#and the intrusive period thoughts

[1337wtfomgbbq]

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[canisalbus]

Adding onto the Vasco nightmares thing: it's not uncommon with real losses for the mourner(s) to struggle with dreams where they have to reach an end goal (ex. traveling across the country as fast as they can to reach them) in order to "save" the one they lost, or to be completely taken out of a dream because the lost appears in them (knowing that something isn't real because the mourner KNOWS that this person is dead and can't be alive like they are in the dream).

It could be compelling to explore that side of Vasco's grief more

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[martyryo]

mid au idea appealing only to me

[chetungwan]

Someone stop me, I just started looking up local SCA groups. I'm tired 80% of the time, this is a terrible idea

[ghostclangen]

Marshlily dreams of the Dark Forest again. The smell of rot fills her nostrils, and she retches, barely holding down the contents of her stomach. She’d dreamt about it every night for moons now, but she still can’t get used to the squelching of mud between her toes, the only sound in the uncannily silent expanse. What did she do to end up here, so far from StarClan?

She takes a few steps forward, but quickly stumbles. The shaking is worse here, rapid jerks that make it difficult to walk—not that trying to run away would save her. 

“Is anyone here?” she calls, as she always does; her words are chopped up by the tremors that wrack her body. It’s with a frozen feeling in her stomach that Marshlily realizes that that’s not the only thing cutting her off; in what feels like just seconds, her throat has become clogged with foul-tasting blood. She hacks it up, splattering red on the damp ground, but it just keeps coming, choking her more and more by the second no matter how much she coughs and splutters.

This hasn’t happened before. This is new. Panting between coughs, she stares down at the pool of blood that’s growing on the grass before her. She’s faint, fainter than she should be; it’s not so much a loss of blood that makes the world bleary, but a sort of … a sort of … Marshlily shakes her head, unable to think of some way to describe it but finding herself unable to think of the words. 

She digs her claws into the earth to keep herself grounded. Her mind, however, can’t be gathered so easily; the dissolving feeling lingers. I’m all apart, the part of her that remains within in her grasp thinks. Through a mouth of blood, she gives a garbled cry once again: “Is anyone here? Help me!” 

After a few moments of silence, Marshlily hangs her head and whines gutturally. Why does she even try anymore? Nobody ever answers …

And then someone does. 

A familiar voice echoes in her ears, high-pitched and scratchy: “Marshlily …”

Weakly, Marshlily lifts her head, her ears pricked. “... Hornetstar?” she asks. “Where are you?”

“We care about you, Marshlily.” “We need you, Marshlily.” “Come home, Marshlily.”

Marshlily looks frantically from side to side, looking for Celebi, Crageagle, and—her heavy heart jumps in her chest—Charredtail. “Where are you? Where is everyone? Did you come to rescue me?” 

As the voices continue, they begin to sound closer, and with some time, Marshlily can pinpoint the direction they’re from. She takes a wobbly step toward them, but she makes it only a few taillengths before the voices of her loved ones fall quiet and a piercing scream erupts inside her brain. It’s like that alien feeling she’s been having, but worse, overwhelming her senses. There are no words put to it, no way to understand what’s going on, just a desperate yowl. 

“Leave me alone!” Marshlily cries. “Let me go!” She sinks to the ground in a heap as the screeching continues and begins to scream herself, wearing her bleeding throat raw. Of course it wouldn’t let her go. Of course her only hope would be a trap. The dissolving feeling, which had dissipated slightly, comes back with a vengeance. She really could just lie there and give in—it’d be a lot less painful …

As soon as she resigns herself to the faintness, though, something cuts through the screaming. It’s faint, but it’s there, and little by little it gets louder until Marshlily can finally hear it clearly: “I love you, Marshlily. I’ll always love you.”

It takes Marshlily a few moments to recognize the voice, but when she does, her breath stops in her chest. “Mom?” she asks, her voice wobbling. “Mom, is that you?” Half-remembered memories float to her head: milk scent; a soft, murmuring voice; the warmth of her siblings snuggled up against her. 

