#as if i'm not supposed to know anything about the disorders i'm gonna be living with my whole life

[thelesbododo]

This is a headcanon circulating around a sensitive topic and one that you may not agree with so if you don't want to read it please scroll.

This headcanon revolves around the character Osamu Dazai and the concept of sexual assault

I believe that Dazai was sexually assaulted as a child

This has nothing to do with Mori and takes place long before they even meet

While it is true we know little to nothing of BSD Dazai's past, it is also true that it is highly likely the Irl author and his No Longer Human counterpart was SA'd

There are two specific pieces of writing are evidence of this

"My true nature, however, was one diametrically opposed to the role of the mischievous imp. Already by that time I had been taught a lamentable thing by the maids and manservants; I was being corrupted. I now think that to perpetrate such a thing on a small child is the ugliest, vilest, cruelest crime a human being can commit. But I endured it. I even felt as if it enabled me to see one more particular aspect of human beings. I smiled in my weakness. If I had formed the habit of telling the truth I might perhaps have been able to confide unabashedly to my father or mother about the crime, but I could not fully understand even my own parents. To appeal for help to any human being - I could expect nothing from that expedient. Supposing I complained to my father or my mother, or to the police, the government - I wondered if in the end I would not be argued into silence by someone in good graces with the world, by the excuses of which the world approved.It is only too obvious that favoritism inevitably exists: it would have been useless to complain to human beings. So I said nothing of the truth. I felt I had no choice but to endure whatever came my way and go on playing the clown"

- No Longer Human

"I ceased being a child soon after entering grade school. It was then that my younger brother’s nurse taught me something that took my breath away. It was a beautiful summer day, and the grass by the vacant house out back had grown tall and dense. I must have been about seven, and my brother’s nurse could not have been more than thirteen or fourteen. My brother was three years younger than I, and the nurse shooed him off. She said, ‘Go get some leaf grass’ - that’s our word for clover back home. Then she added, ‘And make sure it’s got four leaves too.’ After he left, she put her arms around me and we started rolling around in the tall grass. Thereafter we would play our secret little game in the storehouse or in one of the closets."

- Memories

Both No Longer Human and Memories are semi-autobiographies, meaning they're somewhat based in truth

I can't speak from experience but SA has a big effect on the lives of the survivors

Some of thes effects include;

Sleeping or Eating disorders

Dazai canoniclly has issues sleeping and there are scenes that imply he has issues with and/or doesn't see the point in eating, at one point saying that it is "so much trouble"

Nightmares

There is a specific scene within one kf the light novels where Kunikida asks if Dazai has nightmares.

(Unfortunately I can't find the exact moment so I can't quote it so if anyone can find it please let me know)

Self-hatred

It might not be clearly stated that he hates himself but ay the same time its rather clear that he does

Suicidal thoughts or self-harm

He is a suicidal maniac

Riskier sexual behaviors such as having many partners

He canoniclly has had quite a lot of lovers

Substance abuse

The one scene we see of his apartment we see that there is more alcohol than furniture (it's also a popular hc that Dazai smokes which makes sense considering his past with the pm and that irl author smoked)

Another moment to mention was when he seduced the nurse (which technically counted as SA too but that's not the point of this)

I'm probably gonna end it here because it's late and I'm tired but anyone willing to add or correct anything please go ahead and I hoped you enjoyed my hc

[happyk44]

hi bud, do you have literally any worldbuilding or other hcs about camp jupiter/new rome? would love to hear about it from you ^.^

OKAY! So I'm gonna break it down between Wolf House and Camp Jupiter/New Rome because I do have some ideas lol. Warning for mention of abuse, suicide and self-harm.

The Wolf House:

Most of the kids arrive at the wolf house between 9 to 12 years old. Jason and Frank are uncommon outliers. All demigods and legacies who live outside of New Rome have to go to the Wolf House (unless they receive an exception from their godly parent). Legacies who live within New Rome may be able to bypass the Wolf House if they prove themselves to Lupa as capable. It's uncommon for legacies to bypass the Wolf House in this way, as Lupa has high standards, but it isn't, like, rare or anything. It can happen, and a lot of parents do train their kids in some way so a lot of the legacies from New Rome do have more skills by the time they end up at the Wolf House.

Exceptions can be made for demigods or legacies who live outside of New Rome. The exceptions have to be requested by their godly parent. Hazel is an exception, with Nico providing her exception to Camp Jupiter from Pluto (debatable if this was valid or if he forged his dad's signature, lol, I like the idea he faked it, channeling that "Hermes was my babysitter and taught me fraud" energy). I also HC that Reyna was an exception, given by Circe who, as a surrogate mother, didn't want her to undergo further trauma via the Wolf House.

Some exceptions can be given if the demigod or legacy in question in signficantly physically disabled in some way. These exceptions aren't very common, and might be dismissed if the disability isn't considered severe enough by Lupa - like if the kid were deaf or blind, well, yeah, she's still gonna have them trained at the Wolf House. However, if they're a quadriplegic, then, yeah, an exception can be made. It is very rare that they can get an exception to Wolf House training/joining the army for mental disorders/disabilities though.

The Wolf House is traumatic. Kids learn unhealthy coping mechanisms and may commit suicide. This is where a lot of the survivors, especially Jason, pick up the idea that suicide is cowardly and pathetic. These kids are not remembered in a positive light. Legacies tend to commit suicide less than demigods because they are more prepared by their demigod parent(s) for what to expect by the time the wolves come to get them. But they still end up just as fucked, which is why a lot of demigods parents try to get their kids to bypass the Wolf House by training them early.

Abuse is also common in the Wolf House. It is a secluded location with significant isolation from external and alternative authority figures. Older kids can and will take out their fustrations on the younger kids. The wolves do their best to correct this behaviour when they see it because it goes against the idea of a healthy pack, but it does go unnoticed pretty frequently, especially with training being so physical. You can unload on another kid without reprimand if you're both supposed to be wrestling.

Sexual abuse is uncommon, but does happen, especially as kids start puberty while they're at the Wolf House.

The kids are forced to rely on the garden and hunting for food. They're not really allowed to leave the Wolf House until their training is complete. Kids who die, whether by the wolves or suicide, are buried in the garden as fertilizer. When Ceres' kids are buried, the garden doubles, sometimes triples, its output. When Pluto or Mors' kids are buried, the garden remains completely free from pests. So, in times where the garden might be fucked from weather conditions or the fact that the kids don't know how to garden, these kids might be targetted by the others out of desperation.

Training typically takes about a year. Some kids might stay longer or be allowed to leave earlier. They make the trek to Camp Jupiter in groups (except for Jason, who had to do the journey alone). The final leg of training before they leave is usually the kids being hunted by the wolves over the course of three days. It's a practical application of what they've learned in the Wolf House, and helps them better work together as a "pack"/team. They hide and live in the nearby forest surrounding the Wolf House. They are only allowed one weapon and the clothes they're wearing in order to really learn how to pick apart their environment to survive.

If you've lasted to this end of training, then there's about a 85% chance you'll survive. The 15% of kids who die are typically those who are seen as weaker by the group they are with or kids who were abusive - they either get left behind to die or are shoved in front of the wolves as an unwilling sacrifice. They might be killed directly by the other members of the group, but this is less common.

Camp Jupiter/New Rome:

There are more legacies than demigods. Because godly power gets diluted over time when it comes to legacies, especially those with mortal parents, "designer" legacies are common. Certain/powerful demigods are encouraged to have sex with each other to carry on the power of the godly parents, especially if the godly parents are complimentary to each other. The types of demigod who are most encouraged:

Kids of the Big Three (Pluto, Neptune, Jupiter)

Kids of the Archaic Triad (Jupiter, Mars, Quirinis)

Kids of the Aventine Triad (Ceres, Liber, Libera/Prosperina)

Kids of various war deities, like Bellona, Victoria, etc

Kids with natural powerful ability

So once Jason became old enough, as a child of Jupiter, he would've been heavily encouraged to procreate with various people, like Reyna or Hazel even.

Because these kids are born more for the benefit of the collective instead of inherent desire from their parents, blended families are very common in New Rome. Fertility treatments and rituals are also very common. There are a lot of rituals done before sex in order to encourage more of the positive traits of each god to be passed onto the kid, i.e. level-headed discipline instead of anger issues in grandchildren of Mars.

Camp Jupiter and New Rome have two primary source of funding: quest payments and child support. Gods will typically send a sum of money for each kid that they have at Camp Jupiter. The money for each kid does reduce when the kids move to living at New Rome, but it's still present until they die. Some gods send the money annually, some may send it monthly. Whenever a child of Pluto or Prosperina joins the camp, everyone rejoices because Pluto always sends a signficant sum of money since he likes to spoil his kids. He also gets them the best deals on materials needed for crafting. These kids are very heavily encouraged to stay at New Rome instead of leaving once they're finished with their service at Camp Jupiter.

