#and turns out I have adhd (and I’m pretty sure I’m at least a little autistic but who knows)

[much-ado-about-whumping]

Help for when you’re having a rough time

(If you're looking for my old pinned post with my whump masterlists, you can find it here.)

In light of some deeply sad news in the whump community today, I’m thinking about how many of us here struggle with mental health, sometimes including physical or mental self-harm and suicidality. Since I know lots of folks might be having a hard time right now, I wanted to share some resources that have helped me in rough moments. Please feel free to add on to this post (or make your own, if you want!) with the resources that have worked for you. 

First, a note:

Trauma, shame, and suicidality all tend to isolate - they make us feel like we’re all alone in the world, like no one else would understand us, and like the only solutions we have available to us are ones we can think of all by ourselves. In my experience, the antidote to that is connection. If you’re feeling scared or alone, you can hop into my asks or DMs if you want. I’m sure there are other folks in this community who would offer that, too. Many of us have grappled with mental health struggles, including suicidal ideation, and sometimes we can offer each other the care that can be hard to offer ourselves. Don’t be afraid to reach out if you need support.

A quick note about location: I live in the US, but about half the resources in this post are written guides you can access from anywhere. The hotlines and warmlines linked below are US-based. One or two are accessible in Canada or have an online chat or moderated forum that could be accessed anywhere. If you have good local resources from another place, please reblog and add them! (Thank you, @straight-to-the-pain, for flagging this in the notes!)

That said, here’s my absolute first recommendation if you’re feeling generally awful and don’t know what to do:

1. You Feel Like Shit (also available at its original site here)

If you’ve read a lot of ~self care tips~ in your life (and if you’re a bit of a salty bitch like me), you might be sick of being told to eat something and take a nap. (I don’t think we can hydrate our way out of long-term trauma and late-stage capitalistic hell, but thanks.) That said, I’ve found this site REALLY helpful. Personally, I have ADHD and CPTSD, a combination that makes it ROUGH for me to know how to take care of myself sometimes. This site speaks to you calmly, like a non-judgemental friend, and walks you through steps that you might struggle with if you have a hard time with executive function in general, or if you’re ill, grieving, overwhelmed, or otherwise just off your game. I pretty much always walk away feeling at least a little better, even if I don’t complete every step.

There are more suggestions and resources below the cut. Wishing everyone in this community love and care. <3

2. The 15-Minute Rule (info available in many places; after a quick google, I really like this site as a place to start)

One key principle to understanding the resources I’ve put together here is the 15-minute rule. If you’re feeling an urge towards physical or mental self-harm or suicide, studies show that the urge is unlikely to last more than about 15 minutes at its peak intensity. (Sorry I don’t have data on this off the bat - anecdotally, I can tell you that this rule also tracks with my own personal experience.) This means that, if you’re presently feeling overwhelmed by grief or pain that’s turning inwards on you, if you can stay afloat through the next few minutes, the tide of it is likely to ebb. The site I linked above has information about this concept and some great harm-reduction ideas, too. (Another resource on this that I liked in my quick search is here.)

3. Read This First (a compassionate distraction from feelings of self-harm)

I’m gonna be honest; this resource is aimed at folks having urges towards physical self-harm, but it looks like something I would find helpful with urges towards emotional self-harm, too. (It also looks like it could be handy for body-focused repetitive behaviors - BFRBs - like dermatillomania/skin-picking or trichotillomania/hair-pulling).

4. Resources from Pete Walker, psychotherapist and author of Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving

Obviously not everyone reading this will have complex PTSD (also called C-PTSD), but if you’re a person who, in general, tends to beat yourself up a lot, I’d highly recommend checking Pete Walker’s work out. If some of it doesn’t apply to you, that’s okay - take what you need, and leave the rest. This site (and the book it references most heavily) assumes you may have had parents who were emotionally or physically abusive or neglectful. If that doesn’t ring true for you, but other parts of the resources seem helpful, use them anyway! A handy place to start maybe this page on Shrinking the Inner Critic in Complex PTSD (that is, reducing the volume of the voice that screeches unpleasantness at you when you feel ashamed or scared).

As a note: this website looks VERY mid-2000s (which I kind of love). Most of the resources you want will be in the right-hand column full of links. Some of those links will open new pages, and some will automatically try to download a PDF of the article you want to read. 

5. Warmlines:

This is something I just learned today - if you’re feeling really lonely and sad, but you’re not in immediate crisis, there are warmlines you can contact! These seem to be numbers where you can call (or sometimes text) to talk with a counselor or trained peer when you need support and connection. I can’t vouch for any of these numbers personally, but as someone who has definitely thought, “It’s not bad enough to REALLY need help,” I think this is a fabulous idea. Here’s a list of warmlines you can check out in the US.

6. Specialized hotlines: 

There are lots of good crisis hotlines out there, but some may be better for your needs than others. For one thing, if you’re feeling seriously suicidal, it’s good to know the policies of the hotline you’re calling. In my opinion, everyone deserves bodily autonomy and the right to refuse care; for that reason, I think it’s important to know the policy of the hotline you’re calling as to whether or not they’ll call emergency services without your consent. Everyone has to make their own judgment call on this one, and I’m a little too (lightly!) triggered to go deep into my analysis on this right now, but I wanted to flag that it’s something to be aware of - if you’re going to call a hotline, you can try to look up their policy on calling emergency services before you contact them. You could probably even ask them in the beginning of the call. (A script: “Before we start, can you tell me what your policy is about contacting emergency services on behalf of callers?” If this is true, you can add: “I’m having some feelings of [suicidality/self-harm], but I’m safe and am not in danger of hurting myself or others.”)

With that in mind, here are some hotlines that seem promising to me, in no particular order:

A. For queer and trans folks in general:

Trans LifeLine

Available in the US (1-877-565-8860) and Canada (1-877-330-6366)

Available in English and Spanish

Will NOT call emergency services without your consent (you can read more about this policy on their website, including here)

Peer to peer support for transgender and questioning folks; also, microgrants (small amounts of money) for trans-related needs!

Does not offer text/chat-based support

I’ve never used Trans LifeLine myself, but I’ve heard excellent things about it from peers who have.

The Trevor Project:

Support from trained counselors for queer, trans, and questioning folks

Definitely available in the US; I’m not sure where else.

Offers support via phone (1-866-488-7386), text message (678-678), and online chat (link here - scroll down to Start Chat)

Also offers an online peer support space, TrevorSpace, for folks ages 13-24

Their site says, “In very specific instances of abuse or a clear concern of an in-progress or imminent suicide, Trevor counselors may need to contact a child welfare agency or emergency service.” When you click Learn More, it takes you to their Terms of Service (informative, but in legalese that might be hard to parse if you’re in crisis).

Again, not a service I’ve used myself, but I’ve heard good things!

B. For BIPOC folks (Black folks, Indigenous folks, and people of color more broadly), especially those who also hold LQBTQI identities:

Call Blackline:

Available via phone or text (both at 1-800-604-5841)

Available for people in crisis. Call Blackline can also help connect you with local community organizers and officials if you need to report a negative, inappropriate, or physical interaction with police, other law enforcement, or vigilantes.

From their website:

Call BlackLine® provides a space for peer support, counseling, reporting of mistreatment, witnessing and affirming the lived experiences for folxs who are most impacted by systematic oppression with an LGBTQ+ Black Femme Lens.Call BlackLine® prioritizes BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and People of Color). By us for us.

Here’s what I found regarding their policy on emergency services:

You do not have to provide any personal information to use the service. All calls remain private and will never be shared with law enforcement or state agencies of any kind.

Of course, a BIPOC person can contact any hotline for support, but for people dealing with racism, anti-Blackness, and other specific bigotries, I can very much see the importance of talking to someone who shares or understands that experience.

C. For folks processing bad psychedelic trips:

Fireside Project:

This one is something I didn’t even know existed! They do call- or text-based support (1-623-473-7433, or 1-62-FIRESIDE) for people processing psychedelic drug experiences, available 11am to 11pm Pacific time. I don’t have a ton more info, but their site seems really interesting and like they’re serving a unique need.

7. A soothing distraction:

One of the glories of the internet is the fact that it enables us to conjure up images of kittens at a moment’s notice. In that vein, I want to offer up a VERY cute distraction: Peptoc is a hotline (1-707-873-7862, or 1-707-8PEPTOC) where you can hear encouraging messages in English or Spanish from kindergarteners. How sweet is that? (Thanks to the wonderful @newbornwhumperfly for this suggestion!)

--------

Beloved whump community, I want to know about things that help you when you’re struggling. Please feel free to share them if you want.

And, Moya - we’ll miss you so, so much, even those of us (like me) who didn’t know you well. May your memory be an absolute blessing. <3

(I was going to put this in the tags, but oops, it’s going up here - I really hope this post will be helpful to someone, but it was also helpful to me to build. I feel better in a crisis when I can find a way to help - it’s how I soothe myself when I’m sad or scared. I really hope this doesn’t seem preachy or self-aggrandizing - it’s really just me processing-processing-processing. <3)

One more note: if this post makes you think you might want to follow my blog, you're totally welcome, but you should check out my note here first. This is not a DNI list; it's just a heads-up about my content, which could be inappropriate or triggering for some people.

[satansapostle6]

The Crush | Percy Jackson

Percy Jackson is a cool, simple guy who is also the famous son of Poseidon who helped save the world. But, talking to the pretty girl in his English class still seems impossible.

Warnings: Mature themes/language. Violence. Sexual content.

Chapter One: Pussy Jackson

Percy sat behind Chloé in English. She was tall and intimidating, and he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to work up the courage to talk to her. Sure, he wasn’t in high school anymore, but he still felt nervous around her like he was sixteen years old again. Chloé Jardine was, after all, the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

He knew Chloé was a Roman demigod, a daughter of Nox, the Roman equivalent of Nyx, the goddess of darkness and the night. She was a fairly typical child of Nox, a sort of minimalistic goth.

She had long, pitch black hair, with tiny micro bangs partially covering her forehead. She was also noticeably pale, as if she only ever went out at nighttime. Most people thought she looked scary, but Percy thought she looked magical.

Chloé had a decent amount of tattoos, including a pretty sizable spider web on her neck. She had a lot of piercings, including an eyebrow piercing and a vertical labret on her lip. She didn’t really wear makeup, but she was very obviously a goth. She was smart, and she didn’t talk a lot at all, which drove Percy insane. He made it his mission in life to know as much about her as possible.

Every time he saw her wearing a band T-shirt of some kind to school, he’d make a note of the band name and look it up later if he wasn’t familiar, and listen to all of the songs he could find.

So far, he’d listened to Type O Negative, Bauhaus, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Sisters of Mercy, Kittie, and Rob Zombie, only affirming his opinion that she was the coolest person on earth. His best friend, Grover, thought the behavior was just a little bit obsessive, but didn’t really think it was that bad.

That day in his college English course, he was sitting in his seat, listening to Soundgarden during the lecture on his laptop with the tab open, secretly hoping Chloé would have some some reason to walk back and look at his computer screen. Soundgarden wasn’t goth, of course, but Percy had seen her wear one of their shirts.

“Hey! Pussy Jackson!”

Percy frowned to see Clarisse La Rue sitting in a seat a couple rows behind him.

“Move your fat fucking head, I can’t see!”

“‘I’m doing fine, thank you, Clarisse’,” he mocked her under his breath. “‘How was your weekend’?”

Percy was startled to look up to see Chloé turned around in front of him.

“Will you two shut the fuck up?!” she whispered, staring at them in disbelief.

Percy’s face must have been beet red as he tried his hardest not to explode. He was dying of embarrassment as he tried to come up with some sort of answer.

“Uh, yeah! Sorry!” he apologized in a whisper.

Chloé just turned back around, shaking her head as she continued taking messy notes on the assignment due dates. Percy leaned forward slightly, looking curiously at her notebook. He found her handwriting interesting; it was kind of small with a lot sharp edges, written in haste without being too messy, almost like a doctor’s handwriting.

Percy knew he must’ve been lost in his horny ADHD world, because before he knew it, the instructor had just finished announcing the next project, a group project worth 20% of his grade.

“Alright, the groups are posted up here, so you can all come and take a look. You’ll have the rest of this class to figure out a presentation topic and get started,” the professor, a woman in her forties, announced as she retreated to her desk.

Alarmed by the words ‘groups’ and ‘presentation’, Percy anxiously made his way down to the whiteboard with everyone else, terrified to receive his group assignment. He prayed silently that he’d get at least one smart kid in his group, and zero Clarisse’s. As he slowly scanned the list of names up and down, his face went pale as he found his other two group mates. Clarisse La Rue and Chloé Jardine.

Percy wanted to kill himself immediately. Not only did he have to work with Clarisse, but he also had to figure out how to work with Chloé, who had just told him to shut the fuck up not two seconds ago, the first words she had ever spoken to him. He glanced back at Clarisse, who was standing beside Chloé. Neither of them looked very happy about the group assignment.

