I'm close."

"Yeah? You want to come for me?"

He must not know how sexy he sounds right now and how turned on you are by him.

"Yeah, please," you whimper.

"Come for me, baby."

You clench as hard as you can around him before releasing all over him, and he shoots his load into you after you release him from your flesh prison. Every time you go there with Spencer, it's always just as good as the first time you've ever done it.

"I love you so much," you say and kiss him.

"I love you more."

"Not possible," you grin against his lips.

The bath water is cold now, which means it's time to get out. You're out of the bath first, and you wrap your fluffy towel around your body while Spencer drains the water. He gets out and dries himself with his towel, and you let your hair down from the clip you placed in there to keep it out of the water.

Your phone makes a noise, interrupting the music. You grab it and check the notification, seeing a message from Hotch.

"We're needed in the office. It's like they can't function without us."

"Apparently," he chuckles.

You two get ready before heading to work, making it in record time. You get there just as Penelope arrives, and instead of heading to the briefing room like Hotch wants, you decide to help her out.

"Here, let me," you grin and open the door to her office.

"I can open my own door."

"Just be lucky I'm not Derek. It's good to be back, huh?"

"What the hell? What happened here?" she gasps.

"It's just a small mess. I can clean it for you. The guy who went through your system--"

"Kevin Lynch," she cuts you off. "He made more than a little bit of a mess."

"Don't worry about it, Penelope. It's okay."

She takes a seat and groans loudly, shifting in her chair.

"He changed everything," she sighs.

"Changed everything? What are you talking about?"

"He adjusted the--the... forget it. It'll be... Go. You need to get to LA."

"Are you sure? I could stick around. They can handle one case without me."

"You and I both know they can't. Honey, I know you love me, but the prospect of you whirling around here trying to fix this is actually more frightening than getting shot."

"Ouch," you giggle.

"I am completely fine. Look. Full range of motion. No pain."

Penelope raises her arms and moves in different ways to show you she is good to go.

"Okay, fine. You call me if you need anything."

"I promise. Are you doing okay? You're... glowing."

"Romantic bath sex will do that to you," you wink at her and leave her office.

This is the kind of case you need to get on right away. A ruthless killer is roaming the streets of Los Angeles, and it's up to your team to stop this person. Hotch didn't give much away in the briefing since he wanted to get to Los Angeles as soon as possible. There have been seven victims over the past two weeks, and LAPD just now decided to call your team in for help.

There isn't a car big enough to hold every single person, so you have to split your team into two. You're with Derek and Spencer while the rest of the team is in the other car. You arrive on site a lot faster than the rest of your team. You get out and look to your right where a limousine passes by you. There is a person sticking their head out to see the crime scene in the alley before you, but it disappears as soon as it comes.

"You should have listened to me," Spencer says for the fifth time since you got in the car.

"It wouldn't have saved that much time, Reid. Let it go," Derek groans.

"The interchange between the 405 and the 101 freeways is consistently rated the worst interchange in the entire world."

"Why do you know that?"

"It's a government report."

"So?"

"So, you work for the government. What, you don't read the reports?"

"On traffic patterns in a city twenty-five hundred miles from where I live?"

"Two thousand nine hundred and ninety-five miles."

"Don't make me smack you in front of all these people," Derek says seriously.

You laugh at this but quickly shut your mouth when Spencer looks at you. You shake your head and clear your throat before walking onto the crime scene and meeting the detective on the case.

"I'm Brady, LAPD."

"Derek Morgan. Dr. Reid. Y/N. The rest of the team's in an SUV behind us."

"Yeah, stuck in traffic," Spencer sasses. You grin and look at Derek who just stares at Spencer. "Uh, so you had two more victims last night?"

"They were discovered a little after 3:30 in the afternoon by a cleaning crew finishing up in the building."

"So, that's seven victims over the past two weeks?"

"Yah, the bodies are in the alley. What's left of them, anyway."

"Is it the same victimology?" Spencer asks.

You three follow the detective into the alley and over to the dismembered bodies.

"We don't have a positive ID on either one of them yet, but the clothing fits. You really think this is only one guy, huh?"

"The level of overkill suggests an unsub in a psychotic break. Multiple unsubs in violent psychotic breaks operating in the exact same location is exceedingly unlikely."

The detective stares at Spencer with a dumbfounded look on his face.

"Yeah, it's probably one guy," Derek sums it up for him.

You step off to the side and study the energy left behind by the unsub. Spencer was right, this unsub is having a psychotic break in the form of anxiety. This unsub can't focus well enough to know what's reality. You've only seen this in unsubs that have a mental health disorder or something to that effect.

"What do you see?" Derek asks.

"This unsub has a mental health issue. Something traumatic must have happened to him. I've only seen this kind of energy in unsubs who have suffered."

"Like how?"

"Something traumatic like rape or a victim of a kidnapping. Something that makes the mind block it out because it's too much for the body to take. There's too many body parts here for me to focus on one person's death. Too much chaos for me to make anything out."

The rest of your team arrives in the SUV with Rossi staying on the street to watch the growing crowd while Hotch and Emily head into the alley to meet with Detective Brady.

"Hotch, I'd say it's definitely our guy. It's the same victimology. This guy's getting off-the-charts brutal," Derek states.

"Do you know that a domestic cat loose in a normal neighborhood is the equivalent of a small-scale ecological disaster?" Spencer says, confusing the detective.