While CHB tends to receive quests through the oracle and they're not as frequently delivered, quests at Camp Jupiter are very frequent and generally distributed directly from the gods themselves. Common types of quests:

I lost something, go find it

Mercury stole something, go get it (and maybe smack him a little because this is getting old)

My child's mortal parent passed away, please go collect them as they're too young to go to the Wolf House

I need something from someone but I'm not talking to them right now so go get it for me

There's a magical item in a dangerous location and I want it but I don't feel like fighting my way through the dangers so you go do that for me, thanks

Quests are always paid upon completion.

Camp Jupiter and New Rome is fairly self-sustaining. They have a large agricultural output. People who grow up in New Rome are taught farming and homestead basics, even if they never do those things full-time. Their diet is very healthy and vegetable forward. If they do eat junk food, it's usually stuff that can be easily made by the average person, like ice cream or cookies, not things like Skittles or doritos. As a result, a lot of the legacies who grow up in New Rome don't like certain food outside of New Rome that is made by machines/large companies, like bottled fruit juice or certain bread, because it tastes weird to them since they're not used to it.

For kids who are given an exception due to disability, they are still trained and taught how to protect themselves and others, even if they aren't drafted into Camp Jupiter. Legacies who live outside of New Rome but close enough may attend these trainings in their free time.

If a legacy has a mortal and demigod parent and the demigod parent passes away, there is a major effort by people at New Rome to bring the kid over to New Rome and raise them there, even if their mortal parent is still fully capable of raising them. The mortal parent is not allowed to live at New Rome though, so obviously they're not appreciative of the people trying to essentially kidnap their kid(s). I imagine some legacies do end up being kidnapped from their mortal family, especially if they're very young when their demigod parent passes. This is why, if someone does choose to live outside of New Rome, they typically leave California and live in another state (or country).

Also, demigods are prioritized as members of Camp Jupiter. So if there are a lot of demigods joining camp in one year or there are no open spots in the Cohorts, the legacies who were supposed to join (and survived the Wolf House) may return to New Rome as a reserve instead. They generally end up working the fields as part of their service instead, and may still be called to go on quests. They still do training with the others, but it's not like an every day thing, maybe once or twice a week in order to keep them fresh in case they're called upon.

As I've said before, I think the kids at Camp Jupiter/New Rome are more in touch with the ancient Roman traditions than the kids at CHB. They follow the Roman festival calender and rituals (updated for modern times/limitations, i.e. Octavian sacrificing stuffed animals instead of real ones). Worship of gods is commonplace. It's not out of the ordinary to see a small group of kids collected around a statue or public shrine to pray as you walk around.

Most have two or three primary gods, with their godly parent/grandparent(s)/great-grandparent(s)/etc included in the count. If they have a direct connection to a specific god, they're also usually included, for example, Jason worships Jupiter (his father), and Juno and Lupa, who he views as mother figures as he is Juno's champion of sorts and was raised by Lupa. For Reyna, she worships Bellona (her mother) and Circe (her surrogate mother). For legacies with more than two godly connections, they tend to choose the gods whose traits and powers are strongest in them. This is generally the god(s) who are most recent in their lineage, but not always (recessive genes and whatnot, lol).

Camp and New Rome also focus more on the collective than the individual, and because there are more legacies than demigods, casual use of magical power isn't very common. Part of this is because legacies tend to have weaker magic power compared to demigods, so it takes a lot of effort to utlize their powers and thus they don't use their powers very much outside of battle. The other part is that, since the Roman gods have less kids than their Greek counterparts, a lot of the time some demigods don't have siblings or even legacy counterparts who can train them to use their powers.

When they have power that comes instinctually, they're usually notched as one of those people that will end up having a bunch of people convince them to have lots of babies, lol. Especially if their power is super strong. But otherwise, they tend to struggle with exploring the use of their powers. It's not like they don't use their powers casually at all, but unless it's related to battle, farming, or whatever job they have (think a child of Prosperina who is a florist, or Octavian as an augur), you don't see it much and if casual use of power is done, it's typically from demigods, not legacies.

Jason probably uses his powers the most out of the current set of kids at Camp Jupiter (and Hazel, technically, but summoning metal is involuntary for her, so I don't really count it), and he doesn't really use his powers very much in general, aside from, maybe, flying.

Uhhh, there's probably more, but, ha, this is pretty long as is, and after two hours of thought and writing my brain is now cutting me off, so I'm gonna end it here. Thanks for asking!

[lexygabe]

queen bee aka elmatagirl critical post

i know this appeal will be useless as hell but i felt an urge to do it so i will try to explain to you how stupid "how me being straight woman has anything to do with my [gay] ships" argument is. and maybe not stupid per se but definitely harmful.

and before we start i am fully aware of the whole defense line elmatagirl will use to justify herself, so even if there are some lgbtq people that followed you and support you and don't perceive what you do as problematic it doesn't mean that my opinions and opinions of most of the supablr are less important. so pls don't use "but my lgbtq followers like what i do and they are not touched by what i say" argument bcs it's not an argument in this case. let's use example of your beloved feminism which isn't a thing we are talking about but you like to bring this up whenever somebody calls you out on what you've done wrong. if there are women who are saying that something is very misogynistic and man replies with: "but i have multiple female friends and they are not offended by that" it doesn't change the fact that by some people it will be seen as misogynistic. it's about finding the golden middle.

the next argument elmatagirl will probably use is that "she has depression and she has severe depression" and i'm sorry but for me it doesn't change anything. for me even if she had multiple other disorders it wouldn't stop me from telling her: miss, you speak bullshit. and maybe now i will be perceived as heartless but idc everybody who lives more than one year in internet know that NOBODY cares what you are suffer from. and i mean nobody. if somebody will like to criticize you (in more radical spacies pour out hate on you) they will do it and nobody cares if you are at your lowest or not and i also don't care. i just think that if somebody is making 0 sense about particular topic they are talking about i have this power as a rando from internet to tell this person they are wrong.

and the last argument that isn't argument but i know elmatagirl will want to use it is anything feminism related. we are not talking about this. we are not talking about what you witnessed as a feminist. bcs it's not conversation we are having now. for me you could even be the one of them the first suffragists but if you were doing something that is considered as slightly homophobic i wouldn't care.

so since we have everything explained i can back to what i wanted to say.

"how me being straight woman has anything to do with my gay ships" i think you all are familiar with phrases: "male gaze" and "female gaze" and it has very good reflection in our case but instead of "male/female" we have "straight gaze" and "gay gaze".

for me and for the other people i know "straight gaze for straight women" are in most cases mlm ships with two attractive men included. and where is the problem? the problem is right there, because said ship was supposed to be for this two male characters (let's not start conversation if this two characters have good relationship/toxic relationship/or fall under proshipping line, bcs that's what i'm gonna talk about in next paragraphs of my essay) AND FOR TARGET GROUPS but instead of being made for target group (let's say lgbtq community by default and if we want to be even more specific so it is for other mlm people) it become pair to make straight women comfortable. and this is the problem because whole the gay couples finally represented in media wasn't made for straight women to feel comfortable in their little cozy beds to think: "oh gay people are not so different than us/oh why gay people are always the most attractive ones", i would even say if you are straight and cis and you are obsessed with gay ships and projecting everything what you feel on these characters (yeah it also applies to making hundreds of fanarts when you are strangely always in the middle, between this two characters), when one of them you headcanon as homosexual (in elmatagirl case this is el matador), then you are fetishizing it.

and what is fetishization? fetishization is excessive fascination/sexual fantasies about things that aren't sexual by definition for example: identity, race, religion or body parts that aren't private. and we are focusing on the first instance.

oh my gosh we have a lot of to talk about here. firstly, i would like to focus on... weird fanarts of elmatagirl and i'm not talking about nsfw ones bcs yeah they are nsfw and even if i don't like them i'm not gonna talking about them here.

there was a famous redrawing of - i don't remember now if this was comic panel or scene from the show but it doesn't matter - el matador.... i don't even know how to put this in words, el matador tied in... el marador tied in this position......

(gabe and their digital painting skills)

and what can i say.... if she just idk make joke about it, then it's okay i probably also made comment about this kind of scene BUT ALSO MOVE ON AS SOON AS THIS JOKE MET WITH LAUGHTER FROM MY AUDIENCE and not started making whole ass fanart with sexual subtext of my favourite gay boys because from context of the show this scene wasn't made to be sexual, it was meant to be funny/visual gag etc.