Percy glanced over at the peofessor’s desk, contemplating whether he should try and get a different group. He decided against it, figuring he’d had enough embarrassment for one day. Signing as he realized he’d have to face Chloé eventually, he walked over to where the girls were standing, ready to face the music. He’d fought monsters and faced imminent doom before, and somehow this felt exactly the same.

“I’m not doing all of the work,” Chloé crossed her arms.

“What makes you think you’d be doing all the work?!” Clarisse asked defensively.

“Because I’m in a group with you!”

“Hey…” Percy waved awkwardly, trying to break the ice, which seemed to also somehow be scalding hot.

“Oh, yeah. You’re in this group too,” Clarisse rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Percy retaliated childishly.

“Okay. We need to come up with a topic,” Chloé reminded them. “Which one should our presentation be about?”

“What are the options?” Percy asked, watching as she just let out a long sigh.

The next hour of class went by as slowly as possible. By the end of it, Clarisse had stormed out of the classroom, and Percy and Chloé were left sitting together exhaustedly. Chloé sighed as she got up, heading out of the building as Percy followed her.

“Sorry about Clarisse,” he offered sympathetically. “She drives everyone who has to deal with her insane.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that,” Chloé nodded.

*****

Percy felt odd, and completely out of place the entire time he sat in class discussing the project with Chloé. Every time she spoke to him, he felt more stupid. He knew nothing about what he wanted to do for the project, and he was even less prepared to answer these questions when asked by Chloé Jardine. And of course, Clarisse also being a part of the group didn’t help.

But Percy figured it was almost worth it, getting to work on the project with Chloé, with her cool hair, tattoos and piercings, and blue eyes, the same icy blue eyes that mesmerized him when he spoke to her. Percy had to clear his throat and check his breath twice before smiling at her as she turned, just having ordered a coffee from the kiosk nearby.

“Hey,” Percy wheezed, realizing how eager he sounded stalk to her, cursing himself silently.

“Hi,” Chloé said with slight surprise, sipping the warm coffee.

She looked at him expectantly, wondering what it was he could’ve possibly had to say to her. Chloé had already done a brief mental scan of Percy; she knew that he was the Greek son of Poseidon, by his shaggy black hair and sea green eyes.

She knew from the perpetual dopey expression on his face that he was attracted to her in some way. She’d seen the way he looked at her and assumed that it was mostly more sexual than emotional, based on the way his eyes lingered on her skin and the way he was constantly averting his eyes from her chest.

“See you,” Chloé smiled, politely excusing herself as she walked away.

“Fuck,” Percy muttered under his breath as he watched her walk away.

He sighed in defeat as he watched Chloé walk away from him, thinking of a hundred things in that moment he wished he’d said to her.

“It’ll never happen, you know.”

Percy whipped around quickly, alarmed as he turned around in the direction of the voice he’d heard. Naturally, the disapproving voice had belonged to Annabeth, his sharp-witted child of Athena ex-girlfriend.

“What?” Percy questioned defensively.

“You and Chloé,” she responded promptly.

Percy crossed his arms. “What makes you think—”

“That you’re infatuated with her?” she asked him. “I know you, Jackson.”

“I’m not infatuated with Chloé,” Percy rolled his eyes at her.

“Well. Infatuated or not, her ex-boyfriend is Sean Morley. The son of Apollo?” Annabeth Chase smirked. “With the blond hair, and the shoulders?”

“Why are you so invested?” he ignored her, questioning her skeptically.

Annabeth smiled, patting his shoulder sympathetically. “Because. It’s fun watching you refuse to learn,” she said as her demeanor softened.

Annabeth walked off and disappeared, leaving Percy to do a lot of thinking.

-

Chapter Two

[ladykailitha]

Can Anybody See Me? Part 9

Just moving right along with these. Here I introduce two new people to befriend Steve. Because I like Steve having friends his own age that he hasn’t trauma bonded to. Starting tomorrow I’ll be putting up a little plot bunny that got away from me but have no fear, this one will return.

On the tagging, I HAVE REACHED MY HARD AND FAST LIMIT OF 50. I love the response this story has gotten. I do. I love you all. I love every reply, like, and reblog. It brings me so much joy, you don’t even know. But tagging is hard for my ADHD brain. I have gone up from 20 to 30 and finally 50 as my system improved but I think if I do any more than that I’ll go insane. So any future tagging requests will be ignored. Sorry.

The best way to keep update on these stories is follow me and set me on notifications. I rarely do a lot of reblogging these days (too busy churning out stories like whoa), so more often then not a post will be a story. I try to post at least once a day (some times twice if I’m trying to rush through the posting a bit like I did to make sure the Valentine fic got out in time without making people wait on Vamp!Eddie), just never at set time.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 

*

Steve was biting his nail as he waited his turn at the back of the crowd to see if he had made it.

“Ain’t doing it for this time, big boy,” Eddie told him. “I will stay for emotional support though.”

Steve gave Eddie’s arm a squeeze. “Thanks, man. I’m just so nervous.”

Finally they got to the front of the line and Steve’s finger slid down the list and next Thompson was Steve Harrington.

“I got it!” he said jumping up and down. “I got it!” He hugged Eddie.

And Eddie gave him a small tap on the back in return.

“We need to celebrate!” Steve said. “I’m taking everyone out to dinner.”

Eddie laughed. “The whole school, huh? Man, I knew you were rich, but that’s a lot.”

Steve playfully shoved at him. “Noooo...I mean you and the rest of Corroded Coffin. If it wasn’t for you guys I wouldn’t have ever tried out and I want to thank everyone.”

“Sounds great, pretty boy,” Eddie said. He turned Steve around and pushed him toward his first class. “Now go, before you’re late.”

Steve laughed and started walking. He looked over his shoulder and smiled softly.

Butterflies took off in his stomach looking at Eddie. He shook his head and went to class. That was another thought for another time. If he was going to graduate, he couldn’t be late.

*

Eddie went to go pick Steve for the celebration dinner but when he pulled up to the house there was a shiny silver BMW in the driveway and the front door was open.

Shit, shit, shit.

He wasn’t going to back out now. Steve needed him. He got out of the van and skipped up to the door.

He knocked on the door frame and an elegant woman in her early forties came out of one of the side rooms.

“Who are you?” she asked, taking in his band tee and ripped black jeans with a sneer.

He held out his hand. “Edward Munson, ma’am. Steve and I are in math together.”

Just then Steve came out of his room with his dad. Mr Harrington looked thunderous and Steve more than a little frightened.

“Eddie!” Steve called out.

“What’s all this then?” Mr Harrington boomed.

“Stevie and I are doing a project in math,” Eddie explained with a grin. “Mr Vinke assigned pairs to research noted mathematicians. We picked Gosta Mittag-Leffler, the dude that is the reason the Noble prizes don’t have a math award.”

Mrs Harrington turned to her son. “Couldn’t you have worked with any of your friends?”

Steve blushed.

“It’s just Tommy and Carol in that class and since they wanted to work together, Mr Vinke put me with Eddie.”

“Can’t be helped, I suppose,” Mr Harrington said gruffly.

“I’m here to pick him up to go to the library,” Eddie explained. “But we can do it tomorrow if you’re busy?”

Steve looked to his parents, in half agony and half hope. Agony because he did want to go celebrate with his friends. Hope because even if he couldn’t do it tonight, at least he would be able to see his parents and tell them all about his good news.

“It’s fine,” Mrs Harrington said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “We’re only stopping by for a couple hours anyway. I wanted to get some of my nicer jewelry and don’t trust the mail system to get it to me intact or at all.”

Steve’s face fell. “You aren’t staying?”

“Big meeting in Chicago tomorrow morning with some very important Japanese investors,” Mr Harrington boomed, pounding Steve on the back. “Can’t be missed.”

Steve nodded. “I’ll just go get my school bag.” He ran back into his room and grabbed his things. He was back out in a flash. Steve squeezed past his dad and thundered down the stairs. He gave his mother a kiss on the cheek.

“You ready to go?” Eddie asked softly.

Steve nodded.

Eddie waved at the Harringtons. “It was nice meeting you both.”

As they walked to the van they heard Mrs Harrington say, “Well, at least he’s a polite boy.”

“I didn’t know manners were taught to trailer trash,” Mr Harrington replied with a guffaw.

Eddie winced and Steve gave his elbow a squeeze. Once the were in the van and pulling out of the drive way, both boys relaxed.

“I’m sorry about that, man,” Steve said. “They literally came home ten minutes before you got there. I tried calling but Wayne said you had already left.”

Eddie turned and looked at him. “Hey, it’s okay. Because at least this way it wouldn’t leave me and the boys hanging at the diner wondering where you are.”

Steve blushed. “It was still rude of them. They didn’t tell me they were coming home and then to just dash off like I didn’t exist. Even I can tell that this is an aesthetic that is carefully, artfully done.” He waved at Eddie’s look.

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “Yeah? What makes you think that?”  

“The shoes,” Steve explained. “They are too white and too new to be trash.”

Eddie grinned. “Look at you, being all observant.”

Steve just shook his head. “It’s not rocket science, dude.”

“No, but it is Sherlockian,” Eddie said.

Steve laughed. “Fair enough.”

*

They arrived at the diner to see that in addition to Jeff, Gareth, and Brian, Gethin and someone he didn’t know was there, too.

“Hey, guys,” Eddie greeted.

The new boy was a shocking curly-haired redhead with more freckles then hairs on his head.

“Hey, Steve! Eddie!” Jeff greeted. “This is Marty. He’s part of Hellfire Club, too. He’s a senior this year, so we’ll miss him next year.”

Steve waved. Eddie slid into the booth and Steve next to him.

“I wanted to celebrate Kyle not getting the role,” Marty said with a grin.

Steve eyed the new boy with new appreciation.

Eddie’s grin was feral. “In addition to Marty being in the club, he’s head of stage crew.”

“And assistant director this year,” Marty added with a grin.

“Ooh...” Gethin said. “Many hats this year.”

“Yeah,” Marty said. “It’s going to be hectic. I can’t wait.”

Steve grinned. Marty reminded him of Dustin a lot. “I’ve gotta ask. Why didn’t you want Kyle to be Thomson?”

“Because he cheated on the first audition,” Marty deadpanned.

All eyes went to Marty as they stared at him in shock.

“How?” Brian asked.

“He recorded a perfect version of himself singing and lipsynced with the Walkman in his pocket,” Marty explained.

“So how come he didn’t do it again?” Eddie asked.

Marty pulled something out his pocket. It was a small cassette tape. He waved it back and forth with a smirk.

“I may or may not have removed the tape just before he went on.”

Steve laughed. “I think you’re my new favorite person.”

Eddie clutched his chest. “I’m wounded, Stevie. So wounded that I am no longer your favorite person.”

“All right, all right,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “Marty is my second favorite.”

“But I’m the one that destroyed your art project!” Gethin protested.

“Tied for second then,” Steve amended.

Suddenly the other boys were fighting over being his third favorite. Or fourth. There was some debate over that.

They only stopped when it came time to order.

Once they all got their drinks, Eddie held his up. “To Steve!”

“To Steve!” everyone else parroted back.

“Thanks, guys!” Steve said, blushing.

*

It was very late when Eddie pulled up to the now empty and darkened house.

“Thanks, Eddie,” Steve murmured. “That was fun.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied. “Just let me know if you need a fake report to show your parents.”

Steve laughed. “I don’t think they’ve looked at so much as my report card since seventh grade. I think I’m good, man.”

Eddie just shook his head. “See you tomorrow, Stevie.”

“Good night, Eds,” Steve whispered. He got out the car and waved good night.

Eddie waved back and waited until Steve was inside, before his eyes slipped shut.

He was in so much trouble. It had been so long since Eddie had a crush on anyone that he forgot what the warning signs were.

Wanting to spend every minute of every day with them. Check.

Wanting to do things for them all the time. Check.

The warm fuzzy feeling in his chest whenever he saw them. Check.

Wanting to be even more outrageous to catch their eye. Check.

Being jealous of other people spending time with them. Triple check.

Fuck.

When Steve had said that Marty was his new favorite person, Eddie’s own personal green-eyed monster began hissing in his ear. It immediately went running when Steve amended his statement, though.

Which was something Eddie should examine more closely. But if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t want to. In case the answer wasn’t the one he wanted.

Eddie was a little bit furious with himself. Steve was a known ladies’ man. like besides his hair, it’s what he was famous for. So unless Steve was secretly a Rock Hudson or Rupert Everett then Eddie was screwed. Crushing on straight boys was a death sentence to any gay man. But especially when that was all that was available in Bumfuck, Indiana.

He pulled out the driveway trying to come up with ways to break his crush on Steve without breaking their friendship.

By the time he got home he was no closer to an answer than he was at Steve’s.