"Excuse me?"

"They'll kill anything they can--bugs, rodents, birds, other cats, and small dogs if possible. Anything."

"Does that have something to do with this?"

"An unsub in a violent psychotic break is worse."

"I'll leave you to this. I might have more luck out in the crowd."

You leave your boyfriend's side and head into the crowd, standing at the edge of the police tape. You look around and study everyone that's there. Mothers, Fathers, Families, Friends, Employees, and just about anyone else who passes by this area on the way to wherever they're going. Most of them are of no interest to you, but you spot Rossi talking to a young man, your heart stops.

He can't be any older than twenty-five, he's that young. He has a worried look on his face and a cut leg that's bleeding on his jeans, but that's not the thing you're focusing on. It's his energy. It's the same exact energy that is on this crime scene. No one has the same energy, so that guy must be the unsub.

You look both ways before crossing the street, quickly heading over to Rossi. You have to push your way through the crowd to get to him, and when you do, the young man is gone.

"Who were you just talking to?"

"I don't know. Some guy. He seemed confused. Why?"

"He has the same energy as the one left behind at the crime scene. Rossi, no two people have the same energy."

"How much of a match is it?"

"Identical. 100%. I know for a fact that the guy you were talking to was our unsub." It takes you a moment to read Rossi, and you're shocked he still has doubts about you. "You still have doubts. Haven't I done enough to prove to you I'm not some con artist?"

"Look, the guy is gone. If he pops up again, we won't let him go so easily."

"Yeah, well, someone may be dead next time."

You don't mean to be harsh about it, but you can't help it. You've proven to Rossi time and time again you know what you're doing and that you're the real deal, but he refuses to believe in you. You shake your head and are about to leave when Hotch walks up to you with JJ behind him.

"So, this area is more or less the geographical center of the scenes," Rossi says.

He is going to keep your interactions to himself since he can handle you. He doesn't need Hotch getting on your back for something he can do himself.

"Detective Brady's putting together a task force, so we can canvas these three blocks in both directions."

"Any idea how many residents that covers?"

"Garcia estimates close to three thousand," JJ says.

"A lot of these buildings are single room occupancy. High turnover rate so it's transient. There aren't a lot of records."

"The press conference went well. I think the media understands what we're looking for. Should be on local affiliates now."

"Hopefully we can thin out the suspect list."

Unbeknownst to you, the unsub striked again but in a residential house instead of an alleyway. This unsub has something to prove, and it's like he's going down the line of a list of victims he's made. You got the news about it the next day, so the unsub must have hit them during the night.

"Is it the same kind of victims as yesterday?" Derek asks Detective Brady when you get to the house.

"They're all gangbangers. Good riddance, if you ask me."

"What's the scene like?"

"It's actually the gang leader's personal house. A guy named Glen Hill. His street name is Reaper. Can you guess why? Only Benson, another officer, and I have been inside. I didn't do much. I kind of backed out the minute I saw him."

"How many victims?"

"Six. There are four inside and two outside."

"No survivors at all?"

"Glen is missing from the house, but no survivors. I never thought I could feel sorry for these gangbanging sons of bitches," he scoffs.

"The other victims were in alleys and dark corners. It could be that the unsub was initially just defending himself. Like Bernie Goetz, riding the subways with a gun and waiting for someone to confront him. Except he's seeking them out now because psychotics in a break always devolve," Spencer explains.

"It's only a matter of time before he becomes dangerous to those closer to him."

x

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[super-hero-confessions]

The song Dog Days Are Over by Florence + The Machine got me through some very dark moments in my life.

I wanted happiness to hit me like it hit the girl in the song. Whenever I felt sad but couldn't listen to it for whatever reason, to try and cheer myself up I played the song in my head with so much clarity, as if I could actually hear it.

When I heard it playing in Gotg3 at first I thought I was imagining it again, because I was sad, this is a sad movie. But then I realized it was actually playing in the film, in this amazing story of some of, if not the best characters in the MCU. The characters who taught me to love myself, that we all belong somewhere because they belong with each other, they are dysfunctional and flawed and they have been so hurt, so traumatized and life will never be perfect for them, and I broke down crying but I was also smiling, smiling with the characters. This movie was so sad but the last few moments made me feel so full of joy, hope and love, just pure love for these space idiots. Because this movie was magic.

Superhero movies are kind of a power fantasy, a wish fulfillment. But the Gotg are not. The Gotg, despite being aliens, are so human. They are goons, a bunch of immature losers who don't know better because life has taken so damn much from them, life has been brutally cruel to every single one of them. They don't offer any of that self-indulgent wish fulfillment superhero movies offer, they're just pure chaos, pure humor to mask the pain underneath. And man, they make me cry and laugh and I love them so much and to hear this damn song in this third and final movie, made me feel the happiest I've been in a while. But I'm sad as fuck, too. I'm gonna miss them so much.

[arachnixe]

The New Me

The water churns with the thrashing bodies of countless swimming parasites. It's hard to get a good look at them like this. All I can pick out is a handful of individual details—tendrils, rows of tiny teeth, beady eyes.

I have to put my arm in there and let one choose me.

I hesitate. Who wouldn't?

"All I have to do is let one of these latch on, and I'll be able to fight like you do?"

"It is more than that," the woman to my right tells me. "It is a sacrifice. To be a host to one of our young is a lifelong commitment."