"why gay men are always the most attractive men?"

it may sound innocent and yeah it is, because i also can say that some gay man is in my eyes attractive and deal with the fact that he doesn't look at me as his possible partner bcs i'm non binary who doesn't identify with - let's call it - "male gender role". but again i move on from this interaction and not run whole page with my two little gay boiiis suggestive content bcs it's suspicious

and again my fellow gay men of supablr can correct me because i'm not mlm, but i think that meeting with this kind of excitement from straight women would be very weird. i can't make example of my situation bcs im bisexual but if i was ever in established relationship with a woman and some dude would say to me that women in lesbian relationships are the hottest ones and then i would discover that he runs whole social media profile with only wlw ships in which he also includes himself i would give him a fucking stroke like man, you are super weird. i don't see you as an ally, i see you as a weirdo.

proshipping/toxic mlm

now we will be walkin on a thin ice so if someone doesn't feel comfortable with this kind of content i want you to scroll till next point written in bold font

proshipping is when a person supports shipping in general. no matter if two or more characters have huge age gap, are related to each other(it also applies to adoptive families), have bully/victim | abuser/victim type of relationship or one of them or more are minors in relationship with an adult(s)

and i want to talk about dingarra here. dingarra is ship between skarra and dingaan and like i said in one of my prev posts this is clearly an abuser&a victim relationship and i'm sorry no matter how many headcanons you made about it it's still abusive relationship. and if somebody make an argument that idk they have each others phone numbers or skarra handed dingaan a fucking toilet paper in episode 293719191 - i'm gonna get violent. i'm not joking i'm gonna get violent.

and if it's wrong to ship toxic ships? surprisingly no, BUT ONLY if you are aware of the fact that they are toxic. like people for a reason ship hannigram and i don't know batman and joker because they like their fucked up dynamic, are into character study or just think that in weird VERY VERY WEIRD way they match each others energy.... BUT NOBODY ROMANTICIZE THIS. ofc there are some people that think these type of relationships are the height of romanticism but still there is common belief that this ship is toxic for fuck's sake

............................

and shador

i don't know where el matador in rookie season is looking like 18 or 19 year old. i seriously can't see that but ofc i am the delusional one

and at the end of the day

being over excited because two fictional males is super duper weird

[sophieinwonderland]

hey i saw the shit going down and i wanted to tell you that it sucks. it really sucks. but dont be too hard on yourself. you obviously didnt do anything on purpose nor did you do it directly. instead maybe take this as a wake-up call to finally move past syscourse. youve been here for a while. youve learned a lot. now you move on.

i think it would benefit you much more if you just tried to bring positivity to systems. let someone else do the syscourse fighting. because there will always be syscourse fighting. atp i think you know better than anyone that some people just arent gonna change. so just help the people who have already changed. or people who are struggling like i was. theres a lot of people who could use your knowledge in places like r/osdd or r/did. or even here on tumblr!

This is from a couple weeks ago, but I just wanted to comment on a couple thing here.

"let someone else do the syscourse fighting."

Most of the rest of the syscoursers here are people who have been deeply traumatized before syscourse even came into their lives. It's why syscourse tends to be such a revolving door with so few mainstays. It's just not safe for vulnerable people in the long-run.

There aren't a lot of people willing to regularly stand up to and take on anti-endo misinformation. Most of those that do this often don't last long.

"theres a lot of people who could use your knowledge in places like r/osdd or r/did."

Last I checked, r/DID banned all mention of endogenic systems. And I have no interest in going into subreddits for a disorder I don't have anyway.

That might seem a bit ironic given how much I end up talking about DID and OSDD on here. It's kind of funny looking back, because this blog was always supposed to be more focused on tulpamancy. Like, other forms of plurality would be involved in this, sure. But they were originally a secondary concern of mine.

To this day, it's still surprising to me that this blog ended up resonating so well with systems of all different kinds.

It's still strange how many asks I've gotten from people with DID or OSDD asking for advice with living with a disorder that I do not have.

I don't think I realized before I got here how sysmeds had ostracized so many DID systems to the point where they felt their best option for seeking help was a tulpa who, at that time, wasn't even a year-old yet.

But despite being willing to research and try to educate myself on these disorders when I can, I have no interest into a DID or OSDD subreddit and joining communities specifically for disordered systems even if I could.

Since there are a lot of CDD systems who follow this blog, I hope they can learn from the research I've provided and linked to over the years and share it with those they know. But I'm not joining CDD communities myself.

Bottom line, I have no intention of stepping away from syscourse here.

[call-me-a-simp]

Heal My Wounds

At Finn's (Part 23)

Rhea Ripley x Reader

Tw: physical and sexual abuse, toxic relationship, selfharm, eating disorder

Summary: You are in a toxic relationship with an abusive man but manage to run away. A tall, black haired woman picks you up from the streets just in time so your ex doesn't get you. But who is she and why does she seem so familiar to you? As you get to know each other you start to notice weird feelings you never had before whenever she's around.

You wake up to an empty bed next to you. Hm, maybe she's already in the kitchen making breakfast, not that it would be anything new. You think.

But as you walk into the kitchen it's also empty. You search the whole apartment for your girlfriend but she's nowhere to be seen.

Strange, she usually doesn't leave without letting me know. Even if I'm asleep.

You decide to call her but she doesn't respond. You try Dominik's number but again, just the mailbox.

Ugh I hate you guys. You make your way back into the kitchen and prepare a bowl of cereal to eat on the couch.

After you're done, you decide to try Damian's number.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is y/n who am I speaking to?"

"Oh sorry, here's Finn, Damian's not there right now"

"Why d'you have his phone?"

"Funny story, but after we dropped you two off yesterday we decided to stay at my place"

"Hmm okay, is Dom nearby?"

"Nope, also out"

You sigh, "can you come pick me up then? I don't know where everyone is and it kinda makes me a little uncomfortable"

"Sure, give me fifteen minutes" Finn responds and hangs up.

Great, the only one to pick up was Finn. It's better than no one but you two never talked really much so you barely knew him.

You take a quick shower and are about to do your hair when the doorbell rings. You quickly finish your look and open the door for Finn.

"Hey, glad you're here" you say with a relieved smile. "Sure, no problem. Do you want to stay here or come to my place? We could play some video games there to pass time" he shrugs.

"Ye let's do that" you say, put on some shoes and follow him to the car. You get in on the passengers side and it's actually just a ten minute drive.

You arrive at his flat, it's bigger than Rhea's, with a beautiful front garden. You follow him to the door which he holds open for you to step in.

"Get comfy" Finn says and points to, what you suppose is, the living room. "Do you want anything to drink?" "No thanks, I'm good" you reply and shyly smile at him.

"Ok then" he shrugs and leads you over to the couch with a huge flat screen and a playstation in front. "Have you ever played WWE 2k23?" he asks.

"Nope, never heard of it" you shake your head and sit down. "Alright, then you're gonna learn it now" he says and hands you a controller.

You play for a while until you decide to ask him again about Rhea and the others. "Do you really not know where they went? Rhea told me yesterday she would have a surprise for me in the evening"

Finn chuckles "Actually I do know but I'm not allowed to tell you" you huff "How mean" and act like you're offended.

He just laughs and you punch his arm "Hey" he laughs even more. "Ugh you're such an idiot, you know that?" "I'm the only one who can keep promises that why I needed to stay here with you" he shrugs.

"oh boy, okay.. Can I use the restroom real quick? " you randomly throw in. You needed some alone time now. "sure, down the hallway, second door on the right. But you aren't mad at me now, are you?" Finn asks a little concerned.

"no, no its fine I just.. Nevermind" you quickly respond and walk away. You lock the bathroom door behind you and sink to the ground with your back against the door.

You call Rhea again and to your surprise she actually answers this time.

"hey sweetie, what's up? Sorry for just leaving you without saying goodbye"

You can tell by her voice that she really is sorry.

"hey, I don't know, can't quite interpret my feelings right now"

"oh honey I'm so sorry, I really should have told you. How is it with Finn? Everything alright?"

"ye it's okay.. I miss you.."

"i miss you too but I promise my surprise is worth the wait"

Although you can't see her you're sure she smirked while saying that.

"when will you come back?"

"at around seven, but I gotta hang up now, still some things left to do"

"okay, love you, bye"

"byee, love you more"

You lean your head back against the door and smile at her words.

"you okay in there?" you hear Finn knock and ask. "ye I'm fine, be right back" you reply and get up to actually use the toilet before returning.

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

Okay guys, I'm sorry, you gotta wait for part 24 to see the surprise. But I promise it'll be there this time!

Taglist:@babybatlover @legit9thlunaticwarrior @thatonepansexual2000 @nox-fire

[fe-fictions]

I can't believe I have to post about this a second time in a year, but I have another sick kitty...

We lost our senior cat Henry in February, it was just time for him to go. He was a handsome and wonderful 14 years old, and had been with us since we were children.

And not long after we lost him, my sibling and I (we live together) decided the apartment was just too empty without him...we were missing the warmth and the joy that a sweet kitty cat brought with him.

So we each adopted our very own cats; a handsome long-haired 3 month old boy named Gojo, and a beautiful short-haired 5 month old girl named Luisa.

Luisa is my baby girl. She was born in September, the same month as me, and she's my whole world. But the last few days, she's been eating less, playing less, and getting more and more docile and lethargic.

I took her to the emergency vet today because she wasn't eating at all and was hiding since yesterday morning. He told me that she had an auto immune disorder, and was extremely anemic.

He gave me three options; try steroids and antibiotics, see if she responds to them, or they could hospitalize her and give her a blood transfusion, which was way, way too expensive...if I had the money I would've done it in a heartbeat, and it breaks my heart to think that I could've done more for her if I had a better job and could provide for my baby more. And the third option was to put her to sleep there, because her odds were slim.

I chose the option to get her medication, which was a quarter the cost of a hospitalization, and he assured me typically saw really good results, but that sometimes it would take a few days or a week or two before seeing improvement.