The voice doesn’t answer. Instead, it continues, “You have to keep going.”

It’s with uncertaintly that Marshlily gets to her paws, and the screaming in the back of her head never relented, but nonetheless, she does. Her movements are jerky and discoordinated, and she stumbles over her paws more than once, but with nothing else to do, she follows the voices of her loved ones: “It’ll be okay, Marshlily.” “You have to keep trying.” “Just follow my voice …”

She can’t begin to tell how long it takes—it could have been minutes or days; they’re all the same here—but eventually, as Marshlily continues in her unsteady gait, something shifts behind the rotting trees. The air here is always a bit misty, but this is different: a hulking wall of fog hangs ahead of her, condensing in mere seconds as she approaches, as if it were waiting for her. 

Tentatively, Marshlily pads through the last few trees ahead of her and into a small clearing. She can see the fog clearly from here; it writhes like something alive, but she doesn’t find herself unsettled by the breath-like undulations. Instead, she’s overwhelmed by a feeling of welcomeness and love. She takes a few steps toward it and realizes something: she can walk straight now. The jerking has stopped, and when she swallows, she finds that there’s no taste of blood in her mouth any longer. She’s thinking clearer, too. 

“Come here,” a chorus of voices says, and Marshlily grits her teeth. What if it’s a trap? What if she never gets better? What if she falls right back into the thrall of whatever—whoever—is screaming inside her head? 

But then, what other choice does she have …? It’s stay here and dissolve into nothingness or risk the pain of whatever might lie on the other side. With just enough trust to allow the warmth of it, Marshlily braces herself and runs through.

She jolts awake into a world of silence. No, it’s not silent … there’s the birds, the rustling of leaves in the wind, the rushing water of a nearby stream. What’s silent is the inside of her head: no screaming; no vicious, alien thoughts; just her own internal monologue, so much clearer than it has been in moons.

Marshlily takes a few breaths in and out, in and out, then closes her eyes shut. What if this is just a dream? What if this is the Dark Forest playing tricks on her? How can she trust it? 

Tentatively, she brings herself to her paws and stares out across the land; she’d run far from the Cavern the night before, but she’s still high enough up that she can see across all four territories from here. There’s PrairieClan’s, out in the tall grass of the moor; that over there is SerpentClan’s, wrapped in the shadows of the forest; and way on the opposite side is MoonClan’s, a mix of warm sand and tall trees. They’ve never looked so beautiful. Surely the Place of No Stars and its denizens could never create a place like this.

“Marshlily!”

The echoing voice comes from somewhere above her, and Marshlily turns to see Hornetstar bounding down the rocks, Hubert, Celebi, and Nettledawn in tow. She slows down as she approaches, her pawsteps becoming (rightfully) tentative, but she doesn’t flinch away in fright, which is more than Marshlily could ask for, really.

“Hi, everyone,” Marshlily croaks, and winces at the ache in her throat. For a brief, panicked moment, she thinks it’s blood that’s making her voice groggy; common sense kicks in when she realizes that the only thing she tastes is stale morning breath. She laughs at herself internally; of course her throat is sore, she’s been sleeping for … “How long was I gone?” 

“Days!” Hornetstar says. “You weren’t responding, just flailing around and talking to someone. Were you dreaming about Kestreltail?”

Marshlily can’t keep back a melancholy smile at the sound of her mother’s name. “A little bit.”

“Come on, stop with the chatting,” Hubert says, taking a couple steps toward Marshlily. “How are you feeling? Are you still sick?” 

Marshlily thinks on it for a long moment. The violence in her head is gone; she turns to Hornetstar and hears no disembodied urge to attack. She turns to walk a few paces this way and that, and her body doesn’t jerk, or even twitch. “I don’t think so,” she says finally, turning back to the others. “I think I might be okay.” 