She's slight of stature, but just the other day I watched her punch through a brick wall, masonry crumbling like loose gravel. With her human arm, too. Not even the one claimed up to the shoulder by her own, fully-grown parasite.

That arm is...grotesque. Inhuman. A mass of flesh with too many rows of pointed knuckles and elbows, throbbing muscles flexing in the wrong places, with skin that glistens as if perpetually moist. It's all I can do not to vomit when I look at it for too long.

If I accept the terms, that will, eventually, be my fate. Not even fully human anymore, but partially alien. But I'm tired of being scared, weak, alone. Tired of waiting for the boot to crush me. Tired of my body failing, bit by bit.

I make up my mind.

All the way under, at least down to my elbow, that's what they said. The pose is stiff and awkward, and I hold it long enough that I start to worry whether none of the larval parasites will choose me.

Then I feel the sharp pain piercing my wrist, and I jerk my hand out reflexively.

There it is. My very own parasite. No wider than a hand, for now, and wrapped around my wrist like a bracelet.

I groan in pain. "Is it supposed to hurt this much?"

"Oh yes," the woman says. "It takes a little time for it to integrate with your nervous system. Until then, well," She offers a reassuring smile. "It's going to get much more painful, I'm afraid."

A lance of pain shoots up my forearm. "M-more...?"

"Well, like any child with a lot of growing to do, it needs to eat."

"It's eating my arm?!" I cry out in alarm. My imagination fills with images of those tiny teeth ripping my flesh to shreds, and I panic, clawing at my arm to get it off, suddenly aware I made a huge mistake.

The other people here swarm me immediately, locking down my flailing limbs with unmatchable strength.

"I told you, friend. This is a lifelong commitment. No backing out now."

I feel a trickle of blood flow down my arm from my wrist. I scream.

"It's not just your arm either, silly," she says, kneeling close to me, stroking my face as though she could offer me comfort. "We send our tendrils all through the host, eating them and replacing them as we grow. How did you think we get like this?"

Oh. The strength of even their human limbs...they weren't really human limbs at all, beyond appearance.

"It replaces…" I take a breath, steady myself. Speaking through the spikes of pain is so hard. My thrashing is not wholly voluntary now. "Everything except the brain?"

She laughs as though I said something absurd. "Brain too! That part's quick to start but the slowest to finish. It has to be. Too fast and we can't properly reproduce our hosts' memories within ourselves."

Then… all these people. They're not people at all, are they? They're a colony of parasites wearing the faces of the long-dead people they fed on and replaced.

"I said it's a lifelong commitment, didn't I?" she responds as though I'd said the words aloud. "I just didn't say how short your expected lifetime would be after becoming a host."

She's very kind to tell me all this, so I know what's ahead of me.

"Are you done being fussy?"

Ah, I didn't realize the pain was gone. I flex my fingers experimentally, and in spite of the ongoing flow of blood, things feel… more or less normal. Even the fear has already died.

"Yes, I think we're integrated now," I respond.

She and the others help me upright. "Oh," she says, "I do want to tell you while you're still mostly human: really, don't worry. Your parasite will remember you when you're gone, okay?"

I smile. "I'm glad."

I don't know what I was thinking before. Her arm is beautiful.

[aloudplace]

Dirty thought 6

I woke sometime in the wee hours of the morning and Loki was there beside me in the bed.

He'd tucked me in himself, displaying a level of care and tenderness I'd never expected from him, and then he'd lain on top of the covers beside me and told me to go to sleep.

It had been easy to obey after what we'd done together. I still felt wonderfully loose and satiated.

Loki hadn't slept at all though. I knew because I hadn't dreamt. Being telepathic has some serious drawbacks when it comes to intimate relationships. Sharing dreams with the person sleeping next to you was definitely one of them. Being privy to the private thoughts another person has at 3 am on a sleepless night is another.

Loki was awake now, lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. And he was thinking hard.

Dark thoughts--memories of an alien planet, creatures unlike anything I had seen before. Torture. Threats. Bargains of the darkest sort.

The images and feelings were broken--jagged and fitful in the way that only traumatic memories are. His thoughts skittered across them, bouncing this way and that, latching on to certain moments and then shrinking away.

Someone had hurt him. Forced him into servitude. Tortured him brutally. Under the agony of that, there was the sharp ache of abandonment, loss. His pain was like a hot brand on my psyche.

My breath caught on a sob and Loki's head turned toward me in the dark. His mind snapped shut instantly like a steel trap and his eyes glittered with anger.

"Who is Thanos?" I whispered.

"Go back to sleep," he said softly, dangerously.

I knew he wasn't going to tell me, but I couldn't let it go. "What did he make you do?"

There was a moment of tense silence and then he rolled toward me, over me, pinning me to the bed with his body. "If you're not going to sleep, there are other things we can do," he growled.

"Loki--"

He bent and nipped my throat hard enough to make me yelp, and then he sucked the spot very gently, soothing it with his tongue. The air around him swirled with lust and anger. His mood put me on edge--frightened me a little. Or maybe it was the residue left behind from his unguarded thoughts. Either way, my body seemed to vibrate, flashing hot and cold--a fever of desire and trepidation.

Loki pressed his hips into me and he was already hard. Even through two layers of bedding, I could feel the heat of it. An answering heat pooled between my legs. I gave in to it willingly; his pain still echoed across my consciousness and I wanted fiercely to soothe it--for him and for myself.