I gave her the first dose as soon as we got home, got her set up in my room, but she's still not eating, won't go to the bathroom, and I'm just really, really worried that I'm gonna have to say goodbye to her, before she's even a year old.

I'm just not ready to say goodbye again. Twice in the same year, two of my sweet babies. I am not ready to do that again. It happened so fast. The shelter I got her at likely had no idea she was sick; she showed no signs of it until just a few days ago. I hate that she's so fragile, and that I can't do enough for her. It's just crushing.

I want to try and focus on the positive, and hope that she's gonna pull through in the next few days. I'm just so sad, because it wasn't that long ago I saw this behavior in a dying cat. I know what it looks like, I felt it, I could see it. And I'm not ready to do that again.

I was supposed to have at least ten years with this slinky little baby. I don't want to believe that I'm gonna have to say goodbye to her. I won't know for at least a few days; but if she stops eating and she can't go to the bathroom, I don't know where to go from there.

I just wanted to vent, I wanted to let you all know that's what I'm dealing with right now. I hope you'll continue to have patience with me, and to those who commissioned art from me, I'm gonna work hard to get it done ASAP since it's already been a while, and I just need to do something to keep my mind off of what's going on right now.

But yeah. That's what's going on at this moment, and so if I sort of disappear for a little while or my posts go a while without anything, that's why.

Thanks for being so sweet, you guys are such a wonderful group of fellow FE enthusiasts and I love writing for you all. It's without a doubt the group of the friendliest and sweetest people I've ever run into; whenever awful things were going on, IRL or online, I would always come here because the drama or the stressful mess would never reach it; this place is my little safe haven haha

So thank you for being here, and thank you for listening and for your patience! I'll do everything I can to keep up.

- chiyo

[jgmartin]

HOUSE OF THE HOLY

It’s a scary thing, being apart from yourself— being a tool. Have you ever been possessed? I’m guessing not. Most haven’t. And they can thank their lucky stars for that. 

I have though. 

I’ve felt the suffocating grip of something closing around my mind, squeezing it until every last ounce of me was gone. I've felt the horror of knowing I'm not alone. The horror of knowing I might never be alone again.

Three days after I turned six, my life turned into confetti. It tore itself into little pieces, each less recognizable than the last. That night, my foster parents locked me in the attic. They told me that a monster was coming to eat me— a werewolf. 

“We’ll let you out in an hour,” they laughed. “If there’s anything left to let out.”

It wasn’t real. Of course it wasn’t real. The whole thing was just a twisted power play, a means to scare me into obeying their overbearing rules. I was young, though. Naive. And the thing about being young and naive is sometimes you say and do things that you live to regret, and I’d done exactly that. 

I’d confided in them my greatest fear: men that turned into beasts. Werewolves. 

I gave them my vulnerability, openness. They gave me psychological warfare. 

Betrayal cuts deep, but the betrayal of a parent— the person meant to protect you when the whole world turns its back on you— that cuts deeper than skin. 

Those scars don’t fade. 

I spent my first minutes in the attic screaming and crying, beating my fist against the door. They answered this with a volley of threats, beginning and ending with three hours standing in the corner, balanced on my tippy-toes, if I so much as dared to open that hatch.

“You deserve this,” Papa Joey told me. “You knew damn well to keep your eyes closed during that Sunday prayer, but you opened em’ anyway. You embarrassed us. Humiliated us, not just in front of the church, but Father Andrews too. People are gonna think we don’t know how to raise a child, or that we can’t keep a little boy in line. You think that’s funny? You think that’s fair to us?”

“Shame on you,” Mama Sharon said. 

They weren’t lying— at least, not about me opening my eyes. I was a distractible child. Later, I’d be diagnosed with attention deficit disorder, so what was I supposed to do? That didn’t matter to them, though. 

In their eyes, not only had I disrespected the law of the house, I’d disrespected the law of the Lord. That made punishing me easy. Necessary. It made punishing me an act of God. 

“Do I really have to stay up here a whole hour?” I whimpered, gazing warily across the sea of darkness. The light in the attic hadn’t worked for as long as I’d lived there.

“That depends,” Mama Sharon replied. “If the werewolf gets you first, you might only be in there for ten or twenty minutes.”

“Who knows?” Papa Joey called as they left down the hallway. “You might just get lucky." 

They descended the steps, chuckling to themselves. 

The thought of opening the hatch and slipping out of there crossed my mind. It crossed my mind over and over again, as a matter of fact, but I knew it wouldn’t be worth it. As scared as I was, I’d lived with Mama and Papa for eight months by then, and I knew well what kind of punishment they were capable of doling out. 

For this, I’d be in the corner for certain. On my tippy toes. 

If they saw me resting my feet— even for a moment, they’d get out the wooden board with the nails in it. They’d slip that under my heels. I’d been there before. 

I never, ever wanted to be there again.

So I did my best to swallow my fear. I took a deep breath and braced myself against the nightmare of the attic. “I’m not afraid of you!” I said to the shadows. “I’m a monster too, you know!”

It was a lie. I was no more a monster than I was an astronaut, or a dinosaur. I was just a scrawny kid who missed his mom, sitting in an attic that seemed to press upon you from all sides. But it was all that I had. See, the only thing I knew capable of harming a werewolf was a silver bullet, and I was fresh out of those, so I went with the next best thing: convincing the werewolf I wasn’t prey. 

I began my punishment sitting near the hatch. It seemed the safest option, and vibrating with adrenaline and panic, safety was at the top of my mind. I waited silently, eyes closed, heart fluttering, listening for a growl or howl to meet my ears, for the sounds of my doom to rush out and greet me. But they never did. 

Once I’d made it ten minutes without being eaten, I started to calm down. Maybe there weren’t any monsters up there, after all. Maybe I was just afraid of the dark. If that was the case, then that was a problem I could solve. 

The broken lightswitch was far beyond my ability to repair, but I knew for a fact there were a couple of flashlights laying around here somewhere. I’d used them while helping Papa Joey put out mouse traps. Trouble was, there was enough junk in the attic to fill a small museum, so finding which teetering box those flashlights were in might take some time. 

Still, time was one of the few things not in short supply up there. 

Closing my eyes, I took a breath, steeling myself against the darkness ahead. Then I stepped off. Into the unknown.

My footsteps groaned as I crept through the attic. Much of my movement consisted of stumbling around blindly, holding my arms out like Frankenstein’s monster and praying I didn’t encounter anything with fur. A few steps into my journey I bumped into something. My heart jumped, but it was just an old table.

I felt its surface, figuring if there was a flashlight up here then it was probably somewhere on th—

Eight tiny legs skittered across my hand. I flailed, falling backward and knocking the spider off of my skin. Heart pounding, I sat there and caught my breath. 

“You’re kidding, Franky!” The television echoed from below the floorboards. “Keep that up, and you won’t just be outta a job— you’ll be out of a wife!” A laugh track kicked in, joined by Mama Sharon shrieking in amusement and clapping her hands. From the sounds of it, they were watching their favorite sitcom again. I’d never seen it since I wasn’t allowed to watch TV, but I always wondered if it was as funny as they made it seem.

“It’s not.”

I jumped, startled by the voice. “What?”

“You deaf, kid? I said it’s not. It ain’t that funny.”

My heart struck my ribcage like a hammer. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening. It’s just the dark, that’s all. There’s nothing to be afraid of in the dark because I’m all alone and there’s no such thing as monsters and it’s just the TV that I’m hearing and—

“You’re not alone, kid. And I ain’t Will or Grace, either.”

I scrambled backward, away from the voice as quickly as I could. Too quickly. My head found the downward slope of the attic’s roof and hit it with a crack. Pain exploded across my skull. “Stay back,” I groaned, my vision swimming. “If you don’t I’ll—”

“You’ll do nothing!” the voice sneered.

“I—I’m a werewolf,” I warned, my voice shaking with counterfeit authority. “Stay back. It’s a full moon tonight and—”

“Ain’t no full moon, and you ain’t no werewolf.”

Something thumped a short way from me, and my mouth went dry. Another thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. The floorboards trembled. My eyes swiveled to the thin square of light that outlined the attic hatch. It was rattling. Somebody was knocking on it from below. 

“You breaking things up there?” Poppa Joey shouted. “You better not be! Any more banging around and you can forget the werewolf. I’ll come up there and beat your ass myself!”

Even then, I could hear the voice whispering all around me, moving around the attic like an unholy breeze. “Please,” I said quietly, making myself small in the corner. “There’s something up here! I need you.”

“You think I’m stupid, boy?”

My mouth trembled, my entire body quaked. I recognized the tone in Papa Joey’s voice. 

“I asked you a fucking question, didn’t I?” he bellowed. “Answer me when I speak to you!”

“N-no sir,” I said, tears welling in my eyes. “I don’t think you’re stupid, Papa.”

“Then why are you lying to me?” Something struck the bottom of the hatch and made it jump violently— his fist. “You just earned yourself another half hour up there. Keep up this shitty behavior and I’ll show you some shitty behavior of my own. Understand?”

I whimpered.

“DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND?”