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, Hornetstar is pressed up against her, purring up a storm. “I was so worried! I thought you were going to … I mean, I was scared that …”

Marshlily chuckles and nuzzles her face into Hornetstar’s shoulder. “You and me both, Hornet,” she says, voice muffled by her thick pelt. “You and me both.”

[imaginesangie]

According to modern-day puritans, your intrusive thoughts are only valid if you DON'T get aroused by them. Like, arousal is a body's response to stimuli, and just because some people are aroused by their thoughts it doesn't mean it's any less distressing for them. If anything, the fact that it arouses them may make it MORE distressing.

Seriously, what is with this push to make mentally ill people the most sanitized versions of themselves? Do you NOT see how counter-productive it is to push down all the things you and others around you deem "impure" or "immoral"?

You're not going to heal or improve yourself if you're bottling things up and shaming yourself for the ways in which your brain functions (none of which anyone has literally any control over). You're not actually helping anyone but deeming them "degenerates" or "freaks" or any other derogatory words your ableist mind can come up with.

Accepting mental illness is spreading proper information on the ways in which it can impact the way people act, think, and are as opposed to spreading the misinformation that least impacts your personal discomfort.

Your ableism hasn't ended just because you yourself are disabled or because you accept certain palatable symptoms of mental illness.

[beeapocalypse]

changed my mind. like writing again

[attroxx]

❛ @mythcaels said . . . 💕 — sender hugs receiver from behind / sasuke and naruto ❜

𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐋. he'd invited ( forced ) sasuke along this time. he was always avoiding these sorts of gatherings but being stuck in his apartment can't be good for him. it's about time he gets out of the house even if naruto has to drag him by force. luckily the night had gone well enough, although sasuke still wasn't much of a talker he would take it. as they stand outside the restaurant they all chat a while. he'd noted the way sasuke kept looking around, getting increasingly closer to him.

but just as hinata is about to speak sasuke's arms are wrapping tight around naruto. he blinks, blue eyes looking down at the others arms. now his face is turning a deep crimson. the group goes silent and in that moment naruto wonders if he should've cut sasuke off from the sake. ❛ . . . um, sasuke ? you okay ? i think it's time for you to go home. ❜ the blonde tries to laugh it off awkwardly but, the rest of the group are already snickering. prying the other off him naruto huffs, tugging sasuke away and toward his apartment.

playful / affectionate meme. — accepting.

[imfullofworms]

if Oppenheimer is the Avengers of mid-century scientists and it makes a load of money... maybe, just maybe we should get an Avengers style movie about melancholic authors/poets—

Mary Shelley: I'm putting together-

Sylvia Plath: a monster?

Mary Shelley: no... a team; the world's most morbid and melancholic souls who have ever lifted a quill and dipped it in ink

Sylvia Plath: fine, but who else is on your list?

*a raven's wing does a screen-wipe transition and we cut to Shelley and Plath outside Edgar Allen Poe's house*

Plath, about to knock: fine, I'll do-

Shelley: don't, he hates that

[granitxhka]

hiiiiiii

[lesbiangracehanson]

~~~~~~

[theklaapologist]

Now that I mentioned Gabriel I remembered when I replied to a theology student’s ig story about the apocalypse coming and I said that I just want Gabriel to blow his trumpet and get this over with and then he replied with “the fact that you have a crush on an archangel is worrying but also wholesome” to this day I haven’t understood why he even said that????? It was so disturbing and frankly a little bit blasphemous for me? Like,,,,,,

[tittyinfinity]

I'm so stressed let me go cool off by getting on the internet, where no stress or hostility exists,

[rochastocade]

guess i finally have a doctor i can trust to take care of my fragile little p*ssy <3

[dabblingreturns]

For those not farmiliar with endometriosis

Here is the Wikipedia page:

(I relize that having to even ask this doesnt say good things about me....but I need to know if I'm alone.....

[prettyboyhere]

they should invent a period that doesn’t cause emotions