All my earlier resistance had fled. I wanted him. At the moment, I couldn't imagine why I had resisted before. It seemed silly after everything we'd done on the couch.

I curled my arms around his shoulders as he brought his mouth to mine, slid my fingers into his hair and sighed around his tongue.

He must have sensed my surrender because his anger dissipated, replaced with a desperate sort of hunger. He started pulling at the bedding, trying to get to my body while still kissing me ravenously.

I wiggled beneath him, pushing as he pulled, equally mad with the need to feel him against me. The blankets bunched around my waist and he broke from my mouth abruptly, lifting himself to tear them aside and then coming down on top of me again, straddling my thighs.

He'd dressed after putting me to bed, but instead of the leather and armor, he'd conjured a simple cotton tunic. Before he could kiss me again I yanked the hem upward and he let me pull it off so I could touch his chest and shoulders, run my hands over his naked arms. Every inch of him was smooth and hard: lean muscle covered in fine, velvety white skin.

It made me crazy.

He was propped on his arms over me, watching with hooded eyes as I touched him. When my hands slid down over his belly he made a low sound of pleasure that made my nipples tighten and my womb clench.

"Lights," I whispered, needing to see him.

He made a quick gesture with one hand and the lamp on my bedside table switched on by itself, spilling soft golden light across the pale planes of his body.

God, he was so beautiful. I stroked my hands down his torso and he flexed into my touch, the muscles in his belly standing out in stark relief.

He was enjoying the way I looked at him-my touch and the pleasure I took in his body.

I reached for his fly and he bent to kiss me again while I freed his cock and stroked the silky column with both hands, marveling at how hard and hot he was.

Loki pushed my shirt up and dragged his hands over my breasts almost roughly, thinking about how beautiful they were, thoughts swimming with sexual aggression. His touch sent bright shocks of pleasure down into my belly, into my sex.

I wanted him inside me so bad it actually hurt.

It wasn't just my desire, though, I realized dimly. He wanted it too--his thoughts were a dark, erotic river, pouring straight into my mind.

From far away, I heard fabric tearing. He'd ripped my shirt open and now he was reaching for my pants, sucking my right breast as he yanked them down. Growling fiercely when he plunged his fingers between my legs and felt how wet I was.

An instant later the pants were gone--I didn't know how or where, and I didn't give a damn because Loki was between my legs, pushing inside me. Buried to the hilt in a quick, wet glide.

The breath left my lungs on a cry of pain and pleasure. He was big--stretching me, touching me deeply. I lifted myself, wrapped my legs around him.

His pleasure swamped me.

He was already thrusting, thoughts tangled up in the sensation of it: my body beneath him, the liquid glide of his cock inside me, my sex squeezing him tightly. The soft, helpless sounds I made with each thrust inflamed him, made him feel savage.

Intoxicated, I looked up at his face, drank his expression of ecstasy and the pleasure that radiated from him, dug my fingers into his back and rode each thrust with wild abandon.

The pleasure built so rapidly that the orgasm took me by surprise. I think I cried his name--he bent down, kissed my open mouth and rode me faster, murmuring low encouragements--yes, baby, come for me, sweetheart --and he was controlling himself carefully because he was afraid he would hurt me. I wanted to tell him to stop holding back, but the pleasure was splitting me open, setting me on fire, searing every nerve ending.

Just as the orgasm began to ebb, Loki gave a low, rasping groan and his thrusts came so hard they did hurt a bit--in the best possible way--and I made myself tighten around him, wanting to give him pleasure, to make it as good for him as it had been for me. He cried out again--a sharp, animal sound--and then he was coming, pleasure pouring off him in waves, cock jerking hard inside me as he made his final desperate thrusts.

It took a few minutes for my heart and my breathing to slow... and then reality set in.

Loki was still breathing hard, eyes closed, holding himself up on his arms because he didn't want to crush me, thoughts flowing like molasses, slow and sweet. It had been good; he couldn't remember the last time it had been so good. I'd been much less inhibited than he'd expected--more passionate, wilder. Sweeter, gazing up at him with such adoration on my face, arching into every touch, crying out his name. He wanted me again already.

And then it hit me.

Oh, shit.

I'd just had sex with the God of Mischief.

Bella, you idiot.

Loki lifted himself and looked down at me. His expression shifted from gratified to accusing, but his feelings...I read hurt and disappointment. "You regret it already."

He wasn't quite angry yet, but he was headed in that direction.

"There's a reason I didn't want to," I said reluctantly.

He swore softly. "Because you believe I don't respect you."

"No--well, I mean that was part of it. You don't see me as an equal."

His eyes narrowed. "And why else?"

Dammit. "Because I don't do casual sex."

His brows drew together. "Casual sex."

"Yes," I squirmed uncomfortably beneath him. "Could we continue this conversation when you're not..."

"Inside you?" His eyes flashed heat. The squirming had turned him on. Oops.

"Yes," I said, heart beating a little harder.

He gave me a long, focused, predatory look. I held myself very still. Finally, he pulled away.

"Stay," he said when I started to sit up. Then he swung his long legs over the edge of the mattress, stood, closed his pants, and left the room.

Nonplussed, I propped myself on my elbows and looked at the empty doorway.

He came back a moment later with a damp towel--a different one--and climbed back onto the bed to lay beside me.