“Yes sir!” I called, doing my best to keep the tears in my eyes. “Yes sir, I understand sir!”

“Good,” he muttered. His footsteps faded as he made his way back downstairs. 

“What’s he broken?” I heard my Mama ask at the bottom of the steps. 

“Nothing,” Papa said, raising his voice so I could hear. “If he doesn’t want me breaking something of his, it’ll stay that way. Lord knows I’ll start with the teeth. Ain’t nothing out of the ordinary about a young boy missing a tooth.”

Laughter rang out around the attic. “You’re not safe here,” the voice said, right beside me. “Not safe here at all.”

I recoiled, terrified, but careful not to make a sound.  The voice sounded low, raspy and inhuman. It sounded hungry. “Please,” I said. “Leave me alone. I wasn’t kidding about being a werewolf you know.”

“Do you want to be safe?” the voice hissed, slithering all around me like a cockroach on my skin. “I can make you safe. I can make all this pain go away. Doesn’t that sound… nice? Just say the word and poof, you’re home free, back with dear mommy.”

“What word?” I said, confused.

The voice tutted in my ears, as if it were on both sides of me at once. “Oh, don’t play coy. You know the word. The one you say kneeling beside your bed every night, praying to the big cheese in the sky.”

“Amen?” 

“Amen?” More laughter, this time sardonic, mocking. “Give me a fucking break, kiddo. I mean the other word, the one you whimper with tears in your eyes and fear in your heart— afraid Mama and Papa might hear you say it out loud.”

A terrible feeling was beginning to take hold in my gut. The voice sounded suddenly so much worse than a simple werewolf. It sounded sinister. Like it was manipulating me. Testing me. “I don’t have tears in my eyes when I pray,” I said defiantly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

The voice — whatever it was — stepped forward then, and the entire attic rattled against its weight. Dust drifted down from the rafters. Floorboards shuddered. 

It was loud.

Too loud. 

“The fuck did I just tell you, boy?” Papa Joey hollered from below. “So help me God, if I have to get up from this couch you’re gonna wish there really was a lock on that fucking hatch!” 

I slammed my eyes shut. “Go away,” I said quietly. “Please, whatever you are, just go away.”

“No.” 

It took another step forward, and the attic shook again. This time, the frame of the house trembled with it, rumbling as it braced itself against the monster inside. 

“I’m not playing around,” Papa growled from below, and this time his voice was different. Something had wormed its way inside of it. Something dangerous. Deadly. “One more time, boy. Try me one more time and I swear to you that it’ll be the last...”

“He’s mad,” I whimpered, clutching my hands to my ears. “He’s really mad and he’s gonna think it’s me. Please, you’ve got to stop. You’ve got to go!”

"I'm not going anywhere,” the voice whispered. “You're stuck with me."

My heart fell. My world was practically spinning, the situation had spiraled so far outside of my control and I knew that no matter what, once the television episode was over Papa Joey would come up here and show me just how angry he was. 

“What's this?” the voice asked, bemused. A sound met my ears; dull and low, like a cardboard box sliding off of a wooden table. 

My heart froze.

“Looks expensive.”

"No! Don't—"

My plea was cut short, interrupted by a symphony of shattered glass. A half-second later and another box tipped. Something tumbled out of it, obnoxious and heavy, rolling across the creaky floor like a bowling ball. 

"I'm going to make you believe," the voice hissed. "No matter what it takes."

I sat, paralyzed with fear, waiting to hear Papa shout my name and tell me that was the last straw. But I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t hear Papa yelling, or Mama either. I didn’t even hear the television. 

Something snapped from below. “... nothing in him this fucking belt won’t fix!”

Footsteps thundered up the stairs. 

“Why are you doing this?” I shrieked into the darkness. “Why are you making them hurt me?” Tears poured from my eyes as I trembled in the corner, taking deep, heaving breaths as I prepared myself for the discipline I was soon to receive. For the pain.

“I’m trying to teach you a lesson!” the voice cackled. “Now say the word, boyo! Say the word or you’ll beg for it later, beaten and bruised!”

“No!” I shouted, shaking my head furiously. Tears stained my cheeks. “I know what you are! I know what evil monsters like you do, but I’m a good kid and I pray every night so just leave me alone!”

A fist pounded against the underside of the hatch. Then it rattled, like somebody was pulling on the handle, trying to get it open, but it wouldn’t budge. “Get your hands off the hatch!” Papa Joey roared. 

“Say the word,” the voice hissed. 

I plugged my ears, curling into a ball. “No! Just me alone and go away.”

“Do it now, before he gets you! He sounds so angry!”

Mama’s voice joined the chaos below. “What’s he done now, Joey? Locked himself up there?”

The hatch rattled, and I heard Joey grunt. “What’s it look like, Sharon?”

“Well just leave him there, then! If he wants to stay up there with the werewolves he can stay there all weekend if he pleases.” 

"No he damn well can't, Sharon!" Papa shouted. "I've got valuable things in those boxes and the little shitstain's destroying them!" Joey heaved and the attic hatch squealed, sounding as though he were pulling against it with his entire weight.  

“Running out of time,” the voice said, up against my ear. “Tick tock. Say the word, or you’ll pay for this in blood. Who knows when he’ll stop beating you? Hopefully before you drop dead.”

I screamed then, lashing out and throwing out my fists helplessly into the dark, doing anything I could to stop the voice from talking. From tormenting me. “Stop it!” I shrieked. “Stop it!”

In all my life I’d never felt so helpless. So afraid. There wasn’t any escape here. Threats surrounded me. Below, my foster parents were beating down the attic door, while all around me a voice taunted and jeered, goading me to turn away from God, to make me admit I didn’t have the faith I claimed to. 

I just wanted them both to go away. Forever. 

I just wanted to go to my room and play with my action figures and read my story books. I just wanted to be a normal kid again, with a normal family. I wanted to feel safe. 

A sharp creak sounded, followed by a snap of wood. Light flooded the attic and I gazed in horror toward the now open hatch, feeling suddenly weak and helpless. Joey had broken the steps clean off of their hinges. 

“Obnoxious little shit,” Papa snarled, stomping up the stomps. 

“Don’t kill him, Joey,” Mama Sharon said casually. “Just smarten him up. He’s been nothing but disobedient since he got here last July.”

“Oh, I’ll smarten him up,” Papa said, face appearing above the floor line with bulging eyes. “I’ll teach him a lesson so good he’ll wish he was back with that drug addict whore he calls a mother.”

“Papa!” I called out, whimpering. “It wasn’t me! There was—”

“More lies, boy?” He reached for his waist and unslung his belt, snapping it in his hands. The metal buckle gleamed in the light. “This time,” Papa said, stepping forward, “I’m not gonna stop until you bleed.”

I recoiled, raising my hands defensively. “Please,” I sobbed. “P-please don’t, Papa. I’m sorry I—” A crack sounded and pain exploded across my hands. I gasped, instinctively scrambling away but strong hands grabbed me and dragged me back. 

“This time I’ll give you the buckle,” Papa growled. 

Tears gushed from my eyes. Blood leaked from my hands. A word fell from my mouth with all the force of an atomic bomb.

“Well, well,” the voice whispered, dripping with violence. “Took you long enough.”

_____________________

I woke up in a large, white bed inside of a pale gray room. 

“Look who’s up,” said a familiar voice. I squinted, my eyes adjusting to the brightness of the space. A man in a robe with a crucifix necklace stood at my bedside, staring down at me with cold, calculated eyes. “It only took you four days.”

I blinked, bleary-eyed. “Father Andrews?” I mumbled. “I’ve been asleep for four days?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Where am I?”

He looked around, as though appraising the setting for the first time himself. “If I had to guess, I’d say we were inside of a hospital, weren’t we?” He shot me a smile. “It’s fine, I’ve got most of the curtains drawn so it’s hard to tell. Besides, I’m sure somebody your age hasn’t had many occasions to be here.”

I sat up, confused and disoriented. “What happened?”

Father Andrews frowned, his expression growing grave. “That’s what I was hoping you could tell me, Alex. You don’t remember anything?”

“No, Father,” I said, shaking my head. Memories flashed in my mind— of a belt, of Papa’s angry face storming up the attic steps. “I remember being in a lot of trouble,” I began. “I remember feeling…”

“Feeling what, Alex?”

The word I wanted to say was afraid, but I knew I’d get in worse trouble for saying that. It wasn’t fair of me to make Mama and Papa look bad in front of the Father. Not when I did that so much already. 

“I remember feeling tired,” I lied, before quickly changing the subject. “Why am I in the hospital, Father? Am I okay?”

“That depends. Do you feel okay?”

“I think so. I feel tired and I’ve got a headache but mostly I feel alright.”

Father Andrews moved closer to me, and a gravity fell across his expression. When he spoke, it was in a quiet, measured tone. “Do you feel like yourself?”

My head spun. Memories lurched out of dark spots in my mind, memories of a voice, of a malevolent presence tempting me to admit I’d been crying during my prayers. Now I was here,  in the hospital next to Father Andrews. A priest. 