Part 10 Part 11  Part 12 Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17 Part 18  Part 19  Part 20  Part 21

@shrimply-a-menace @strangersteddierthings @throwbackthrowaway @novelnovella @cursedfoxteeth @babyblender @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steve-the-hairrington @winterbuckwild @spectrum-spectre @matchingbatbites @garden-of-gay @anaibis @thing-a-ling @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @artiststarme @sundead  @nelotegreitic @gregre369 @butterflysandpeppermint @thedragonsaunt @kodaik97 @messrs-weasley @scarletzgo @deadlydodos @renaissan-vvitch @evix-syne666 @emly03 @justforthedead89 @ashwinmeird @huniibee @phantypurple @stevesbipanic @shucks-yuckyuck @awkwardgravity1 @bookbinderbitch @reportinglivefromsoda @chasinggeese @be-the-spark-bitch @jinxjinn @kohlraedirectioner @cr0w-culture @xjessicafaithx @whimsicalwitchm @jaywhohasthegay @dangdirtydemons @lovelyscot  @howincrediblysapphicofyou @the-redthread

[petersbaby]

Library - Eddie Munson x Reader

Warnings: Slight perv!eddie, fingering, choking. This one is pretty tame

A/N: I wanted to remind everyone that I take donations/tips and the kofi is linked in my pinned post! Your girl is lowkey struggling right now and it would mean the world. Obviously you don’t have to, but it’s there if you’re feeling generous. <3

-

You had strict parents. That’s how you ended up here, tucked away in a corner of your local library after school with Eddie. You loved him, of course, you thought he was a good person when you put aside all the annoying shit he does.

Your parents, though, not so much. He’s pretty much a textbook “bad boy,” not the kind of person they would want you to be hanging out with. They only knew about him what they had heard; the rumors.

When Eddie asked you to help him with a class he was failing because it was your best subject, you couldn’t invite him over. This was the meeting point. You had agreed, because you really did want to see him graduate. And possibly because he smokes you out from time to time free of charge.

You had a nice little friendship going, it was just one that not many people were aware of. You kind of liked the privacy, but you knew it must feel shitty on his end because he gets judged and therefore so does whoever he associates with. The library wasn’t busy, it was surprisingly vacant.

You two sat together at a table, side by side, close. Chairs pulled up next to each other and all kinds of stuff scattered across the surface of the table. Notebooks, a textbook, printed sheets, flash cards, the whole nine yards. He was overwhelmed but trying to stay still and pay attention.

You read to him aloud from the textbook as if he were a child who couldn’t read, but all he could think about was how good you smelled and how pretty your eyelashes were and the holes in the jeans you wore.

You finished reading a paragraph.

“Okay, write that down. That’s 100% going to be on the test, so it’s important.”

You pick up the pencil and hand it to him, as the notebook with messily scrawled out notes sat in front of him. He just stares at it. He doesn’t even take the pencil.

“I uhh, I’m really sorry but I didn’t catch any of that. Could you read it again?”

You take a deep breath in and out, trying to be patient. He never could focus.

“I will, but listen this time. Seriously.”

“Okay, okay.” He nods, and you return to the book.

Your skin looked so soft, he could find out if it actually was as soft as it looked so easily. He could just reach down and touch your leg, so fucking easy.

This time, halfway through the passage, you check to make sure he’s not spacing out, and he is. Just this time, instead of his gaze staring into something off in the distance, it was on you.

You stop speaking and just look at him til he notices you stopped. It takes him a minute, but the lack of your voice in his ears brings him to look up at you, confused.

“What? Why’d you stop?”

“Because you don’t look like you’re listening to me.”

“I’m *totally* listening. You’re talking about the uh… the American revolution.”

“French. The French revolution.”

“Right, yeah, that’s what I meant.”

You sigh and put your hand on your face.

“You need to be on medication, eds, you have ADHD.”

“It’s not… listen, you just look… you look very pretty. Can’t stop looking at you.”

You have to fight off the smile that tries to spread across your face, ears and cheeks heating up.

“Thank you. But look at the book, not me.”

“UGH. I can’t. I need an ugly tutor, then I’d be able to concentrate.”

“Quit.” You say softly, squirming in your seat at the compliments he’s giving you. He makes you nervous, but in a good way. It’s hard to explain.

“I’ve got an idea. Okay?”

“Mhm.”

“You wanna kiss me?”

Now it was his turn to blush a little bit. He’s nervous now in that exact same way, same way as you. There was obviously some tension there in the friendship that you knew about and felt, you knew he had a thing for you, at least to some degree. Maybe you did for him, too. A little.

“Fuck yes.”

“Do your work, and you can. Only after.”

-

“Okay, I think I got everything done for today. Am I finished?” He asks, wanting to finally put the pencil down. His hand hurt.

“For today.” You emphasize. “You’re still really behind.”

He fixes his eyes on your soft lips, just wondering what they taste like. You catch this fascination.

“Alright,” you sigh, turning to face him, “go ahead.”

You had to act like this was an inconvenience for you, like it wasn’t EXACTLY what you wanted too. He places his right hand on your face, softly holding it and pressing his lips against yours, and it quite literally takes your breath away.

It lasts for what feels like forever, neither one of you pulling away. In fact, instead of pulling apart, you become even more intertwined.

You deepen the kiss, your hand coming up to caress his face as well. You focused on the way his stubble felt beneath your touch, and the way all you smelled was aftershave and smoke.

You take his bottom lip between your teeth, biting down on it just a little bit, pulling, then letting it fall back into place. Your tongue runs across it to both soothe the nip but to also request access into his mouth, which is immediately granted.

As the kiss-turned-make out session went on, his hand fell down to your neck, feeling the warm and sensitive skin there. He doesn’t know why, he doesn’t know why he feels the need to do this, but he experimentally wrap his big, rough hand around your throat.

No pressure, just placing it there. It was almost absentmindedly, and he didn’t think much of the gesture. You get annoyed by it, though, and place your hand over his, squeezing it for him.

“Fuck, you like that?” He mutters quietly.

“Shut up.” You kiss him again.

He squeezes the sides of your throat with just the right amount of intoxicating pressure while your tongues explore each other’s mouths.

‘Wait,’ you thought, and pulled away from him. You look all around the area, scanning for people. You forgot where you were, just for a minute there.

“There’s nobody here.” He whispers, assuring you after seeing your slightly panicked expression. You then look up at the ceiling.

“No cameras either. You think the town has enough money for all that shit?” He reads your mind, and you relax.

“Unbutton these jeans for me, yeah?”

You don’t know where this is going, but you oblige. Just something about him made you want to do everything he asked.

He kisses you again, hand trailing down your body til they dip into your pants. He rubs circles over your clit on top of your panties, and you gasp softly at the sudden feeling.

You tried your best to keep consistently kissing him back and hold it together, but then his hand finds it’s way into your panties too.

“Holy shit.” He comments, simply, to himself and against your lips.

You can guess that you’re probably embarrassingly wet and that that is what he’s just discovered. He easily slips in his middle finger, effortlessly, and you gasp.

You also spread your legs to make it a bit easier for him. This was so gross, so illegal, but so good. You couldn’t stop even if you wanted to.

Your tongues dance together, occasionally fighting for dominance, lips both covered in saliva from one another. He gently pushes his one finger in and out of you, trying not to get too eager and overwhelm you.

But once you started seemingly trying to grind against his hand, he adds in another digit. You pant against his lips as he curls them inside you, as deep as the can go, scissoring them against your walls.

“Oh, god, Eddie,” you say in a whisper, more of a quiet whine than anything.

“Shhh.” He soothes, covering your mouth with his own, not letting up. In fact, they got faster, his thick calloused fingers.

You were gonna cum. You were gonna cum? In the library, with people in the building? Yeah, you had to. It was unavoidable and you weren’t able and didn’t have the time to say anything, but he could tell by the way you clenched around him and the way you were struggling to kiss him back.

“Yeah? Just be quiet.” He whispers.

You just nod your head breathlessly. When it hits you, it really hits you, and if you were alone you would absolutely scream. You can’t, and you know that, so your first idea is to cover your hand over your own mouth tightly to stifle any noise.

“Good girl, that’s a good girl.” He continues to whisper as you ride it out.

You take your hand away, trying to catch your breath and breathe like a normal person again. He removes his hand too, and you quickly go to zip and button your jeans again, straightening yourself out.

“Jesus Christ.” You half-chuckle, in disbelief at how far things went.

“To thank you. For helping me.” He explains.

“And maybe to convince you to do it again tomorrow? I know I’m hard to teach but I promise I’ll behave.”

“Of course.” You say, as if it were a given.

“You’re a really sweet girl, you know that?” He smiles.

“Whatever.” You jokingly roll your eyes, smiling a little too. You getting up to collect all your things, and he helps you put the stuff into your backpack.

[scrubbinn]

Slime HRT 3 Months: First changes

Omg omg omg!!! My first real change! It finally happened! Ok! Ok. Ok, let’s start at the beginning, I need to temper my excitement a little bit. To start from the very beginning, the past month I've been drinking so much water lately. I've always been drinking three bottles a day at work but now I’ve been drinking nearly all the time. I was told that was the first sign everything was working. Becoming fluid requires fluids if you can believe it. I have to avoid coffee and tea now, which has been one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done in my life, but the caffeine in both can actually be really damaging to your new slime cells apparently. It’s pretty much room temperature water or non-caffeinated energy drinks only. Still, if I need to constantly drink water then at least that means the medication is working.

My skin has gotten so smooth too, it feels like I’m made of warm ice. There's still a lot of hair, and there's still some rough patches on my body, but the hairs and rough spots should disappear after a few more months. It really is just my limbs that have gotten smoother so far, which sadly includes the soles of my feet. I actually ended up slipping on the floor and crashed into the kitchen and directly on all the pots and pans. I was more panicked about if I'd broken anything around me rather than if anything about me was broken! I didn’t break anything, utensil or bone, but it’s clear I need to take more deliberate steps plus socks on if I want to make sure being a soapy slime isn’t going to send me to the hospital.

 It would be worse if I can’t phone anyone to take me to a clinic in the first place. I've heard that after a while you start to lose the ability to use a smartphone since it can't read your fingerprint or something. There's a few people that have made money off making fake fingers for those of us who no longer have skin. It's kind of gross, but my ADHD is definitely not going to survive without constant internet access, it's just another expense of perfecting my life I suppose. All of this new equipment I’ve been looking into has been starting to add up to a lot of money. Does everyone who takes animal HRTs go through this? I’ll need to waterproof my bed, buy a lint trap for cleaning out dust stuck in slime, and buy clothes designed not to sink into me. I don’t actually know if I need those things since it sounds like I’m going to have some kind of membrane, but this is a brand new medication so I don’t think even that doctor knows how things will go for me.

But ok, the big change. Just this morning I was eating a breakfast sandwich and had trouble biting into it. My teeth went rubbery! There's a blue tint to them too now. It's going to be a pain eating food now, I had to pull apart small bits and swallow them whole, and I just gave up on the bread. But now I've been experimenting with them. They aren't like a gel and there's still a few hard ones, but now that I know, I find myself constantly poking them. It just… makes me feel happy when they bounce back. Oh, but if my teeth are like this, I bet it means there's a lot of changes going inside my bones. Though it is concerning how I'm going to be able to stand after a while.

One big downside was that this meant I had to schedule a doctor's appointment. Normally doctor visits are fine for me, you go talk to someone you'll forget in a day and get some blood taken, but I had the feeling this wasn't going to be like that, and I was pretty much spot on. As soon as I entered his office, he just looked at me. Like that kind of look you get when faced with a disapproving parent or a teacher when you forget to turn in your math homework for the eighth time. Same doctor as before, I think there are assistants that handle certain cases but I got stuck with the guy you see in all the magazines outside his office. He asks how things are progressing and I showed him everything that's changed. He looked concerned, but most people can't wiggle their teeth, so that checks out. He mentioned my dosage was going to be increased, and that I should start taking a new medication alongside it. Some newer drug that's supposed to lower my level of humanity and make me more malleable. He told me I would probably see another change soon and then said three months was too big a gap and I needed to write a new entry in this thing, or whatever. Maybe I'll sit tight for four months next time just to show him.

Though the biggest downside of my new self was that one of my roommates had noticed what was going on with me and confronted me about it. Yeah so, I may have forgotten to mention to everyone other than my girlfriend that I was going through with this procedure at that point in time. I was going to tell them eventually, when I was more slimy, probably. They got mad at me for not telling anyone else, but especially not either them or my other roommate. Said it was important for everyone here to know what changes could affect the living situation. Like me being happier is going to hurt anyone. They said they weren't upset about the treatment and just the fact I didn't tell them… But for some reason it still hurt, like they were upset about the treatment. Sometimes that’s just how it is. Someone says the wrong thing and it just breaks you. Slime shouldn’t break, it’s supposed to bend.

I'm going to focus on the changes and avoid bringing up my new self with other people. A few online friends I told are supportive but god forbid what might happen if my family finds out. I'm sure they'll accept me eventually, but they aren't the type to accept change pleasantly. Change. That’s a loaded word for me. I knew there would be some rough spots, but I didn't think things could go this badly for my mental state, this was supposed to be a happy entry. Oops, sorry future me when you look back and read this, haha... I guess I can try to find something happier to write about next time. I think I'm done for tonight. I want to cry. I could really go for some coffee.