"'Casual sex' must be a Midgardian concept," he murmured, nudging my legs apart so he could wipe me gently. "I'm not familiar with it."

"It's pretty self-explanatory," I mumbled, a little breathy. He was being so damned gentle. It made my heart squeeze in my chest.

"Is it?" he looked up at me. "I would not describe what we just did as 'casual.' Nor sex in general, for that matter."

I swallowed. He had tucked the rag against the opening of my sex and held it there to catch the fluid that trickled out of me.

"It means sex without feelings. Without emotions."

One of his brows arched. "You're telling me you felt no emotions when I made love to you?"

Made love? My heart lifted traitorously. "No," I said, "That's the problem."

He gave a little huff of exasperation. "You're speaking nonsense."

I sighed. Here it comes . "I'm saying I'm incapable of casual sex, Loki. I have feelings for you. Sex makes those feelings get bigger."

He was silent for a moment, but his emotions seemed to wobble from irritation to something shockingly close to...joy. "And that's a problem?"

"It is when the person I'm having sex with is a manipulative, arrogant, extraterrestrial deity with a serious superiority complex," I replied bluntly. "You're not exactly boyfriend material--not that I expect you to start dating me."

Loki took the rag away and leaned back. He wasn't insulted in the slightest, which was sort of funny--or it would have been if I wasn't tied in knots from having confessed my feelings to him. Instead, he was giving me a speculative look.

"What, exactly, are the parameters of this boyfriend/dating relationship dynamic?"

I blinked. "You want me to explain the dynamics of romantic relationships to you?"

"Human romantic relationships," he corrected.

Well, this was taking a turn I hadn't expected. I sat up and pulled the ripped edges of my shirt together, suddenly--and rather belatedly, I realized--feeling exposed. "Can I put some pants on?"

Loki glanced down at the lower half of my body with blatant appreciation. "Must you?"

But he held his hand up and my pajama pants appeared in a little flash of green light. He smiled smugly.

"Show-off." I took them from him, aware that he watched with great interest as I wiggled into them. "Why did you rip my shirt if you could do that?"

"Because I wanted to," he replied, as though it were perfectly obvious.

Alrighty then. "I liked this shirt, just so you know." I scooted back against the headboard and crossed my arms to keep the fabric closed over my breasts.

Loki flicked his hand in my direction and I felt a buzz of magic across my chest. I looked down and the rip was gone as though it had never been there.

"Wow."

He smiled. "Now tell me about Midgardian relationships."

"What do you want to know?"

Loki sat up to face me, leaning back onto his arms and stretching out so his feet rested next to my hip, legs crossed at the ankle. "Define 'boyfriend.'"

"Okay. Boyfriend is the term for a male partner with whom one has a semi-committed romantic relationship."

"Semi-committed?"

"Yeah. Fully committed would be marriage, generally speaking. There are exceptions, but--"

"What's the difference between a boyfriend and a lover?" he interrupted.

I thought about it. "Depends on who you ask. To me the difference is that a boyfriend is someone you're attached to publicly, and the relationship is monogamous. A lover is someone you just have sex with, there's no commitment, and it isn't necessarily monogamous."

"Interesting," he murmured, green gaze trained on my face with disturbing focus. "So you would have 'casual' sex with a lover, but not with a boyfriend?"

"Right. I mean, sex with a lover doesn't have to be casual, per se, but...it doesn't really work that way for me."

"Which is why you didn't want to have sex with me."

I nodded.

The speculative look in his eyes darkened into something else entirely. "Because you expect me to be opposed to a semi-committed, monogamous relationship."

My heart was suddenly fluttering right at the base of my throat. "Yes...and no."

His eyes narrowed. "Explain."

I took a slow, careful breath. "I don't know that you're capable of a semi-committed, monogamous relationship, Loki."

"You don't think I'm capable ?" he repeated softly.

Swallowing hard, I nodded.

"And why is that?" he replied in a silky, dangerous voice, eyes glittering.

"Emotional intimacy," I said bluntly, heart racing.

The temper in his eyes--in his aura--faltered.

"It's a necessary part of the kind of relationship we're talking about," I said gently. "And it doesn't seem like something you'd be able to give me."

Loki licked his lips slowly--an unconscious, nervous gesture. I could feel his confusion, his hesitation, though his thoughts were guarded.

"Can you give me closeness, Loki?" I asked very quietly. "Would you listen to my private thoughts and feelings? Share yours with me? Would you even want to?"

His eyes had gone very cold, his face still. Showing nothing. He'd withdrawn further from me psychically than ever before, but... he was thinking. Processing.

He was actually considering it.

And doing so filled him with a host of very conflicting emotions.

"You don't have to answer right now," I said, battling the hope that rose in my chest.

Don't do it, Bella. Don't wait around for the God of Mischief to fall in love with you. Be realistic.

"You won't make love with me again unless I agree to this," he said, low and slightly accusatory.

"Don't say it like that. It's not an ultimatum, and it's not a transaction. This is about my personal well being. I can't just give you that kind of intimacy without getting hurt."

Loki stared me down for what felt like several minutes. My heartbeat was very loud in my ears.

And then he shocked the hell out of me.

"Monogamy, I can give you," he said cautiously.

What? I blinked at him like a fool, not sure I had heard correctly.

"Public acknowledgment as well," he added. "If that's what you require."