“What happened?" I asked, more urgently. Even at six, I could connect the dots that something was very wrong. “Something happened didn’t it and—”

“Easy, Alex,” Father Andrews soothed. “The doctors have been in. You’ll be happy to hear that, as far as they can tell, you’re fine. A little worse for wear, but nothing that won’t clear in a few days. And the doctors will be happy to hear you’ve woken from your coma.”

“Coma?” The word was new to me, but I felt like I’d heard it before. It felt like something bad, like something you didn’t want to have happen to you. Terror shot through me. “Are Mama and Papa mad at me?” I asked.

A sinking feeling formed in my gut. The voice had destroyed so much stuff in the attic, and now that Mama and Papa had gotten a good look at it they were probably furious with me. I’d likely get a second-helping of discipline when I got home.

“Sharon and Joseph are dead,” Father Andrews said. 

My mouth fell open. The gravity of the word was almost beyond my understanding. “What do you mean?”

Father Andrews sighed, then pulled the rest of the curtain shut around my bed, shielding us from view. “Alex, this is difficult to say... but they’re dead because of you. You killed them.”

I blinked. The situation felt like a bad dream, like a scenario so awful that it couldn’t possibly be true. “I killed them?” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “No… No I didn’t I—”

“You burned away every ounce of blood in their bodies and seared crucifixes into their foreheads. When the police showed up, they were husks. You were comatose."

I swallowed, my mouth dry. “No, that’s not right, I…” Horror wrapped itself around me as more memories unearthed themselves. This time, I remembered the attic, and the voice. I remembered it tempting me to break my vows to God by speaking a word. If I just spoke the word, it said, it could make the pain go away. “I loved them,” I said, my voice cracking with the onset of tears. “I wouldn’t hurt them because I loved them. I promise!”

Father Andrews folded his arms. “That may be, but they're dead now.” He reached into his robes and produced a small, clear vial. Unstoppering it, he held it above my head. “Now that you’re awake, let’s try this again.” He tilted the vial and doused me in the liquid. 

I coughed and sputtered as it fell into my nose and eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Holy water,” he explained. He gave the empty vial a gentle shake in front of me. “Over the past three days I’ve poured various amounts onto you, but it’s never had any effect. Do you know why that is?”

Holy Water. It was something I once learned about in Sunday School: water that had been blessed to protect against demons and other terrible things. If he had been pouring that on me, then it was because he suspected… 

I gazed up at him, horrified. “It wasn’t my fault!” I cried, shaking my head as though if I just denied it hard enough, then I could make it all go away. The demon. The dead parents. All of it. I just wanted a second chance. 

“What wasn’t your fault?” he replied. 

Guilt twisted inside of me. “The demon in the attic!” I blurted out. “I didn’t mean to talk to it, I swear! It just kept pressuring me and pressuring me and then I got so scared, and I accidentally said the word but I didn’t mean to, I didn’t…” I broke off into a long sob. 

It was as though the entire experience had been bottled up before, whether because the memories still hadn’t caught up to me, or the guilt hadn’t, but now it was all falling out of me like a river. 

Father Andrews grabbed me by my shoulders. “You said a word?”

I nodded, my lip curled up and snot leaking down my nose. “I didn’t mean to.”

“What word?” 

“I…” The word sat on the tip of my tongue, but fear gripped me. What if the demon was waiting in here, unseen just like it had been in the attic? What if when I said the word, the demon would crawl right back inside of me and start killing people all over again? I couldn’t face that. I couldn’t risk that. “I… can’t,” I said. 

Father Andrews brought his mouth next to my ear. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, deliberate. “What. Was. The. Word. Alex?”

“If I say the word,” I explained. “Then the demon might come back and hurt—”

“Say it!” he snapped. “Say the damn word!”

I slammed my eyes shut, pursing my lips and shaking my head. There was no way I could do it. No way. Not after hearing what had happened the last time. 

The Father snarled and tore the crucifix from his necklace and pressed it against my forehead. He muttered words in a language I didn’t understand. “Enough excuses! Now say it!"

"Help," I whimpered.

"I'll help you once I'm sure—"

"No," I said. "That was the word. I asked for… help."

"Help?" He stared at me blankly, mouth hanging open as though processing something. “Did you say that you asked for… help?”

I nodded, shaken.

“Oh, Lord Almighty Above.” He heaved a sigh, pocketing his crucifix and sitting down in the chair next to my bed. “Thank God.”

The situation had only gotten more confusing. “I’m sorry, Father. Thank God… for what?”

He took a breath, then another. Eventually, he stood up and approached my bedside, placing a hand on my arm. “Things aren’t as bad as they seem.”

“They’re not? Does this mean I wasn’t possessed? That it wasn’t me that hurt Mama and Papa?”

Father Andrews’ smile faltered. “I don’t have much experience with this, so you’ll forgive my bluntness. But you deserve the truth.” He paused. His next words came slowly. “It’s clear to me that you really were possessed, Alex. And, for better or worse, that same force used you to commit violence against Joseph and Sharon. Through you, it killed them.”

My heart fell. 

In that moment, my world, small as it was, collapsed around me in slow motion. I shrank before Father Andrews. I wanted to keep shrinking— become tinier and tinier until there was nothing left of me and I wouldn’t feel this horrible guilt and shame. My body quaked with the fresh onset of tears. “Am I evil now? Will that demon keep possessing me?”

Father Andrews stared at me as though dumbstruck. “Demon?” 

I tried to respond, but it just came out as a torrent of ugly sobs. 

A moment later, he seemed to have realized something. He shook his head as though chastising himself and then pulled me close, wrapping me in one of the warmest embraces I’ve ever felt. “You weren’t possessed by a demon, Alex.” 

He squeezed me. 

“You were possessed by an angel.” 

[lowkeyclueless5137]

my kitten went missing since yesterday and I am feeling really sad right now. I can't stop thinking about him and worried if he is ok or not. I just want to have him back in my arms so I could kiss and hug him.

Just to calm myself down, I want to imagine Riddle having a little black kitten that he found around NRC. It was a stray, a little baby that is not even a week old. Riddle couldn't find its' mother, so he assumed either the mother cat leave her child, or something happen to the mother cat. So Riddle hurriedly bring the weak kitten back to his dorm when he didn't know what else to do.

He then tried to raise and help the kitten himself. But since he doesn't really know how to help a kitten nor raise them, there's some trouble on the way. But after some trials, research, and lots of questions about kittens to Silver and Trein-sensei (without him actually tell them why), he finally manage to help the kitten back to health.

Times goes by and the kitten grow bigger. The kitten is a really active and mischievous little fellow. It loves to play around and make a mess in Riddle's room, but he never (or can't) get angry at it. He at first want to just let it go, but the kitten always ran back to him and purring and show it's huge eyes towards Riddle. So now he continue to hid the kitten in his room without any of his dorm members notice.

One day, when he was to leave for class, without his knowing, the kitten ran pass his legs just before he lock his door room. When Riddle got back he was panicking when he found out his little kitten is missing. He make a wreck on his room, trying to find his kitten. This ruckus is what lead the other HB students to his room and then find out about his pet.

They all then panicking trying to find the kitten. It has been hours, and Riddle is worried for his kitten safety. Since the kitten is so small and have black fur, it is hard for everyone to find it.

The next day they still can't find it and Riddle is more quite than ever. Not even Strawberry tart and cute hedgehogs can lift his spirit. No one in the dorm know what to do. But then during lunch break Silver or someone come to the cafeteria carrying the black kitten, who is now meowing in its high pitched noise. Riddle, hearing it's cry, look at the cafetaria door and power walk to the person that carrying his kitten, while crying his eyes out calling the kitten's name.

What I want to say, Riddle really love the kitten and he for sure love to complaints about everyone to his kitten, while the kitten just pawed him on the face and kiss his cheek with its' nose.

...

I really miss my kitten 😭💔

Oh I'm so sorry for your kitty dissappearing. Hope the lil bby returns home safely. :'(

But also think positively! Sure the kitty will come back! As long as you believe in it, the chances are always higher! :D

I usually have cats around the block and there is a particular black one that keeps trying to break in my apartment weekly (they managed a few times) As such, I do know that cats usually get homesick after a good chunk of time. If they are attached to someone/something, they will come back.

Now... I'm gonna apply this to the idea you told me rn. Hope it takes your mind off for a bit and makes you feel a bit better :3

At first, Riddle most likely was in a pickle since this was a living being first and foremost. And he didn't know if the kitty had any allergies or disorders or anything that would compromise a normal cat's treatment.

In truth, he's just overthinking this. :'3

First days are hard and Riddle has no idea what to do. He does start to doubt himself since if he cannot even take care of a kitten, how was he supposed to treat people as a doctor? He starts to doubt that his mother was right about him having to become a doctor if he's this incapable of tending to a living being with much simpler needs.

But once he does keep a pace and gets used to it, it becomes more evident that it's more of a routine change he had to get used to. The kitten too had to get used to this as it was new and probably even scarier than for Riddle.