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Prev - Next

Thank you everyone for the support on the last chapter, the amount of likes and reblogs are insane. Seriously, thank you everyone. Apologies for the sudden dark shift in the tone but I’d like to make this a story of self acceptance rather than just a list of changes.

At list (for anyone who wanted to be mentioned)

@a-shramp

We now have a special announcement. Due to some recent events, we have discovered we're plural. We're still trying to figure out this revelation and it has been stressful for all of us. We don’t know if we wish to include our plurality into this story. It's all very new to us. We’ll be taking some extra time from Slime HRT to learn about our system and make an introduction post so you know who’s who. We're very new to this world so any support would be appreciated.

[queenwendy]

Sometimes I get morbidly curious and scroll through the terf tag (bad idea) and half the time it makes me sad but the other half it makes me laugh my ass off because like… they seem to think anybody can walk into a doctor’s office, declare “I am trans!” And just get sex reassignment surgery??? Like, what???? That isn’t how that works at all

I’m a trans woman in the western US, and I am lucky enough to have A) supportive family and B) really fucking good healthcare through my family. To be clear, if you do not have A and especially if you do not have B good fucking luck getting blockers, much less hormones or dear god surgery! It’s nigh impossible!

In early 2018 when I was almost 15, I came out to my parents. Immediately I was put in therapy (that had more to do with the depression and suicidal ideation I experienced while in the closet than being trans). While social transition (different name, different clothes) happened pretty quickly, it wasn’t until my mental health stuff was dealt with that my therapist and doctor, both on the trans youth specialist team, started talking HRT.

The first step was puberty blockers. To get that approved I not only needed parent permission and a ton of forms, I was all but required to bank sperm (as a 15 year old!) and I had to socially transition and meet a bunch of WPATH requirements (I actually like WPATH a lot, to be clear) and wait through a months long waiting list just to get an appointment with a psychiatrist, who then asked me a bunch of questions (he was nice, I do not remember the questions, this was years ago) to ensure I didn’t have some other problem. After passing that, I got a prescription for nogonadotropin as a puberty blocker.

From the time I first told doctors I was trans to the time I had my first blockers shot, a little over 6 months had passed. To be clear, in the US, that’s fast. In the UK? That’s impossibly fast.

It then took another 6 months of blood test, questioners, meetings with my doctor and my parents and my therapists before I was finally cleared for estradoil tablets. 1 mg/day. I got them nearly on the year to the day from when I came out. I was nearly 16

Again, that is crazy fast.

Within a year and a half my estradoil doseage had increased to 6mg/day and I was on 100mg/day of progesterone as well. Eventually that became 200mg/day. Years later I switched from estradoil tablets to estradoil shots.

The entire time I have seen the same therapist, not just for trans healthcare but also mental health stuff. I got SSRIs for anxiety, got an ADHD diagnosis, etc.

In fall of 2022 (I was 19), I reached out to my doctor to say I wanted bottom surgery. We had talked about doing it before, but I had always said “I don’t know if I’m ready.” I was unsure. And even though I could have gotten at least an orchiectomy after I turned 16 if I really wanted to (with parental permission and I am sure so much medical red tape I would have been an adult by the time it happened), I never wanted it. My doctors were surprised I wanted it, so were my folks.

I had to meet with my therapist several times, coordinate with a social worker, and get 2 or 3 letters of recommendation from doctors. Then I needed to unravel who and what my insurance cost and find surgeons I wanted to consult with. That took MONTHS. It wasn’t until fall of 2023, a full year later, that I was FINALLY was able to schedule with two of the three surgeons I wanted (we’ll get to that third one in a bit).

It is now the last days of august 2024. I had my first consultation, which was out of state, earlier this month. It went well. If I had scheduled a surgery date right then and there, there would have been a year long wait time. Which again, is a very very small wait time. I didn’t though, because I wanted to consult with other surgeons and I knew that would be smack in the middle of graduate school.

My second consultation (which, ugh, I need to do some phone calls for to figure out transportation!) is in a few months. The third one? I’m still on a waiting list to GET A CONSULTATION.

To be clear, neither my parents nor my doctors ever pressured me into anything. My folks were completely blindsided when I came out and had basically no idea how to proceed besides using a different name. My doctors always said “well, here’s your options and all the risks. You want that? Okay, think on it for a month and we’ll discuss next steps at our next appointment.” All of this was my choice. Mine. And they never tried to stop me either, just make sure I was being safe and following procedure.

Both my younger sister and my cousin on my mom’s side are trans as well. Considering we have several blood relatives on that side of the family who are also LGBTQ+ going back at least to the 1940s, assume there’s a genetic predisposition for it. Both my sister and my cousin have had a lot harder of a time getting HRT, even though my sister has the same insurance, same provider, same psychologist as me (idk what my cousin’s insurance situation is).

Odds are, I will have my graduate degree (environmental engineering) before I undergo surgery. Maybe even before I have a date for undergoing surgery. If all goes well, I graduate in may 2026. I’ve agreed with my girlfriend that once we graduate in 2026 if we’re still together I’ll feel comfortable getting engaged, so it’s very possible that I will be fucking married before I get SRS. Y’know, assuming it isn’t outlawed or anything.

When I was 14, I figured out I was a girl. Without talking to anybody, I knew I wanted a female body and that the puberty I was going through wasn’t right. Looking back, there were times I almost knew when I was 11, when I was 7, when I was only 3. At that age, I considered “surgery is something I might do when I’m older. I dunno. Right now I have crippling depression and cheat dysphoria, I really just want to be called the right name and pronouns and have HRT.”

I am now 21. I haven’t undergone any surgeries in that time, at all (except wisdom teeth removal ig. Does that count?). I have had one (1) SRS consultation, and the soonest I could get surgery is a year from now, but odds are it will be in two years. Maybe three even.

There is no epidemic of children being told they are trans and getting surgeries. That doesn’t fucking happen. If you’re really worried about kids getting unnecessary surgery look into the weird world of rich white girls getting facelifts and breast enlargement surgeries and stuff. At no doctor’s office in this country can you walk in with one set of genitals and walk out with another at the drop of a hat. There is a YEARS long medical process that happens before a consultation is even scheduled. And before that there is a trans person’s entire earlier life of doubt and questioning and fear and pain.

[canis-dentem]

how/when did you know you were a therian? like- when did you make the connection; how did you know you were caninekin specifically?

I’m tryna figure stuff out for myself and don’t know where to start. I don’t think I’m a therian, but I’ve always done some kind of animal-ish things (used to have the urge to hiss/snarl/snap when due to annoyance when I was younger, I have the urge to make creature noises pretty often, sometimes my mental image of myself when doing something feels more different, like. tall and elegant?? like sometimes when I turn my head I like. imagine/feel kind of a sloping neck and longer face/muzzle and limbs, canine-y (imagine a maned wolf/african wild dog/other canine) I don’t know how to explain it— but I’m not sure if the noises and biting are some kind of stimming due to my ADHD or not). I also heard the term “otherhearted” as having a deep connection with something, which. mmmmaybe me? so I’m gonna look into that.

anyways woah I rambled a lot more than I intended to but. yeah! I just wanna know what others’ experiences are like so I can see if mine relate to them lol

hi anon!!

tbh, i only awakened of around march of this year. i had never entered therian or otherkin circles, although i knew about it. one of my friends telling me star was a feline otherkin was what got me thinking like.... oh, that's a thing we can do? it happened to me with being trans, too, LOL--it didn't click for me that i could be something until someone close to me was.

what got me thinking was my brain kept saying "ugh i wanna be otherkin. that'd be so cool" and then i looked back on things i've done my whole life and like. oh that was a wolf thing. oh that's a dog thing. oh huh. it has been here. something that helped me when i was researching being autistic/having adhd was i kept a list of my symptoms as i noticed them, so i did that for being a therian. i have my little list of canine "symptoms" that i either notice myself doing or have remembered doing, some of which include feeling the urge to chew a lot, feeling longer canine teeth/wanting longer canine teeth, the urge to bare my teeth and growl when angry, always playing the worgen race in world of warcraft, among others. some of these (like baring my teeth/growling) were things i taught myself not to do bc "it wasn't normal." (i connect that to the 17 years of autism masking i did, so much so that i didn't know i was autistic and nobody around me did either.)

about stimming: me feeling the urge to chew is a stim. it is also connected to me being caninekin. it can be both!! stimming doesn't cancel out being a therian. plus, for me at least, i dont think i'd be otherkin if i wasnt autistic. you only mentioned adhd, not autism, but keep in mind that neurodivergency can and does often interact with alterhumanity.

i don't typically label my alterhumanity as spiritual (as in past-life) or phsycological, because honestly, i don't really care to know. i have it, and that's what matters to me. but being otherkin does overlap with my spirituality in the sense that i feel some yet unexplained connection with the woods. i always have. it makes sense to connect that to being otherkin, even if that's not the only explanation for it.

you can absolutely consider yourself otherhearted, if that makes sense for you! my suggestion? don't worry too much about the label. the word isn't actually super important. there's a big emphasis in this community on figuring out the specific type of animal you are, the specific type of otherkin (or -hearted etc) you are, where it comes from, etc. i don't think that's worth stressing yourself out about, not at all. if it works for you, it works for you--by all means, go ahead. if the process of finding a really specific 'type or word to call yourself brings you meaning and fulfills you, please do it!! i'm all for it. but if it stresses you out to figure out the finer details, let them go. it's okay. in my opinion, the biggest question is not "am i really a therian?" and instead, is, "does it make sense/bring me joy/fulfill me to connect myself to an animal?" if it does, move on from there.

good luck, anon! sending all my love to you. feel free to send any updates about your experience, if you wish to! i hope ur having a wonderful day <3

[violet-yimlat]

A bit about me! I meant to do this for a while but Procrastination!

Hi I’m Violent I mean Violent I mean Violent I mean Violet I mean Violent I mean Violet Morningstar (but more on that later). I’m 16 and my birthday is in October. I have ADHD and Autism. I’m Asexual. My Myers-Briggs type is INTP and my Eneagram is four. I’m a Libra, but that means literally nothing.

I’m female, I use She and It pronouns, and I identify as a demon. I use the demonkin and fallen angelkin labels.

And now it’s later. I have quite an odd family life because, like several others here on Tumblr I have been adopted by @morningbloodystar because that just seems to be what he does.

So that’s my dad. Which makes @chloe-decker-lapd my sort of mom.

My irl mom is also on Tumblr. I won’t @ her, but in the event of an actual emergency, she’s cakeomatic.

My siblings, the best and only internet siblings (and exclusively online friends) I’ve ever had in order of age are;

@ask-eric-the-disposable-demon Eric Morningstar. I’m pretty sure that he’s closest in age to our dad (like, how big are the age gaps between angels anyway?) but whatever, he’s our brother. He can turn into a rabbit and multiply like them too (when did you guys get the “multiplying like rabbits” joke in Zootropolis?)

@e-w-w-morningstar Eddie W.W Morningstar, who is sometimes a termite and crawled out of the ground in the 18 something-somethings. He has several children including @jessica-woodson-morningstar , my favourite niece.

@janeway-lover Abby Morningstar. She’s “the sensible one”, and apparently she’s cool with that. Big sister energy. One of these days, she’s going to end up saving all of our asses. @urielwiththegoodhair’s partner. SIMPS.

@helphowdoiusethis Jay Morningstar. God of glitter, Quing of ducklings (almost wrote dicklings lol) and somehow an ancient entity of stardust with a traumatic backstory while also being about a year older than me.

Me. I accidentally turned into a demon. And now a cursed book called “Evil Wizardry for Beginners” won’t leave me alone. My familiar is @barrythebabyturnip.

@echosghoast Echo Morningstar. Chaos sibling supreme. The younger sibling I never had, and much less annoying than the one I actually do. Can’t wait to commit a crime with you lol.

@hivemindofevilbats Hive. Literally vampire bats.

@adam-n-dog Adam Young. Nearly caused the apocalypse that one time. Great at naming dogs. He has a dog named Dog. Good boy! Good hellhound!

Last but certainly not least, @three-surnames Trixie Espinosa Decker Morningstar. Awesome little sister? Yes. In complete denial about the nature of reality? Also yes.

Also more siblings?

@angel-and-the-serpent @fallen-starmaker @vans-ghost

Then there are my other relatives.

@the-almighty-lucifer Dad from another reality who’s decided that he’s our uncle.

@one-coming-is-enough The aforementioned Uncle J.

@god-in-the-basement said she’d be our weird aunt but I guess she’s our great aunt?

@g00brielandbeez my uncle and how do we feel about Titi? In Spanish tia and tio are aunt and uncle so that’s the combination and it works.

I’m going to list some fandoms I’m in now;

Good Omens

Discworld

Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel

Lucifer

Heaven’s Design Team

Certain literature like Paradise Lost, Dante’s Inferno and Lucifer (as in the 17th century Dutch play)

Obey Me!

Yes, I’m into theology. And mythology. I’m an atheistic Satanist btw.

I like reading, listening to music and drawing, but I haven’t felt very inspired lately. I also like identity theft cosplay.

Well, those are the facts about me, and if none of them make you hate me, then maybe we should hang out sometime!