I think my mouth dropped open. I had forgotten how to breathe.

"And I'll listen to whatever you want to tell me."

My throat tightened. Is this really happening? "Loki-"

"But the rest will be difficult," he finished stiffly.

Words had deserted me. This was all wrong. I hadn't expected--not in my wildest dreams had I thought--not even for a second!

"Are you sure you actually want this?" I blurted. "Or is it just because you want to have sex with me?"

He gave me a baleful look, eyes going dark.

"I like the idea that you will be publicly marked as mine," he said flatly.

My head swam. "Is that all?"

He hesitated, but the words rang with truth when he finally spoke them. "I want to hear your intimate thoughts."

It floored me. Loki wanted intimacy. Real intimacy. With me. The God of Mischief was completely wrecking my perception of him as an untouchable egomaniac.

But still... "Can you treat me with respect?" I asked. "Consistently?"

His expression became hooded, cool. "I treat all my things with respect."

Son of a B-- I was so pissed I couldn't move for a moment. Then I just started hitting him--knowing it was stupid, and there was no way I could actually hurt him--but I was so mad I couldn't see straight. He was laughing--the asshole!- -and he fell back onto the mattress with me half-on top of him, punching his naked chest as hard as I could.

Finally, he caught hold of my wrists and said, "Alright, alright, I yield!"

"You are such an asshole! " I snarled.

He was grinning. "I know."

"I'm serious, Loki! This is a serious conversation!"

"I know it is."

"Then take it seriously! "

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry."

I sat back abruptly on my heels, nonplussed. Loki lay flat on his back looking up at me, black hair fanned around his head, attempting to look serious. His eyes were creased with amusement.

He was happy. He thought he had me--that I was his. Smug bastard.

"Let go," I said, tugging at his grip on my wrists.

He let me go.

I rubbed my face with both hands, overwhelmed. I was half in love with the God of Mischief already, and I'd let him seduce me. I both wanted to be with him and was afraid to let it happen. And then there was the stuff he had been thinking about when he thought I was asleep...too many revelations for one day. And every single one with serious potential consequences.

I caught sight of the clock on the nightstand. It was after 4am. "I'm too tired to continue this conversation," I said, realizing just how true it was. I was exhausted, physically and emotionally.

The mattress shifted. Loki had sat up. He was leaning close to me. "Bella," he murmured.

"No more," I whispered. "I need to go to sleep."

His arms curled around me, and it was unexpected but...exactly what I needed. Temper crumbling away, I turned and burrowed into his chest, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"I adore you," I whispered helplessly.

"Mmm," he held me tighter, kissed my neck. His feelings flowered in my mind, slow and warm; satisfaction, affection, desire. A blossoming sort of tenderness that he found both unexpected and disconcerting. He gave in to it though, because he wanted to comfort me.

Tears stung my eyes.

It felt good, to be held like that that. By him of all people.

I wanted more of it. More tender, affectionate Loki. More thoughtful, caring Loki.

More fiercely passionate Loki.

"Don't hurt me, okay?" I whispered, knowing it was stupid. He would hurt me. It was inevitable.

And Loki must have known it too, because he didn't bother to answer.

[noctomania]

For the past decade I've struggled a lot with trying to figure out what to do with my life and the process of having to just ~wait~, as a rather impatient person. It's been hard not to blame myself for everything. It's not that I don't want to take accountability, but the fact that I can't take accountability for choices I didn't get to make. Opportunities I didn't get to pursue. Lives I didn't get to live.

Working nocturnally and having to navigate life in a much more assertive way than I'd like to really hurts my spirit and has made it hard to feel a part of anything. The boundaries I have had to set with myself and with others are just so disruptive. The schedule is hard. It's also hard to work a job I hate from top to bottom in a place that has built a culture that is so counter to what I want and need. I spend my entire shift not only not talking to anyone but hating having to talk to anyone because any time someone has something to say to you it's likely not a good thing. The kind of people this field brings in too are just not my people. I took this job out of survival.

I've wanted to find community to be a part of ever since I realized how good that can feel. When I was in the Alliance or when I was an RA or even ARD it gave me just a little taste of having a commonality with others and familiarity. But those never lasted. I didn't get to savor them much either because it was always a matter of where is the next paycheck coming from. They also never fully satiated me either, I never fully felt a part of a whole. I see others enjoying that and I want it for myself but I have no idea where to find it. I don't know what it looks like for me. As more time goes by it's harder to imagine that I may ever find that. I need my alone time certainly, but I don't want to be alone forever all the time. Sometimes when I've had a hard day I feel like it is all I want. But eventually that fades, especially when I see others enjoy a sense of belonging, of being valued for either what they can bring to the table or simply for just being themselves.

I've also had to let go of people as I have grown over the years which is further difficult when you don't have many to begin with. But I can't hold on to people just for the sake of holding on to someone or anyone. It also comes with the mental illnessness of "am I the problem? Did I do something wrong?" which is just how my brain has always perceived me as a problem even if I'm the antithesis of a problem.

I want so much to have a life where I work in a career I can feel proud of and where I can't actually enjoy going to work and like the people I work with even if we don't always agree or whatever other difficulties there are at any job. I want people in my life who reach out to me unprovoked and invite me to stuff and people I don't feel like an alien around. I want to be able to some day not feel like i'm always 3 inches away from fucking up and not always under a microscope and being talked down to more than I am being lifted up. to work in a field where I feel skilled and proud of those skills and valued as an individual.