Definitely, Riddle does some research to have the recovery as quick and as efficient as possible. But he also tries to raise the kitten to the best of his abilities. He doesn't expect it to listen to him since start, because this was a cat. A cat cannot possibly understand human language since start. It was a young cat who was yet to gain a better understanding of it's sorroundings. So Riddle makes sure to have the kitten secured, usually on a side of his bed in a makeshift nest out of pillows and blankets to prevent it from falling off.

By time, the kitten gets used to it. It meows when it knows Riddle would come back. If by chance, the redhead runs late(maybe he nags someone or got an encounter with Floyd), the kitten would scratch at the door and meow, so Riddle alway finds it by his leg when he opens the door.

Riddle does get attached to the little bby, but he also knew that he had to give it away, to someone who could actually take care of the kitty. His mother could never approve of a pet, let alone a cat that makes a mess everywhere. So that thought does make him sad, but it was for the better. Doesn't help that the kitty returns to him whenever he tries to let it go outside and get over it.

So the attachment is there. :'3

One day, the kitty escapes, trying to follow after Riddle to classes, but it gets scared by the other students and thus gets lost through the school. Of course, Riddle didn't realise this until he came back and the panic was very real.

Meanwhile, the kitty was trying to return to the dorm, to it's 'home'. Being a kitty, even with students who spoke cat like Ruggie or Azul, they could bearly make out that the kitten wanted home. It was a young cat still and their meows weren't as good and precise as Lucius's.

The kitty happens to be passed from student to student, to the point they had to give it over to the next one since it would scratch, bite and refuse to eat food given by them.

In the end, it ends up at Silver. Silver did have a bit of a hard time too, which was surprisingly, but this is also what makes him to determine that the kitty had an attachment to someone and most likely is looking for its owner.

Meanwhile Riddle goes through a whole lot of mess. The students who did see the cat tried to give imput, but it fell flat since the kitty was passed so many times in between them that it was hard to even say who had it last. The other Heartslabyul students also try to help, but again, the trail of passing around was way too big and complicated to even determine who had it last.

Riddle was at his desperation when Silver finally finds him. He heard from Kalim how the redhead would look for a kitten. A black kitten, who happens to fit the description of the one Silver found and tried to take care of. He realised the little cat had an owner that was attached to.

It does become a heartfelt reunion. Especially since the kitten immediately dug it's little claws in Riddle's clothes, not wanting to let go. For the rest of the day, Riddle takes the kitty to all his classes and is absolutely in a great mood.

By the end, finally the redhead decides to properly keep it. He would come with an elaborate excuse to his mother, but for now, firstly he had the kitty wear a ribbon bow with a tag, in case it got lost again. :3

[ethereousdelirious]

FINALLY managed to write something for my special little sensitive crybaby princess OC. I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing.

There are a few context things I'd like to explain, so bear with meeee

(He has the flu in this. There's mentions of nausea at the end, but nothing happens with it)

Some Context (this is optional so just scroll down to the bolded text if you want to skip):

I've written about these characters before, but I've changed the world and plot of the novel they're supposed to be in, so if you remember anything about that world, just flush it.

Since this is essentially fanfiction of a story that doesn't exist yet, here are some things you're supposed to know about the characters: All of them are in their mid-20s. Hewitt and Sterling are close friends and have recently met Gilles, who had to move out of his family home after they all moved back to France without him (long story). Or fantasy France. I haven't decided if this fic takes place in the "real" word, so to speak, or a fantasy/alternate world. I'll use real world terms for now to make it easier. Gilles is Black and originally from France. Hewitt is white and British. Sterling is extremely mixed race and American.

You'll see Hewitt making vampire jokes at Gilles and referring to Sterling as "Adonis," which are both references to inside jokes woth the characters that I'm not gonna bother to explain because it doesn't matter

Sterling uses Celsius measurements when he's trying to be courteous to his European friends and Fahrenheit when he's alone or distracted.

Okay das all I think

Story starts here

Gilles’ belongings sat in a disordered pile on the cobblestones, dwarfed by the narrow three-story house looming behind them. He swallowed, throat stinging. This was it.

Sterling bumped him a little on his way to the front door, murmuring his apology. Gilles scarcely heard. Even that light touch had made him flinch, sent goosebumps all up and down his arm. His heart pounded. This was really it.

God, he didn't know these people. What if they killed him in his sleep?

“Gilles?” Hewitt bumped him with his hip. That, too, hurt more than it should have, made him shudder. “Are you waiting for an invitation?”

Gilles shook himself and forced a smile. These were his friends. New friends, yes. But friends. “It's only polite, you know.”

“Fine, but just know I have garlic hanging on all the walls.” Hewitt grinned and beckoned Gilles to follow him over the threshold. “Come inside! Oh, but grab a box or Adonis will yell at us.”

“Have I ever yelled at you?” Sterling asked, appearing in the doorway. “Gilles, don't listen to him. I'll need you to help me with the furniture anyway, since Heaven knows Hewitt won't be able to.”

Gilles nodded, following Sterling to his dresser. The glossy wood gleamed in the late summer sun, and the beveled edges dug into Gilles’ palms.

“Well,” Hewitt said, “have fun carrying that up two flights of stairs.”

“There's still plenty of work for you to do,” Sterling said, nodding at the various boxes surrounding them. “But being a distraction is not among them. Ready, Gilles?”

“Ah—” Gilles swallowed and his throat stung again. Worse, this time. “Yes.”

His muscles protested the weight of the dresser at once. Every discomfort, which had felt so insignificant not 30 minutes ago, magnified itself as he shuffled across the living room.

That wasn't right.

He and Sterling had carried this out of his house— out of the house with no problems. It wasn't even that heavy. So why were his legs shaking? Why couldn't he breathe? They were still on flat ground.

“Coming up on the stairs,” Gilles said breathlessly, steering Sterling toward them.

Sterling gave him a quizzical look, his dark eyes narrowing. “Are you alright?” he asked. “Need a break?”

“I— N-no, I…” Gilles shook his head and had to stop talking to focus on ascending the stairs. His knees bumped the edges of the dresser and the sharp pain rippled outward along his skin. “I'm fine.” The words burned in his throat.

“Al‐right.” Sterling furrowed his brow and hefted the dresser.

He seemed to be doing a lot better than Gilles was, despite the obvious effort. His breathing, though heavy, remained steady as they bypassed the landing and continued up the stairs, and he was remarkably steady on his feet. He seemed to have the layout of the house memorized, oftentimes turning before Gilles could even give him an instruction.

Not that Gilles was good for much at the moment. Pain pooled in his palms. The dresser might as well have sliced them open, though the only liquid on him was sweat. It ran down his temples, down his back.

“It's here on the left,” Sterling said, though there was no need. The doorway to the right clearly led outside, and the only other option was to go left.

Dutifully, Gilles shuffled into the vacant bedroom, and then the dresser slipped from his hands and thudded onto the carpet. His whole body shook, his thighs tensing and releasing in minute spasms. He clung to the side of the dresser, staring at the silver dots glittering across the beige carpeting.

“Gilles?” Sterling sounded like he was back at the bottom of the stairs. But that couldn't be right. Maybe it was just… his breathing…. He was breathing so hard his chest hurt, and it was loud. “Gilles?”

He went down slowly, eyes open, and the room tilted in a sickening whirl of white and beige, and the ceiling light seared his eyes.

Somebody had a hard grip on his ankles, shoving the leather of his low-cut boots hard into the tendons.

Gilles’ throat hurt.

He stared at the ceiling light and his breath came back to him.

“Gilles? Are you with me?” Sterling asked.

Gilles lifted his head. Sterling… Sterling was holding his feet up by the heels, staring at him with clinical concern.

Heat flooded Gilles’ face. “What are you doing?”

Sterling let go of him and sat back on his heels. “Facilitating blood flow to your brain.” He cocked his head as Gilles sat up, staring at him. “Do you faint often?”

“N-no.” Gilles squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. It hurt to talk. “I've never fainted before.” A wave of chills rolled over his skin and he shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. How embarrassing. He must have looked like such a fool, overexerting himself like that.

Not that it should have been so difficult. What was wrong with him?

“Er, Gilles. You're shaking.”

“I'm sorry,” Gilles croaked, the words burning like acid in his throat.

“What— No, It's 28 degrees and you're shaking.” Sterling leaned forward and hesitated. “May I?”

Gilles blinked at him, tears pricking his eyes. “28 degrees?”

“Oh—” Sterling huffed and planted his hand on Gilles’ forehead. “You're sweating. That's good. How's your head?”

Gilles' breath caught in his throat. He flinched away from Sterling and coughed into his shoulder, all his muscles complaining at the motion.

“Never mind.” Sterling sat back again.

Oh. Gilles shivered and tried to sit up, but couldn't tear his arms away from his chest. “I'm so sorry,” he croaked, clawing at his collar. “I didn't know— I can—” What? There was nothing he could do. He was sick, and all his worldly belongings were sitting in the street. “I, I can— I can still—” He moved to stand up, forcing his arms down despite the painful chills running through him. Another coughing fit nearly knocked him down again, and he clung to his dresser, legs wobbling.

“Gilles, relax.” Sterling stood and, not asking permission this time, caught him under the arm. “Can you manage the stairs?”