Always up for shenanigans.

[serenelystrange]

“Cuz I’m pretty?” Eddie can’t help but tease. “So pretty,” Buck says, giving him a solemn look. “It makes me want to cry sometimes.” In which Eddie walks in on Buck giving it good, and promptly loses his entire mind. They, as always, fall in love about it.

Explicit

Brief Buck/Tommy

Blow Jobs, Getting Together, Feelings Realization, Humor, Fluff, Post-Season/Series 07, Post-Canon, Silly, Slight Dom/sub Undertones, First Kiss, First Time, Gay Eddie Diaz ,Bisexual Evan "Buck" Buckley, Recreational Drug Use, this is not nearly as filthy as it sounds, But it is a little filthy, No cheating

At AO3 or under the cut:

The problem with ADHD, Buck thinks as he hears the door to the loft open, is that the passage of time sometimes just… ceases to exist. 

He can’t see him, but he hears Eddie’s strangled gasp, and he feels Tommy’s surprised jerk down his throat. Coughing, he pulls off and pinches Tommy’s thigh in annoyance. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Tommy soothes, petting Buck’s head with one hand, the other awkwardly covering himself. Since Eddie is still just standing there in the doorway, looking up at the ceiling, skin flushed deep red. 

“You might want to come in and shut the door,” Tommy suggests. “Before the neighbors get nosy.” 

“Right,” Eddie says, coming in and shutting the door behind him. “Buck, you said to come by around eight, right?” He asks the question to the closed door he’s facing, and he hears Buck laughing softly as Tommy helps him up off his knees as they get themselves in order. 

“We’re decent,” Buck says, “you can turn around.”

“Speak for yourself, babe,” Tommy teases. “But shit, yeah, I really do have to get going.” 

He kisses Buck quickly and gives Eddie a friendly smirk as he heads to the door, passing him now that he’s finally turned around. 

“Tommy,” Eddie says, nodding instead of going for the bro-hug he normally would. No way he needs to feel what was just in Buck’s mouth against his hip. “Have a good shift.”

Tommy claps him on the shoulder as he leaves and Eddie manages not to react, and then blessedly the door opens and closes again, leaving him alone with Buck. 

It’s only slightly awkward. 

“Sorry,” Buck says, hands shoved deep in the pocket of his jeans. 

Eddie just raises an amused eyebrow, he knows the cup-and-hide motion well.

“You know I lose track of time,” Buck huffs. “I didn’t realize it was already past 8.” 

“It’s fine,” Eddie says, “but I have to ask. Why were you just in the middle of the room? You have a bed, and a barely used couch! That can’t have been good for your knees.” 

Buck rolls his eyes and laughs. “You calling me old?” 

“You have so much metal in your leg, man,” Eddie says, shrugging. “But don’t let me tell you how to perform your open-concept blow jobs. You do you.” 

“You’re the actual worst,” Buck says, shaking his head. “Order us some pizza? I’m gonna go, uh, wash up.” 

“It’s already on the way,” Eddie says, eyeing the couch that at least looks unsullied. “Have fun jerking off and brushing your teeth.”

“The *worst*,” Buck repeats, laughing as he heads off to do just that. 

“It’s kinda a game,” Buck says hours later, unprompted. 

They’ve gone through 2 six packs and two forgettable Netflix movies, and he feels just loose enough to answer Eddie’s question from earlier. 

“Hmm?” Eddie asks. He turns his head sleepily to look at Buck, still resting on the back of the couch. 

“The open-concept blowjobs,” Buck says, grinning when Eddie’s eyes go wide, suddenly awake. 

“The fuck?” Eddie asks, having forgotten the comment if not the visual. 

“We play around with submission and stuff,” Buck says, shrugging easily. “Turns out I really like being on my knees, and he likes bossing me around a little. It works out.” 

“Oh,” Eddie says, because he isn’t sure how he’s supposed to respond to his best friend telling him he likes to suck dick on demand. “That’s cool, I guess.” 

“Yeah,” Buck says, smirking. “I’m a fan.”

“He’s, uh,” Eddie hesitates, not sure how to word it. “He’s like, nice to you, right? You know, during?”

Buck laughs, but nods. 

“Yeah, Eds,” he says. “He’s nice to me even when he’s shoving me to my knees, don’t worry.” 

“You’re having way too much fun teasing me,” Eddie groans. “Sue me for wanting to make sure my best friend’s boyfriend isn’t just using him for sex.” 

“Hey,” Buck says, suddenly giving Eddie his full attention, big blue eyes wide and only slightly glassy. “I know you just worry about me, and I appreciate you. But it’s really all good. I promise.” 

“Good,” Eddie says, nodding. “That’s good.”

“Yeah,” Buck agrees, eyes fluttering closed as he leans against the couch tipsily. “I’m sleepy.”

“Then go to bed,” Eddie says, fighting back his own yawn. “I should go home anyway.” 

“No,” Buck says, reaching out with his eyes still closed and grabbing at Eddie’s arm. “You’re too sad there. Stay here. The fancy new couch doesn’t even know your overnight butt yet!”

“My overnight butt?” Eddie asks with a soft laugh. Tipsy Buck might be his favorite Buck. 

“Yeah,” Buck says, as if it’s obvious. “Your butt, overnight! He doesn’t know you yet, Eddie. You gotta fix that.”

“Fancy new couch is a guy?” Eddie can’t help but ask. 

Buck opens his eyes again and gives him a serious look.

“We don’t sit on women, Eds. It’s rude.” 

“Ok, bud,” Eddie laughs, “if you say so. You win, I’ll stay here if you go get me a blanket.” 

“Ok,” Buck agrees, but doesn’t move. “In a minute.”

He’s snoring softly in the next moment and Eddie just rolls his eyes fondly. He’ll get his own blanket just as soon as he can convince himself to move. 

He’s out cold before he can even finish the thought. 

The next month is a whirlwind of crazy at work, but by the time school starts Chris is back home, Bobby is back as captain; and Eddie finally feels like he can breathe again. Which is, of course, when the dreams start. 

At first it’s the normal nightmares; his helicopter going down, suffocating desert sand, Chris lost in endless bloody water, Buck dangling lifeless from the ladder. But somewhere along the way, then dreams shift, and he should be thankful they aren’t nightmares anymore. But the new dreams are disconcerting in a different way. 

Eddie knows he’s dreaming, but he can’t seem to shake himself awake. Instead, he falls back into it, suddenly naked in his bed, Buck bent between his spread legs, swallowing his cock down like it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. 

“Fuck,” Eddie moans, thrusting up erratically. 

Dream Buck doesn’t flinch, just bobs up and down as he swallows reflexively around Eddie, looking up to meet Eddie’s eyes with a heated gaze.

“So good,” Eddie whimpers, threading both hands through Buck’s curls and shoving him down roughly, mindlessly chasing the orgasm that’s just out of reach. 

Just as he feels the tingle starting in his spine, he’s wrenched from the dream by his phone alarm, and Eddie nearly throws the damn thing across the room. Sweaty and heaving, he shoves his hand into his boxers and jerks himself off roughly, dripping so much from the dream that he doesn’t even need to worry about lube. It’s over almost immediately and Eddie isn’t sure he’s ever come so hard in his entire life. 

Closing his eyes, he flops back down to catch his breath, Buck’s sharp gaze still burned into his eyelids. 

Work is, suffice to say, awkward. 

The dreams go on like that for days, each morning Eddie waking up hard as nails and nearly crying with the need to come. He eventually learns to compartmentalize for the sake of keeping both his job and his best friend; and after a week or so he can even look Buck in the eyes again. 

When he starts to dream about being the one to blow Buck, he doesn’t think too deeply about it. He tells himself that it’s pure curiosity about something he’s never done, and who better to imagine experimenting with than his best friend who he knows he’d always be safe with. He has no gag reflex in his dreams, and dream Buck is appreciative of the fact, begging Eddie to let him come every night, big hands grappling at Eddie’s shoulders so hard he swears he’ll have bruises each morning he wakes up. 

It’s not until the kissing starts that Eddie starts to worry. 

“Come here,” dream Buck says, tugging Eddie up from where he’s been sucking and teasing him. “Let me kiss you for a while.” 

Eddie goes willingly, melting into Buck’s side and meeting him halfway for the kiss, sighing in contentment. Dream Buck kisses him sweet and honeyed, satisfyingly slow in a way that maybe only exists in dreams. Eddie can’t bring himself to mind. 

He wakes up with a start from the latest of the dreams, lips tingling with imagined pressure. He’s not hard for once, but his chest is still heaving, and he doesn’t realize he’s crying until he tastes the salt on his lips. 

“Fuck,” Eddie whispers to himself. 

What the hell is he supposed to do about this?

Buck and Tommy break up after a few months, and Eddie is surprised at how fine Buck seems to be. Usually relationships throw him into a crisis when they end. 

“It just ran its course,” Buck explains to the team at breakfast. “Tommy’s great, but it wasn’t going anywhere. We’re still friends.” 

“Good,” Eddie says, feeling like he has to make light of it all. “Because he’s the only one I know with access to a helicopter, and I’d hate to lose that.” 

Buck laughs in delight as Hen smacks Eddie on the arm. 

“Be better,” she says, glaring at him briefly before rolling her eyes and giving in to the amused smirk. 

“Well,” Bobby says diplomatically, “I think you’re being very mature. Proud of you, kid.”

“Yeah, Buck,” Chim adds. “Friends with your ex is a whole new level. Good for you.”

Buck grins at them before going back to his pancakes, completely unbothered. 

“Hey,” Eddie catches him after work a few weeks later, “you have plans tonight?”

“Nope,” Buck says, zipping up his bag and closing the locker. “You need me to hang out with Chris?” 

Eddie shakes his head, cringing at his own oblivious behavior from months ago. 

“Nah,” he says. “Chris is hanging out with Pepa for the weekend, she’s going to teach him how to grow tomatoes.”

“He’s gonna love that!” Buck grins excitedly. “And ooh, we’ll get fresh tomatoes out of it!”

“You’ll have to help him,” Eddie says, wiggling his thumbs at Buck. “I’ve killed every plant I’ve ever owned.”

“Obviously,” Buck says, as if he never even considered he wouldn’t be the one to help. “But what did you want to do tonight?”

“Honestly?” Eddie says, glancing around to make sure they’re alone. “I just wanna get trashed and not think about anything more complicated than snacks for the next 48 hours.”

Buck laughs in surprise but nods in agreement immediately. 

“Sounds like the best plan,” he says, “I’m in.”

“Truth or dare,” Buck asks late that night, and Eddie looks over at him confusion.

“Were we playing truth or dare?” he asks. “I thought we were playing Uno.” He looks down at his empty hands and then at the foot of space on the couch between them. “Where did the Uno cards go?”

Buck giggles and gestures vaguely to the floor. “So many more than uno,” he says. “There’s like at least 100.”

“Cien!” Eddie declares, joining Buck in his giggles. “Maybe we shouldn’t have eaten all those gummies,” he says after a moment, truth or dare forgotten. “What if there’s an anemone?”

“Like where Nemo lives?” Buck asks, frowning in thought. “We aren’t near the ocean.”

“That’s not right,” Eddie says, humming to himself. “Oh, I know, an embroidery!”

“I can’t embroider,” Buck pouts, staring at his hands. “My fingers are too big.”

“Your fingers are perfect,” Eddie says, reaching out and patting one of Buck’s thick hands reverently. “I’ll embroider whatever you want.”

“You can embroider?” Buck asks, eyes wide in awe.

“I’ll learn,” Eddie assures him. “I’ll put my name on all your shirts.”

“Ok,” Buck says, nodding along happily, “that’s awesome.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, letting out a relaxed sigh as he leans back further into the couch, shifting over so that his shoulder is just barely brushing Buck’s.

“I think you meant emergency,” Buck says after a comfortable stretch of silence. “What if there’s an emergency.”

“Oh, right,” Eddie says, before shrugging. “It’s ok, we’re firefighters!”

“Yeah we are,” Buck says, bumping his shoulder into Eddie’s. “I love being a firefighter, Eds.”

“I know you do,” Eddie laughs, letting Buck wiggle down and rest his head on his shoulder.

There’s a movie from the 80’s on, some action thing that Eddie’s never seen, but he couldn’t give one single plot point if his life depended on it, too distracted by the heat of Buck’s skin pressed so close to his own.

“What’s it like to give a blowjob?” Eddie asks.

Later, he’ll blame the drinks and the weed for loosening his tongue and his filter, but for now he can’t stop himself from asking. To Buck’s credit, he just takes it in stride.

“It’s fun,” he shrugs. “Hurts a little sometimes if you do it too long. Get’s me crazy hard though.”

“Shit,” Eddie says, coughing as he chokes on air. “You been making the rounds since Tommy?” he asks.

“Jealous?” Buck teases, smirking over at him.

“No,” Eddie says, quietly. “Not in the way you’re thinking, at least.”

“So many guys would suck you off if you even suggested it to them,” Buck says earnestly. “You’re so pretty, Eds. I can bring you to the clubs if you want.”