Something has got to give. I should only have to be in this job for 12 more months. I would love to be an artist but I also want to be able to afford to live. And someday own a home. What also sucks is with all this on my mind the idea of finding someone to love isn't even anywhere near being on a table it feels like. Which is one reason why I've tried working so hard on loving myself because that's who I have at the end of the day. The worst part about loving myself though is I want to share myself with others.

[clarktooncrossing]

HEY THERE PEOPLE OF TODAY AND ROBOTS OF TOMORROW! IT'S ME, CLARK! There is a madness deep in the dark catacombs of Castle Clarkenstein. For years these claustrophobic corridors have been the home of the ghoulish giraffe himself, watching as the world passes by. He prefers it this way. It gives him more time alone with the voices. The voices tell him many strange things. Yet they always come back to one: make more monsters! Everyday they tell him this. Everyday he is unable to comply. Hey, being a mad scientist on a budget means he can’t afford the fancy scientific equipment needed to breathe life into newborn abominations. Guy’s gotta afford pizza somehow. Luckily, he has discovered a way of sorts to please the voices. During all those years of watching, Dr. Clarkenstein noticed a particular pattern. Every night during October saw artists posting new pictures based on peculiar prompts. Many of them based on children of the night. While the spotted specter might not be able to craft new zombies, he can sure as heck sketch’m! As such, I provide this friendly warning to you all now: Be afraid. Few people can survive the horrors that are DUDELZ of the Damned!

By that I mean I decided to do my own take on Sketchtober this year just minus the prompts. Anybody gotta problem with that? Tough, cuz I already drew this crap so you might as well check it out.

Xena hears of an upcoming pumpkin carving contest being held in Downtown Clarksburg and eagerly enlists Bumper’s aid. Combining her twisted sense of ambition with his childlike creativity practically guarantees their victory, right? Wrong! That very same childlike creativity is what’s preventing the floating marshmallow from tearing the fruit’s flesh apart. After all, how could he hurt an innocent? How could he bring himself to do such an awful thing?

How could I bring myself not to draw Bumper and Xena for Halloween this year? For crying out loud, Croc’s entire family face the supernatural every other day of the year, so of course Halloween would feel naked without’m. Even if that wasn’t the case, this idea was too funny not to draw. It came to me while watching It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, laughing at Linus’s dismay when Lucy carves up the pumpkin they brought home. There was something so sweet and wholesome about the boy’s reaction that I knew would also work for Bumper, especially if Xena got involved. Unlike Lucy, who struggled to draw a basic face onto a pumpkin, Xena’s imagination is a lot more interesting to say the least. Needless to say it made drawing her Jack-O-Lantern fun to sketch. Another fun aspect were the kid’s costumes, Xena dressed as Ellen Ripley from Aliens and Bumper dressed up as a Ghostbuster. Much like Pizzabeard, I was dying for an excuse to draw these two in these outfits again after doing so back in 2021. It all comes together for an adorably funny DUDEL that I hope you all enjoy!

MAY THE GLASSES BE WITH YOU!

[thegirlfromtheislands]

I have to make peace with the decisions and mistakes I've made in my life. I've made few mistakes, but they have been big ones. I ran away to get married--that was a very big decision. It was one that I wouldn't make now, looking back at my life. Maybe I would take more time if I could go back in time to remake that decision. I'm not writing this because it was a bad decision. It was a sound decision, but it was one that alienated me from people who trusted me. I regret that. I feel so alone most days. I feel alone right now. I have a fear of being left behind, but I left others behind so why wouldn't I get left behind too?

It's hard to measure what will happen in life. It's hard to measure the consequences especially when I've made so many good decisions. I thought that everyone would forgive me because of all the good decisions I've made, but I was wrong. They all wanted to leave me alone. I spend so many nights crying over this decision and each night that I spend awake, I imagine these people, who were once close to me, are sleeping soundly, dreaming of better things.

I don't want to be forgotten by all of them. I hope one day they'll realize that I made decisions to be free of all the restrictions placed on my life. I didn't make any decisions to hurt them. I love them all dearly even now that all this time has passed. I think of them and I remember all of the memories we had together every single day.

I close my eyes and I swear I can hear all the songs we used to sing. I can remember all the games we used to play, but they don't think of me that way. They think of the one decision in my life that I made on such a spectacularly large scale. They think of how I left them behind for the most important decision of my life. No one will forgive me. I can sit here and give into my nostalgia and cry for hours but no one will call me when it's over. I have myself at the end of the day. I have the experiences and decisions I've made. I have to make peace with everything so I can move on. If I don't do that, I'll lose myself in the past and forget to live.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

I suspect quite a few people on this site don’t realize they are struggling with the effects of chronic trauma. In particular I think more people need to learn about the symptoms of C-PTSD.

Distinct from general PTSD, Complex PTSD is caused by prolonged, recurring stress and trauma, often occurring in childhood & adolescence over an extended period of time. There are many risk factors, including: abusive/negligent caregivers, dysfunctional family life, untreated mental/chronic illness, and being the target of bullying/social alienation.

I’m not a mental health professional and I’m not qualified to diagnose anyone, I just remember a million watt light bulb going off in my head when I first learned about C-PTSD. It was a huge OH MY FUCKING WORD eureka moment for me—it explained all these problems I was confused and angry at myself for having. The symptoms that really stood out to me were:

Negative self-perception: deep-seated feelings of shame, guilt, worthlessness, helplessness, and stigma. Feeling like you are different from everyone else, like something is fundamentally ‘bad’ or ‘wrong’ with you.

Emotional avoidance of topics, people, relationships, activities, places, things etc that might cause uncomfortable emotions such as shame, fear, or sadness. Can lead to self-isolation.

Learned helplessness: a pervasive sense of powerlessness, often combined with feelings of desensitization, wherein you gradually stop trying to escape or prevent your own suffering, even when opportunities exist. May manifest as self-neglect or self-sabotage. (I remember watching myself make bad choices and neglect my responsibilities, and having no idea why I was doing it, or how to stop myself. Eventually I just stopped caring, which led to more self-neglect.)

Hyper-vigilance: always feeling “on edge,” alert, unable to relax even in spaces that should feel safe. May be combined with an elevated “flight” response, or feelings of always being prepared to flee. (I used to hide important documents and possessions in a sort of emergency go bag, even when I was living alone and there was no logical reason other than it made me feel “prepared.”)

Difficulty regulating emotions: may include mood swings, persistent numbness, sadness, suicidal idealization, explosive anger (or inability to feel anger and other strong emotions), inability to control your emotions, confusion about why you react the way you do.

Sense of foreshortened future: assuming or feeling that you will die young. Recurring thoughts that "I'll be dead before the age of 30/40/18/21 etc." As a teenager I used to joke darkly that I didn't plan to live past 30—not because I planned to end my life, but because I simply couldn't imagine myself alive and happy in the long-term. I couldn't imagine a meaningful future where I wasn't suffering.

Emotional flashbacks: finding yourself suddenly re-experiencing feelings of helplessness, panic, despair, or anger etc, often without understanding what has triggered these feelings. Often these flashbacks don’t clearly relate to the memory of a single event (since C-PTSD is caused by repetitive events, which can blur together), making them harder to identify as flashbacks—especially if you’ve never heard the phrase “emotional flashback” and don’t know what to look for. For years I just filed it under “sometimes I overreact/freak out randomly for no reason, probably bc I am just a terrible human being.” (It turns out there was very much a reason, it was just hidden in the past. I have since learned to be kinder and less judgemental towards myself.)

There are other symptoms too, here are more links with good info.

I’ve been meaning to write this post for awhile, because I’ve noticed that a lot of the people I interact with online have risk factors and experiences similar to mine. These include:

growing up in a dysfunctional household

having caregivers who do not fulfill basic emotional needs (do not provide consistent positive attention, encouragement, support, acceptance, communication, a sense of safety and security)

on a very related note, experiencing neglect or abuse at the hand of caregivers or other adults. I also want to emphasize the significance of emotional abuse, since it is hard to recognize, easy to ignore, and utterly rampant in so many communities. In general, family dysfunction, abuse & neglect are quite difficult to identify when you are a child/teen and that is the only “normal” you have known.

(For example, in my family it manifested as an emotionally absent father I was vaguely frightened of, constant nagging from a hypercritical mother, and a house full of people who yelled and screamed at each other. It took me years to realize I grew up in an abusive environment, because there was no physical violence, because I participated in the fighting, and because my behavioral problems made me the family scapegoat. And I internalized that guilt: I thought I was the problem. But no—I was a child, and I deserved not to grow up in a household full of anger and fear and negativity. You deserved that too. You deserved to grow up safe and loved and treated with kindness.) 

anyway back to more risk factors:

being neurodivergent or chronically ill (especially without receiving proper treatment/support/accommodation)

being queer (especially in a conservative or undiverse community, or without the support and acceptance of family & friends)

being the target of bullying or harassment (from peers, teachers, authority figures, irl, online, etc)

being isolated or alienated from peers, from family, from your wider community.

growing up with chronic anxiety, discomfort, pain, fear, or distress caused by any of the above and more.

There are many other experiences that can cause chronic trauma, but these are some particularly common ones I see people in my own community struggling with. And I want more people to be aware of this, because we’ve been taught to ignore and second-guess the significance of our traumatic experiences. We’ve been taught to feel guilty for our own pain, because “other people aren’t struggling, so I shouldn’t either” or (contradictorily) “other people have it worse, so I shouldn’t complain.” But that’s not how it works—you are not other people, and you deserve to have it better. We all deserve better. We deserve to be happy. We deserve not to be in pain.

I used to think I couldn’t have a trauma disorder because (I argued in my head) the things that happened to me weren’t that bad. And then I spent five years in therapy learning to accept the full extent of my issues. I’ve since learned that trauma comes in many forms, and can happen quietly, invisibly, silently, chronically, and usually without the survivor being aware of the long-term repercussions of what they are surviving. That revelation comes later, after you have survived and must instead learn to live.

Finally, no single type of trauma is more real or harmful than any other. Severity is measured by the way the individual is affected, and the same situations affect different people in different ways. Because no one gets to choose how their brain reacts to trauma. No one gets to choose their hurt—otherwise there would be a hell of a lot less hurting in the world.

We can, however, choose to seek help. We can learn to recognize when something is wrong, we can learn when to reach out to professionals, and we can learn to educate ourselves on our injuries.

And gradually, we can learn to heal.

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