“I don’t want to go to any clubs,” Eddie says, frowning. This conversation isn’t going the way he wants. “I don’t want some guy to suck my dick.”

“You should,” Buck says, nodding sagely. “Some of them are really good at it. Like, really really good.”

“I think I might be gay,” Eddie says in a rush, a flash of terror going through him at the words.

“Fuck, yeah!” Buck says, reaching out a fist for Eddie to bump. “Welcome to the not-straight club!”

“Thanks,” Eddie says dryly. He’s not sure why he was even worried, Buck is incapable of being anything but a million percent supportive, bless his golden retriever heart.

“Wait,” Buck says, brain catching up. “If you’re gay, why don’t you want a guy to suck your dick? Are you asexual?”

“No, Buck,” Eddie says, laughing softly. “Definitely not asexual.”

“You can be gay and asexual if you want!” Buck says, grinning dopily at him. “We’re none of us just one thing.”

“You sound like a fortune cookie,” Eddie teases him, biting at Buck’s hand when he moves it to swat him on the face.

Buck pulls his hand back and offers Eddie a toothy grin.

“Oh, I get it,” he says, and Eddie very much doubts that. “You want to be the one to give the blowjob!”

And well, Eddie supposes he’s half-right at least.

“We can definitely find you a guy that wants that,” Buck says. “Pretty much any of them, really.”

“Cuz I’m pretty?” Eddie can’t help but tease.

“So pretty,” Buck says, giving him a solemn look. “It makes me want to cry sometimes.”

“You’re an idiot,” Eddie says, laughing. “No crying over me allowed.”

“No promises,” Buck replies in a sing-song voice, and Eddie loves him so much that he thinks he might dissolve into dust from the pressure of it on his soul.

“Would you?” Eddie asks, staring at Buck’s lips because he can’t bear to see the look in his eyes when he rejects him. “Let me suck you off, I mean.”

“Eddie,” Buck says, shocked. “You don’t mean that. We’re just high and horny.”

“It’s fine if you don’t want me,” Eddie says, looking up into Buck’s surprised eyes for a moment. “But I’ve been dreaming about you for months, stone sober.”

“Hold on,” Buck says, eyes wide. “Months?”

“Ever since I walked in on you by accident,” Eddie confirms, watching the way Buck’s throat bobs as he roughly swallows.

“Yeah?” Buck asks, and he suddenly looks a lot less hesitant than he had.

“Yeah,” Eddie confirms. “Can I?” he asks. “Can I try?”

“Only if you kiss me first,” Buck says, and then he’s gripping Eddie by the front of his black tank top and pulling him into a heated kiss.

Eddie wraps himself around Buck as best he can without climbing into his lap and lets Buck lead the kiss. He’s more eager than his dream counterpart, and not as suave, but Eddie is immediately sure that his dreams will never be able to compare to this. His dreams didn’t know how the scratch of Buck’s stubble would feel against his own, or how his hot hands would feel like they’re branding Eddie’s ribs where they’re tucked into the low cut of his shirt against his skin. His dreams couldn’t smell the citrus and clean sweat of Buck’s skin, or feel his pulse quickening under Eddie’s own hands.

“You’ll have to tell me if I fuck it up,” Eddie says when he finally pulls away. He settles himself on the floor in front of Buck, right between his spread legs, and runs his hands up both of Buck’s thighs, fingers slipping under the ratty basketball shorts he wears at home.

“I’m gonna come if you just look at me long enough,” Buck says, “you literally could not make this bad.”

Eddie shrugs and takes his word for hit, reaching up to help Buck pull the shorts down and off, taking his boxers off at the same time. Buck pulls off his shirt and mumbles something about not wanting to be Donald Duck, but Eddie is too focused on his dick to pay attention to words.

“It’s so pink,” Eddie says, licking his lips and watching Buck’s cock twitch in response. “just like your lips.”

“Eddie,” Buck whines. “If you want me to last at all, you need to hurry up.”

Eddie moves in then, gripping Buck with one hand, trying to get used to the odd angle, and looks up at him as he leans down.

“Do I just?” he asks, and then licks across the head where pre-cum is beading before Buck can answer.

“Not too bad,” he decides, moving back to do it again, laving the head and frenulum before deciding to just go for it and all but shoving his head down onto Buck’s cock.

He manages not to cough, but just barely. Unlike the dream version of himself, he very much does have a gag reflex that makes itself known when he tries to get the bottom half of Buck’s dick in his mouth. He’s not expecting the choking to make his own dick throb in response, but that revelation is going to have to wait.

“That’s good,” Buck says, one hand clutching the couch cushion and the other gripping at Eddie’s shoulder so that he doesn’t grab at his hair. “Fuck, yeah, that’s so good Eds, just like that.”

Eddie slows his pace, trying to work out a technique, and tucks his lips over his teeth as he hollows out his cheeks, trying to give Buck every good thing he’s ever felt, his hand moving along the part his mouth can’t reach, stopping to roll Buck’s balls to gauge his interest.

“Yeah,” Buck says, nodding rapidly, “tug ‘em. Hard. I like it.”

Eddie does, swallowing Buck back down as far as he can while tugging him roughly, nearly choking again when Buck keens, back arching with it. Eddie does it again, breathing in through his nose and letting his mouth fill with saliva until he’s practically spilling it as he sloppily sucks Buck again and again until he’s shaking with sensation.

“I’m gonna come,” Buck warns him, “you don’t wanna swallow your first time, you gotta move, baby.”

Eddie glares at him and stays put.

“How are you even real?” Buck asks, fucking up shallowly as Eddie moves around him.

Eddie just manages to get the crown of Buck’s cock into his throat and swallow once before Buck is coming in hot spurts down his throat, shaking with the exertion and relief. Eddie swallows it all, licking his lips while they’re still around Buck’s cock to make sure he gets it all, and when he finally pulls off of Buck and back up onto his knees, Buck looks at him like he can’t quite believe that all just happened.

“You uh,” Buck says, breathing heavily. “You really liked that, huh?”

“Guess so,” Eddie says, eyes widening when he hears his own fucked-out voice.

“NO,” Buck whines at him. “You’re not allowed to sound even sexier. It’s not fair.”

“Sorry?” Eddie asks, laughing.

“Lies,” Buck says. “Now come back up here so I can jerk you off.”

Eddie scrambles to do so, ignoring the creak in his knees in favor of finally climbing into Buck’s lap like he’s been craving.

“This damn slutty tank top should be illegal,” Buck says appreciatively “Every time you wear it I wanna bite you up until everyone can see you’re mine.”

“I’m yours now?” Eddie asks, as Buck wastes no time licking his hand messily before shoving it into Eddie’s pants, jerking him off with finesse.

“You’ve been mine for years in my fantasies,” Buck admits, smirking with Eddie jerks in his grasp. “Feels like you maybe don’t mind.”

“Not even a little bit,” Eddie agrees, “Jesus fuck, you’re good at that.”

“I’ll get my mouth on you next time,” Buck promises.

“Can’t wait to be on your knees for me, can you?” Eddie asks, breath hitching at heated look Buck gives him as he nods.

“Can’t wait to do everything,” Buck says, and then Eddie is coming, slumping over against Buck’s shoulder as he works him through it.

“Sounds like you meant more than just the sex stuff,” Eddie says, once they’re haphazardly cleaned and tucked up together under a throw blanket on the couch.

“Hmm?” Buck asks, sleepily nosing Eddie’s hair and breathing him in.

“You said you can’t wait to do everything,” Eddie says. “And maybe I’m wrong, but it sounded like you meant more than just sex.”

“Everything,” Buck confirms.

And well. Eddie can work with everything.

The end.

[munsonbrackets]

ephemeral

TW(s) : angst, unprovoked confession, self-blaming

You wanted to bask in the warm light that his smile and his crinkled eyes gave off.

You wanted to drown in his nice cologne that seemed to fill your nostrils so nicely.

His name was Eddie Munson and you were such stark contrast, that you doubted the chance of ever hearing what you could only imagine to be a honey coated voice. That voice which belonged to that laugh which would fill your head, Eddie Munsons voice.

When someone told you he sold weed, you couldn’t have jumped at a bigger and better opportunity to force some words out of his pretty mouth. Sure, you could just take your ADHD medication like a good boy and move on, but what fun would that be? Weed would make you just as calm as any medication, not like you would stop taking yours.

So you set up a ‘meet’ with him. Well technically you didn’t, your best friend did. She had asked you to pick up some product for her and who were you to decline your oh-so-sensical pot-smoking best friend?

You arrived first, walked around the forest. You wanted to see the magical moment that his beefy shoes crunched leaves and sticks in his path to glory, or well, in his path to payday. You hoped he would attempt to overcharge you. You could then start a discussion of how many grams of pot costed, then let him know you took medication, looked for a replacement, get invited to his DND sessions after he finds out what a wicked and cool dude you are, and then-

“Can I help you?”

It threw you off guard, it simply and utterly threw you off guard, you could truly only whip your head around to make deep unfiltered eyecontact with his cautious doe eyes. His voice wasn’t just honey coated, it was like eating honeydew melon that had been syrupped in with a glaze of honey. It was bittersweet to finally have him speak to you. Especially in that wary tone, not that you could blame him.

“I'm picking up a drop? I don't know if that's the right word.”

You responded and his figure laxed, but stayed tightened. As if he was ready to drop everything and run. You were sure he was considering it. At least until he gestured to the picnic table. He only made a move for it after you did though.

And in this moment you could only curse yourself for getting sweeped up in your own thoughts as the sound of his boots was now meddled in the sound of your own shoes.

“Even if you are just picking up a ahem ‘drop’ so to speak, you do know how this works, right?”

Eddie broke the silence and you both took your seats sooner rather than later. 

“Unless it's like prescription medication, then no, i don’t” 

You responded and immediately saw his body tighten and shift. Maybe he wouldn't run, maybe he was just uncomfortable under your studying gaze. Maybe the way you looked at his chest rise and heave was throwing him off, or how you stared at his lips a little too long.

“Are you sure you wanna do this? You seem kind of…scared…by this whole thing” 

Eddie said, a more sympathetic look taking hold of his features.

Oh my god. Eddie Munson didn’t think he was prey. He wasn’t scared of you. He saw you like a deer caught in headlights and his concerned brown doe eyes seemed to immediately disappear as you could feel your face contort into something that could have only been offense. You took a deep sigh to calm your flustered heart (that you had only just realized was beating so fast), and responded with a calm-ish, 

“Yeah, this is…fine. I mean, my bestie would probably cork me if she found out i didn’t pick up her stuff. I’m sorry if i’m making you feel uncomfortable or anything like that, i’m a little awkward in new situations.”

Eddie in his own moment of confusion, had looked like he just dawned on a realization and now it was your turn to tense up. His expression made you feel like your truly were a deer caught in the headlights of his grin that suddenly lit up your heart.

He gave a chuckle that sounded like he was in complete disbelief, 

“You’re socially awkward?”

His quizzical expression did not let up even for a second as he stared so intensely that you wanted to curl up into a ball and hide somewhere, maybe in his eyes?

“Is that so hard to believe?” 

You must have looked offended with the scoff you felt bubbling on your lips. But then again, you weren’t sure if what you felt was a scoff or hard boiled tears shattering over his beaming glare. He looked at you as if you were another hostile creature in the night that he was forced to be wary of, he looked at you as if he was bothered by being forced to deal with just another asshole. And then his expression was scared, then shocked. 

He took hold of your upperarm and for the first time since you sat down very briefly ago, he let go of his stupid lunchbox, filled with stupid pot, that he sold to mainly stupid seniors, just so they could get some stupid high and-

“H-hey I didn’t mean it like that, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just meant that I never thought a boy like you- I mean you are the captain of the soccer team and all…I just never understood how you could be socially awkward, but I really didn’t mean it like that.” 

He rambled with that cute joking smile and as if his words were magic, you finally felt the singular hot tear roll onto the edge of the table and the sleeve of your zip-up hoodie.

And then you could feel the same ramble and panic fall out of your mouth before you ever had time to realize and stop it.

“No, it's not that. I just, i had this idea that i would be totally rad and you would like me and then you looked at me like i was just another highschool boy that was gonna be an asshole to you a- hic and that really sounds like i'm blaming you, but i'm not and i'm sorry if i'm making you uncomfortable…I just really wanted to make a good impression on you and i am totally failing at that, aren’t i?” 

You sniffed at the last sentence and you felt a small smile fall onto your face as you dawned on how totally dumb you were for messing up this one chance at impressing a guy, you really liked.

“You…want me to like you?” He slowly withdrew his arm and looked wary again. “You want me to think that you’re rad? Is this some sort of joke?” 

Fuck. His defenses were totally through the roof as he stared at you like you were pure danger. His expression made you realize how your tears seemed so out-of-character and manipulative.

“Please tell me this is some joke, that your soccer buddies are gonna pop out of the woods, or that the cops are here to bust me, for crying out loud, you are another highschool jock.”

He quickly grabbed his lunchbox and stood up.

“The only difference between you and them, is that you think you’re gonna get a better deal on your friends pot.”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck. How could he possibly have gotten you any more mad. You were ok with him yelling at you, looking at you with that angry expression. At least he was looking at you, not through you like everyone else and you stood up and slammed your hands on the table.

“YOU…YOU THINK I CARE ABOUT SOME FUCKING DEAL? YOU CAN YELL AT ME, YOU CAN LOOK PISSED, HELL YOU CAN EVEN HATE ME, BUT DO NOT FOR EVEN ONE MOMENT THINK THAT I AM LIKE THEM, I AM SIMPLY WITH THEM BECAUSE I'M SCARED. IN FACT YOU DON’T EVEN TAKE ONE MOMENT TO CONSIDER THAT MAYBE I AM DEEPLY INFATUATED AND INCREDIBLY IN LOVE WITH YOU.”

And as the words stopped falling from your mouth, you realized what you had said, you realized and you bit your sneering lip so hard that it almost bled and you could feel yourself cringing and holding back tears. He must think that you're just another big bubble blowing crybaby of a jock.

You felt fine after what felt like hours. It was so out of character for you to cry in front of someone. He must be so weirded out. You closed your eyes deeply, stopped your teeth from digging further into your lip. And you looked up. He was gone. Nowhere to be found.

And your tears fell harder and faster than they had ever as you threw your back against the bench and just laid down on your trembling feelings.

[flurrys-creativity]

Narcissist in love

Pairing: Kim Seokjin (BTS) x GN!Reader; Genre: Slice of life, Angst, Fluff; Rating: PG-13, sfw; Warnings: self help group, the word fucked, mentions of disorders/illnesses (eating disorder, social anxiety, depression, multiple personalities, adhd, narcissism), hint at self harm, mental breakdown; Wordcount: 1.736

Summary: New Beginnings. Anonymity was a big thing in the self help group. You had to learn the hard way why it was so important. But do you really regret falling for the narcissist?

A/N: This is a piece of fiction and does not depict the artists in any way.

“Hi, my name is Jin and I fucked up.”

“Hello Jin”, everyone in the room greeted him in unison. Everyone except you.

You only stared at him with wide eyes and your mouth slightly agape. You weren’t sure if you heard him correctly, your ears slightly ringing as if you were standing right next to an explosion. His greeting was in some kind of way exactly like that.

“Language”, Namjoon sighed and rubbed over the bridge of his nose, before he pushed his glasses back up and looked at Jin. “But please elaborate, why did you mess up if you feel like sharing it with us.”

Jin’s eyes quickly darted towards you before he looked straight ahead again, not focusing on anything in particular. “As you all know I didn’t join these meetings on my own free will.” He paused for a moment and you weren’t sure if he really struggled to find the right words or if he did it as a dramatic effect. “I’m pretty content with myself. I know nobody as amazing as myself.”

You closed your eyes, head slowly sinking and shoulders dropping. ‘Here we go again’, you thought, the shimmer of hope that the narcissist could have changed was crushed immediately. You stopped listening to his words, drifting further into your own mind instead.

Jin joined the group a year ago, coming to every biweekly meeting ever since. From the first day on he did everything to stand in the spotlight, telling about his week and how ridiculous everyone around him was for even forcing him to join the anonymous meetings. 

Namjoon struggled quite a bit to contain Jin’s urge to talk about himself, so that others could share their trials and errors as well. 

You considered this small self-help group as your family, even though you knew nothing about the people here except their name and what they are struggling with.

There was Yoongi, who had a severe case of depression. Most of the meetings he appeared absent-minded and only listened, rarely sharing anything about himself. All of you complimented him that he was able to join the meeting whenever he showed up. And truly, you were impressed how hard he tried to fight it. Yoongi was admirable to say the least.

Then there was sweet little Jungkook with his social anxiety. When he first joined he looked like a bunny surrounded by wolves, ready to bolt any second and scared to death. It got easier the more he joined the meetings but he still had his nervous ticks like shaking his leg, fidgeting his fingers and eyes darting around constantly. You were sure it must be draining to be constantly on guard when he wasn’t alone.

Next up sat Jimin. Sweet, sweet Jimin. He always smiled and listened intently to everything that was said in his presence. He always showed one hundred percent of his attention to the person speaking, making that person feel special. Even you felt special when he turned his whole body towards you and nodded along to your story. You would have never guessed his disorder. He hid it well but once you knew of it the signs were obvious. Jimin fought to stay alert, his body fighting against passing out any second due to him not eating enough. It wasn’t obvious with his large hoodies and his round cheeks but Jimin was barely skin and bones. On the rare occasion he ate something during a break your heart would swell with pride but you would never tell him that, knowing it made him only more conscious about eating.

The only person Jimin truly felt comfortable eating in front of was Taehyung, who admittedly wouldn’t realise Jimin was eating anything unless Jimin himself told Taehyung he was now eating.

Most people would call Taehyung an airhead because his mind would wander places others couldn’t understand or follow. He got labelled as useless since his attention span wasn’t long or even non-existent if the matter bored him. Taehyung joined the group to work on that, to work on his focus and attention so he wouldn’t struggle as much in his daily life.

Then there was Hoseok. Or Hobi. It depended on which persona had taken control at the moment. Hobi was a happy go lucky kind of guy with a heart smile and sparkling eyes, who always did cutesy stuff and tried to cheer up everyone else. Hoseok was the total opposite. He was intimidating, calm, observant and didn’t take any bullshit. He would call everyone out the minute he sensed it.

And lastly there was plain old you. At first you didn’t want to join a self help group but Namjoon asked you to join one of his meetings and you kinda stayed ever since, growing fond of the people with you.

Too fond even.

Your jaw clenched involuntarily at the memory invading your mind. You pretty much had a crush on everyone inside of this room and you were rather proud that you haven’t acted on it at any given time. You never flirted with any of the guys, despite Jimin being a constant flirt, you never tried to touch any of them or get involved with their lives.

Until Jin.

“I hurt the only person who didn’t hate me once they realised who I am.”

Your head snapped up again, immediately pulled back to the present meeting. Your eyes locked with Jin’s. You could feel your heart beating rapidly inside your chest, pounding against the ribcage as if it wanted to escape. Your mouth suddenly felt dry and it was hard to swallow. But the most prominent to you was your spinning head. What was happening? What was Jin doing? Was he trying to apologise?

“I’m sorry.”

Your heart stopped. His voice was barely audible but you were able to read it from his lips before he lowered his head in defeat, the guilt and shame weighing up on him.

Everyone looked at you. Waiting. Expecting. Even Namjoon looked at you hesitantly. He knew what happened, Jin didn’t need to explain it any further for him to know what he was talking about. You had been crying about it for hours and then started to neglect yourself. Seeing your reaction, Namjoon finally saw a ghost of your old self before the incident. But the spark died just as quickly as it came and you started to rub over your arm again. The arm that was already raw from all the time you had clawed at your skin there.

“That was a huge step to say all that”, Namjoon spoke up, turning back to Jin after clearing his throat. “You must have thought a lot about it to be able to say it now.”

“Not really”, Jin mumbled, still looking at the ground, “I just realised.”

“What did you realise?” Jimin asked, now sitting on the edge of his chair.

“I realised that the admiration I received from that person is more important to me than my own.”

“You really love that person, don’t you?” Hobi awed with teary eyes. 

“More than myself.”

“Wow.” Both Jungkook and Yoongi said at the same time. They were closest to Jin and tolerated his narcissist rants or teased him about it. Hearing him say he loved someone else more, sounded almost alien.

“You love him too.”

Your attention snapped to Taehyung, who looked at you with his dark eyes. “I don’t know what happened between you but I noticed both of you have been miserable since then. It’s as if I don’t even know you anymore.”

You bit on your lower lip, blinking rapidly to prevent the tears that welled up from falling. Your heart twisted in pain. Both from the truth behind Taehyung’s words and the pain you felt from Jin’s betrayal.

“I do.” You hid your face behind your hands, tears now streaming down your cheeks uncontrollably. “I still do.” 

You hated this. Hated to be vulnerable, hated how much of an influence he was, hated how affected you got in the first place. But most importantly you hated that you still wanted to be with him, still yearned for his touch, for his warmth, his jokes.

You registered the scratches of a chair being shoved away, but before you were even able to react to it, you were pulled into a warm embrace. Strong arms wrapped themselves around your trembling body and pulled you flush against a strong chest.

You didn’t need to look up to confirm who it was, the familiarity of the touch and scent was too strong to miss it. You thought you would tense up in his arms or reject him but you melted into him, crying even harder now. You hid your face in his chest, your fingers clutching his shirt until they started to hurt from the force behind it.

“I’m sorry”, Jin apologised over and over again, silently crying on his own as well. 

You had no idea how much time passed but once your cries were reduced to a simple hiccup, you looked up at Jin with a stern expression. “Never hurt me again.”

Jin breathed out in relief, chuckling slightly in the process. “I won’t. I promise.” He leaned down and kissed your forehead, hugging you once more tightly against his body.

“I feel like we lost the anonymity part with those two now”, Yoongi grumbled with a soft smile on his lips.

“Don’t even try to tell us you never thought of us as your family”, Jimin chided the older man, wagging his finger in front of him.

You smiled, thankful those two had moved the attention elsewhere.

Namjoon sighed and chimed in before the bickering would escalate into something else. “We all made a lot of progress. How about we stop the counselling for today and order some pizza instead?” He didn’t even wait for an answer and pulled his phone out of his back pocket, typing away.

While everyone swarmed around Namjoon to place their orders you and Jin stayed behind, still holding onto each other. 

“I was dumb for leaving you that day”, Jin whispered, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “I should have stayed.”

You unconsciously raised your arm and started to run your fingers through his hair. “You can stay now.”

Jin squeezed you gently, nuzzling his nose against your skin with a smile. “I will.”

© all rights reserved

Taglist: @xavi-in-kpopland​

[marvel-ous-m]

WIP Wednes-eekend: Summer Challenge Edition  

tagged by @devondespresso 💕💖💞 Thanks for the tag, friend! How did you know I desperately needed this as inspiration?! Lol.

The Rules

Post the file names of up to 5 of your WIPs for people to send you asks

Post a snippet of one of those WIPs

When people send you an ask with the name of one of your WIPs, write 3 lines of that WIP.

(Optional) Post the lines you wrote.

You can send multiple requests especially since this is going on through the weekend!

Also feel free to send as many as you want, im gonna devote my free time to this anyway so your just directing the adhd energy to a specific section

WIPs

I REALLY need to focus on my untitled Baker!Steve/TattooArtist!Eddie enemies-to-lovers fic (mostly because it's already been a year in the making and I just... do not spend as much time on it as I should). However! I also know I will hate myself if I only work on that sooooooo I will add three other tiny wips I have.

Untitled Baker!Steve TattooArtist!Eddie Fic

5 Times Steve feels the effects of the last four years (and one time he helps someone cope)

Untitled: Steve and (now famous) Eddie take a ten year dating break

My next update to Librarian!Eddie and Teacher!Steve

WIP Snippet from Baker!Steve/TattooArtist!Eddie (chap. 2/10 currently written, 20 planned) under the cut.

Steve blinked, finally putting two and two together. “You’re Corroded Coffin?”

The man winked, then bowed extravagantly. “I am the owner, yes. Eddie Munson, in the flesh.”

“Jesus, you even sound like you’re from a shitty metal band.” Steve rolled his eyes, then dumped his dustpan in the garbage and started to take his apron off.

“Whoa- hey, shitty? I’ll have you know, metal music is the foundation of the music we know today. We wouldn’t have musicians like Gerard Way or Taylor Swift if it weren’t for shitty metal bands.” Eddie squinted at him, tilting his head slightly. “What’s your deal, anyways? You could at least say thank you, you know.”

Steve let out a surprised laugh, hanging his apron and turning to Eddie. “Thank you?! For what?”

“All of your extra business today! I got a ton of customers coming in with your cute little cake boxes. I’m sure quite a few of my clients came by after their appointments, too. I know it’s a pretty popular area, but that much foot traffic is rare for a weekday. So, you should be thanking me, I got you some extra sales today.” Eddie smiled at him, teeth bared and shoulders squared, the epitome of confidence.

Steve decided right then and there- he hated this guy.

Quite literally tagging anyone who wants to participate, please just tag me so I can see your updates!

[runekeepershymnal]

SO!!

Did you know that:

When you get an echocardiogram, you can sometimes hear what they’re picking up? While they’re prodding around your bare chest with a gelled up weird probe?

Well, the way my technician did it, you can, and I am now in a bit of a weird, semi-ecstatic spiral about that sound, which at some times sounded like a record scratching, but, most concerningly, at least to me, because I am a fucked up little freak who of course googled the sounds I heard and what they might mean, and, and, and…

Did you know?

Apparently it’s supposed to go lub-dub, and not, in fact, lub-lub-dub.

So I am in a state of anticipation, but not actually… fear? I don’t think? (Pardon my hypochondria about something that may well [almost certainly shall] turn out to be nothing.)

Being one of Those Patients (superscript TM), I was, of course, unwilling to ask the techician if that was a normal sound. Like, maybe it’s supposed to sound like that based on the angle of the gelled up doodad probe thingie. Maybe there’s a secret mountain behind my ribs and only the atria echo. Ventricles are like ducks, and thus, they do not. Mostly I didn’t ask because 1. I’m pretty sure that the technician is not allowed to interpret any damn thing, 2. I’m pretty sure she was trained in “oh shit, this is like… actual afib tachycardia whatevs, you’re not allowed to leave, in fact, we’re gonna pop you in an ambulance to scootch you the (I can’t gauge distances) hundred feet to the emergency room next door at the low low price of fuck you, your ancestors, and the descendants you don’t/won’t have to make sure you don’t just drop dead here and now.

(She did not do any of those things. She gave me a small towel to wipe the sonogram gel off my tits, which I guess is at least a little courteous. Certainly better treatment than I’ve received from most people who got to see my tits.)

So, of course once I get home, I last about fifteen minutes before I start googling what the sound might mean. And of course, I get afib, and murmurs, and cha cha cha, and then, I get hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, a condition with which I have a great deal of associated emotional baggage.

The spiral continues, of course, into smaller, tighter, more numerous spirals of each fractal spinning out.

God, am I going to have to tell people? Family? Friends? I could barely deliver the news that I hadn’t gotten the job I thought I would, this is going to be so fucking awkward.

If I need a pacemaker, I’m going to be so very irritated that I can’t be in the same room as an in-use microwave anymore. I guess I’ll just… sous vide everything? Be that person who actually has to remember to take things out of the freezer and thaw them the long way? Except…

The whole point of this testing was because I’d admitted to my medication provider that sometimes I have heart palpitations (yes, I am an absolute moron), but I’m sure it’s fine, after all, anxiety, am I right?

So there is a good chance if the ticker insists upon ticking twice before every tock that my ADHD meds will be no more, in which case, remembering to take meat out of the freezer to thaw will be the least of my executive dysfunction problems.

(I actually love the idea of a tiny bolt of lightning having to smite be back in line whenever I start following the beat of my own drum.)

(The sound of my heart would make sick beats, by the way. Maybe I can create a Soundcloud to which I could upload the audio.)

Inside me there are two wolves: One who lives by ‘I don’t want to be a bother/I don’t need help/I’ve got this’ and one who is the Most Dramatic Bitch Ever and wants to go around wearing a pageant ribbon that says ‘Mx. I Might Drop Dead at Any Second But You Could Too Because No One is Fucking Special” and making deeply uncomfortable prolonged eye conntact with anyone and everyone who is fool enough to read it so that we both might wonder who will croak first? (There was nothing stopping me from doing this before, but apparently my priorities are fucked up.)

If the prognosis is bad, should I sell my Rεdd!t account? I’ve got enough karma to post basically anywhere…

How wonderful it would be to just stop without prelude or time to regret or pity. No wasting and no responsibility.

I might actually have some sort of proof that I have a heart! I mean, I’ve never seen it.

I’ll have to get some life insurance worked out. I’d love for my chronically ill disabled spouse to be rich, but I certainly don’t want him facing a big bill.

This whole list is going to be super embarassing if I just get told to take some fish oil and get more exercise than asking the gods to smite me by carrying all the groceries up three flights of stairs at one time.

Am I on too many medications for them to harvest my other organs? Because I would dearly love to occupy other people like some ghost of the humors, inflicting my phlegm and biles upon people who thought they were blessed and instead got some very peculiar psychometric imaginary friend.

The thought that a bad prognosis might give me the “I could die at any second which I could before but now I have a doctor’s note” card is so exciting and, honestly, delightful. (Which I definitely can’t tell my medication provider.)

I am also annoyed because this is just One More Damn Thing. Like, wasn’t the fucky brain sufficient? Not trying to tempt fate or anything but c’mon, man, it’d be cool if one vital organ could operate like a 90s model Toyota and just work exactly like it’s supposed to. Liver, pancreas, I’m looking at you two, don’t get cute. You too, skin.

So yeah, just… c’mon, man. I was finally getting some of the shit that my decades of undiagnosed ADHD may not have cause but sure as fuck exacerbated. Can we just figure it out? It’s the 21st century, how fuckin’ long does it take to take a gander at a sonogram and say “shit, that’s weird. Let me flip through my big damn book of cardiology to see if it’s ‘oh shit, fuck, shit’ weird or just ‘hrm’ weird”? Yes I’m oversimplifying advanced medicine, but again, it’s the 21st fuckin’ century.

I was never really able to ignore my heard since it is a fluttery-ass bastard that likes to make itself known (and apparently most people don’t have that, who knew?), but boy does it sound neat to not be aware of the activity of one’s organs that aren’t supposed to require conscious intervention.

[marygower]

I’m stuffy because of the weather and I’m smoking cigs right now. Sitting in bed.

In the therapy today we did EFT? Tapping stuff. I am so easily overwhelmed because I feel so many emotions at once. A ball of yarn that can only slowly with precision untangle itself or with the help of therapy but mine is so jumbled I can’t even begin to unravel it. The smallest thing I can’t figure out how I feel or think about it in a solid answer. Needing to have an answer or tie it up in a pretty little bow. Nothing to someone else has a million different meanings to me. Sitting with myself without my insides tightening or swelling, my mind already running away to save my body from the emotions she is feeling or not feeling is constant. I don’t think I ever learned to manage my emotions, recognize my faults, fears, intense sadness or bewilderment. Especially when I have to feel and now I tie it up, in a bow, and reach for what will hold me or propel me towards an onslew of things that don’t require me to be completely with self.

It’s almost like I don’t remember what was said today. What did I accomplish today other than . I can’t even think straight. Idk how to not get overwhelmed by my thoughts or emotions. Is my body reacting to my mind so much that I have that little control over it? When she asked me what I was feeling or wanted to address about myself I couldn’t give an answer. That’s it. I am always preparing for what comes next or how I’m going to relay this amazing or horrible new information I’ve found out about myself. I tense up. I could not give her an answer. I was blank. I was trying ti explain myself and she admitted sometimes she doesn’t know where I am at or what I’m trying to say. Well me neither! Thank you! Seriously thank you. That’s what’s happening to me all the time! I don’t know my insides unless I use something external or notes of what I’ve planned. When it’s game time I tense up.

Crying because I can’t untangle my unraveling. I can’t access parts of my brain when I am even the slightest bit “overwhelmed.” I am on high alert fight or flight, adhd, childhood trauma, anxiety, depressed, sexual trauma, assault, disassociated, exhausted, hypersensitive, repressed emotion emotionally rmaking it almost impossible

Why is it so scary for me to imagine admitting or allowing myself to feel so depressed. How in the world could I admit I feel down most of the time or high as a kite. I can’t succumb someone to that especially my partner. I can’t be in public or answer friends phone calls when I’m feeling depressed as fuck, emotionally vacant and apathetic, loser, swinot doing well? It’s a switcharoo, one second I feel great and then my mood can completely change. I learned somewhere that I can’t be or feel this way or show these things and must maintain a steady performance. At least that’s what it turns into, it doesn’t start that way. I can’t feel good and then bad back to back, that’s crazy and off putting so I need to make sure I flatline.

Woah.

[tonyhightower]

Morning.

Okay, I was joking before about being stir crazy, but it's not really a joke anymore.

This week, my son Felix turned three.

I'm sick as a dog. I can barely speak.

I'm exhausted, I'm burned out, I'm tired, I'm tired. I'm tired.

I'm stuck in Paris. (Stuck? In Paris? How can you even?) I haven't seen Paris yet, barely at all.

Right now, Paris is just a place I've managed to hurry through a couple of times to get some stuff from IKEA or the boulangerie, and then hobble home on my still-unhealed knee, because we gotta get dinner in, or Felix is edging towards a meltdown and we just need to get him to a place where that can happen more safely and less publicly, and then get him to calm the hell down and, for lack of a better term, go the fuck to sleep.

I don't have any money. We have two credit cards, both in my wife's name. It's okay, I have nothing to buy anyway.

I have nothing to offer. I'm taking up space. I'm Jo's second child. I fucking hate this part. I need her permission to do pretty much anything. This isn't what either of us signed up for.

I'm not doing French lessons. I'm barely keeping a Youtube channel afloat. I've put out a video every Tuesday, until this week. I have a script, It's shot (poorly, but it's at least ready), but this is Winter Vacation Week for X, and it's also his birthday week, so we planned our first party (which is code for: emailing every parent in town we know and begging them to come over, drink our wine, and be our friends).

And then X's Grandos are here for a few days to see our place, which is great on its face, but they're not here to babysit while J & I get our shit together. X is home for two weeks, and there's no respite.

I love my kid truly and forever. I love him so much that I'm sacrificing the one thing that's making myself sane, because it's more important, on a minute-to-minute basis, to make sure he's okay.

I was told that would start to happen less and less as he becomes a little more independent. Like, I'm looking forward to the last day I ever have to wipe his ass. We're not there, but that day is now on the horizon, which is a thought that brings me indescribable joy.

I'm off my meds. No more ADHD meds of any kind until I get my Carte Vitale. (Our Titre de Séjour is on its way.) Could be weeks. Could be months. So, as a substitute: coffee. Lots & lots of coffee. Morning, noon, night. Worrying about cortisol & anxiety is, to paraphrase Leona Helmsley on Paying Taxes, is for the little people. I have a kid I really want to raise properly.

I've spent the last six weeks literally unable to walk, unable to buy even the most basic of things for the house, unable to put any more art up on the walls, unable to dance or pick up or even sit down with my child to read a book. He has to come to the couch, like I’m 90.

It's his birthday today. He calls me "Broken Racecar." My heart breaks a little every time he says it.

Jo is doing so much around the house, at a time when she needs to be writing. That's her job. It's literally why we're here. It's why this is all happening. It's why I'm staring out the window at a city I really want to start falling in love with, that I really want to write about & take pictures of & interact with.

I'm stuck in the exit lounge. I'm standing on the banks of the Styx, waving a ticket at a boat that isn't in dock.

Get help. Yeah, I know. I know. Except ... English is not the LIngua Franca of this place (uh, Franca is), which means I can't just walk into a place and get either (a) the drugs I need, or (b) something more shrink-adjacent. (I truly don't think I have a genuine psychological issue at the moment; it's more just the isolation and the fact that my go-to fixes for what ails me are things I don't currently have access to for one reason or another. If I was running, I'd be fine. If I had a workspace and the time to actually make videos & write screenplays, I'd be better. If I was able to actually get out into Paris and, y'know, enjoy the city that we've all worked so hard to become a part of, and get involved in the new world we've crossed an ocean to but up against, then fuck yeah go me.)

But kvetching about this stuff in the hour every morning before my sick three-year-old wakes up is not a useful way to spend my time. I need to be cramming in a French lesson or CREATING TEH CONTENT or whatever. So, Ima get on that.

Fun stuff to come. Promise.

[littlelambdrgnfly]

I should really be working on the next chapter of the fic but I really don’t feel like it. 🙃 The last two weeks have been so damn stressful. Not necessarily bad, but really sucked up my time and my energy. I had to fly out of state to visit my family which is never a good or easy time; I also took two of the kittens I was fostering because my sisters are adopting them, and ngl, I miss those little fluffballs so much. 😭 One of them has taken to the new house like a fish to water, but the other is much more shy and barely came out from under the bed while I was there. I know it takes time to adjust, but it breaks my heart thinking that he may not be getting the love he needs. I’m pretty sure he’s frightened of my parents because they’re so loud and honestly, can’t blame him. The other one is literally having the time of his little life lmao.

On top of that, once I got back I had so many errands to run and some big projects to do for work just got plopped onto me. To top it all off, I took the kittens’ mama to get spayed this week, and her recovery has been slow. She developed an ulcer on her eye during the procedure, so I have to put medication on it, and she’s still really lethargic. She’s eating and going to the bathroom, otherwise I’d be really worried, but I’m going to call the vet about her tomorrow. I’ve spent way too much at the vet already, another thing that’s been stressing me out. 😓

God, I just feel like I have so much to do, and so much on my plate. I have no idea how on earth some people manage to be perfectly organized and still find time for creative projects or hobbies or self-improvement. I know I shouldn’t be too harsh on myself, life with adhd has always meant my life wasn’t going to turn out the way it’s “supposed” to, and I still struggle with being kinder to myself for not being more productive. I spend so much fucking time playing stupid games on my phone, and watching YouTube videos, and it truly feels like I’ve watched every tv show in existence (definitely haven’t but man it feels like I’ve seen a big chunk at least). I’d love to have to motivation and energy spending my free time writing, or learning a new skill. I need something to do with my hands, a physical skill/hobby, like knitting or something. Idk, I’ve always just been so bad at crafty shit, my only real talents lie in writing and singing. Feels pretty bad how little time I have for either of those things. I usually only have the bandwidth to write for a couple of hours a week, but I haven’t written more than a paragraph since I posted the last chapter. I feel like the world’s slowest fucking writer, I wish it could just be my job to write so I wouldn’t have to waste eight hours a day on extraneous bullshit lol.