“Y-yes…” He would manage the stairs. He'd have to be half-dead before he'd let anyone carry him.

Hewitt's puzzled expression melted into one of alarm. “What happened?” he asked, rushing forward, then darting out of the way like he'd changed his mind.

Gilles couldn't help but wince in anticipation of his humiliating episode repeated.

But Sterling remained silent as he guided Gilles to the couch, only speaking once Gilles was seated. “Gilles’ come down with something,” he said, calm as ever. “The flu, I think.”

“Really?” Hewitt peered at him like a child, blue eyes gleaming like marbles. “But you helped us move all that furniture onto the wagon.”

Gilles shrugged. If he’d been sore then, he hadn't thought much of it. It was a lot of heavy lifting, and he’d already been for a run that morning. But the reminder sent a spike of nausea through him, and a chill that had nothing to do with his fever. “I'm terribly sorry,” he said, squeezing himself in a vain attempt to ward off the cold. “Really, I just need a moment, and then I can—”

“You're crazy,” Hewitt said bluntly.

Sterling nodded like that settled something and leaned over to open the blinds, revealing the street and all Gilles’ boxes. “Hewitt, make sure nobody gets any funny ideas, will you? I've got some phone calls to make.”

“This is a very safe area,” Hewitt said once Sterling had gone. “No one will get any ‘funny ideas.’”

“Oh,” Gilles said faintly. Words and meanings were rapidly becoming two distinct entities. His body ached with the cold and all he could really do was shiver and think about how badly this all hurt.

“I do wish he'd been a bit more bossy, though.” Hewitt sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I never get sick, and Sterling really never gets sick, so I'm not sure what to do. Do you want to lie down?”

Gilles freed a hand and pressed it to his forehead. This was too much. He needed a blanket and he couldn't just borrow one, nor could he bear the idea of asking Hewitt to search through his boxes until he found one. So he'd have to get up. And find one of his pillowcases while he was at it, because he couldn't bring himself to subject his locs to the tweed throw pillows surrounding him on the couch.

Nothing for it.

Gilles got up.

It was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

His knees didn't want to work and his muscles ached.

But he was standing.

“Oh!” Hewitt stepped back to give him some space. “Look, you really don't have to worry—”

“I just need a few things,” Gilles muttered, and made for the door.

Hewitt followed him. “I could get them for you! Unless they're… secrets? I suppose? Do you have a lot of things you don't want me to see?”

The summer sun engulfed Gilles, soothing some of the pain from the chills. Cobblestones burned under his knees as he fumbled with a random box, his hands shaking.

“Why don't you just let me help you?” Hewitt asked. “I promise, I only judge people I don't like.” He stepped forward and opened the box for Gilles, revealing stacks of folded shirts.

“I just…” Gilles fell back on his heels, head hanging. This was a mess. He was embarrassing himself. “You and Sterling have done so m-much for me…” He stifled a few coughs into his elbow, tears burning in his eyes. He'd taken and taken, accepted their kindness with nothing but a few paltry words of gratitude, and now here he was, taking again. It was terribly rude.

“Well, look,” Hewitt said, “you can repay us by not worrying us sick, alright? Just sit back and tell me what you're looking for. And let me know if there's anything you don't want me to touch.”

This, at last, was too much. Gilles nodded, but the tears pooling in his eyes finally spilled over and he couldn't speak except to choke out an apology in French that Hewitt wouldn't have been able to understand anyway.

“Don't cry!” Hewitt's fingertips touched down on Gilles’ back. “I'm sorry! What did I say?”

“I'm sorry,” Gilles said breathlessly, coughing. “I'm not usually so—” He broke off, falling into another fit of coughing.

“Sick,” Hewitt finished for him, moving his hand to rest on the back of Gilles’ neck. “You're burning up.”

Gilles shook his head. “I'm c-cold.”

“Well, have you got anything in here?”

“Um…” Gilles blinked away tears. Did he? “Maybe?”

“Let’s have a look.” Hewitt wasted no time, pawing through Gilles’ shirt with total disregard for how carefully he'd folded them. “There's a lot of green in here.”

Gilles wiped his face. “It's my favorite color.”

“Yes, I can tell.” Hewitt continued digging through the box, until he finally produced the gray sweatshirt Gilles wore running on cold mornings. “How about this?”

Gilles nodded and took it, only remembering to thank Hewitt after it was halfway over his chest. The sunlight was nice on his skin but really couldn't help with the bone-deep chills running through him.

“Anything else?” Hewitt asked, his gaze darting down Gilles’ body in short, jagged lines.

Gilles pulled his locs free of the sweatshirt’s collar and nodded. He was still freezing, but… the cobblestones were warm and the street was quiet and…

Hewitt snapped his fingers. “Don't fall asleep!”

“Sorry…” Gilles ran his hands down his face and tried to rally. “Ah… Something. Silk or satin. A shirt, or one of my pillowcases.” He blinked slowly, his vision blurring a little. “Please.”

“Well, you've got a silk shirt in here, but—”

“S'fine.” Slowly, Gilles reached out for it. Even that small motion took twice as much effort as it should have. How was he going to get back inside? He curled his fingers around the fabric and stared at it.

“I think you need to lie down,” Hewitt said hesitantly. “You don't seem… Can you stand?”

Gilles shook his head.

The world softened to a dreamy blur as Hewitt manhandled Gilles inside. The effort of moving was almost enough to make him feel warm, but… Well, he wouldn't notice either way soon.

The couch was the only thing in the living room, the satin was the only thing on his skin. He lowered himself, aiming the shirt toward one of the throw pillows.

Sound came in little gentle washes of awareness and a bitter chill in his chest.

“Sterling!”

“Yes, good to see you, but please keep it down.”

Thudding and murmurs and footfalls.

“He's still out?”

“I don't think he's feeling well at all. Earlier, I mean—”

“He's shivering.”

Unfamiliar voices. The rush of the sink.

“Last one, I think.”

“Oh, good.”

Gilles awoke in sunset colors, curled on his side under a thick blanket. His dry throat burned and his chest spasmed with sharp, deep coughs.

Water.

He sat up, already breathing heavily, his vision narrow and vivid. The kitchen wasn't all that far, but… It might as well have been miles.

“Don't get up,” said a voice.

Gilles flinched and turned and found Sterling seated in an armchair with a book in his lap.

“Unless you need the bathroom,” Sterling continued.

“N…” Gilles started, but his voice cracked and he started to cough again, eyes streaming. His ribs already ached with the strain and now his head pounded with each forceful exhale.

Sterling got up without a word and sat beside him, holding a glass of water up for Gilles to take.

He seized it and drained it as soon as his body would let him, and fell against the back of the couch with his chest heaving. “I'm sorry,” he panted, staring at the ceiling as his face burned. “Th-thank you, Sterling. Forgive me.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Sterling said. “You're our friend and we're happy to help you. Now.” He stood up and set the empty glass on the coffee table, where it must have been resting before. “I'd like to take your temperature, and it would be good if you would eat something.”

Gilles occupied himself getting back under the blanket. It was one of his own, thank god, and he'd managed to work it into a tangle.

“You're still cold?” Sterling asked. He moved as though to press a hand to Gilles’ forehead and stopped abruptly. “Here.” He held out his hands. Gilles passed him the blanket and Sterling shook it out, then tucked Gilles in like a child.

“Thank you,” Gilles mumbled, looking down. His own weakness was terribly embarrassing, but the way Sterling looked after him was so matter-of-fact, so natural. How could he resent it? “Why are you doing this?”

“Just as I said.” Sterling looked at him, his brown eyes nearly black in the low light. “You're my friend.”

“Yes, but…” Gilles shut his mouth. This was all extremely rushed, this… this intimacy. This kindness. “You don't know me.”

“I will,” Sterling said. “Is it bothering you? I can go.”

“No.” Gilles pulled the blanket up, unable to meet Sterling's eyes.

“Good. Maybe I take your temperature now?”

Gilles kept his gaze fixed on Sterling's hands, their pale brown looking ghostly in the light that filtered in through the blinds. This connection, however sudden, was perfectly real. If Sterling meant him harm, he'd had a dozen opportunities to deal it.

“I supposed I haven't been entirely honest,” Sterling said, lifting a glass thermometer to Gilles’ lips. Gilles opened his mouth. “There is a reason I like you so much.” Sterling angled the thermometer in, slid it carefully over Gilles’ teeth. “It's because Hewitt likes you. I don't think you know how rare that is.”

With the thermometer in his mouth, Gilles could only look at Sterling curiously. Hewitt had only ever been friendly to him. Albeit his bit about vampires had been an unusual way to break the ice, but Gilles could take a joke.

Sterling settled back into his armchair, bracing his elbows on his knees. “He was making fun of you that day. He didn't expect you to get the joke, much less continue it.”

Silence stretched out between them for a long moment. Gilles muffled a few coughs behind his closed lips, tensing to keep the thermometer in place without shattering it.

For some reason, Sterling laughed and sat up. “No, of course that wouldn't offend you,” he said warmly. “Hewitt is a wonderful judge of character, but his criteria are a bit unorthodox. I'm glad you aren't offended.”

This was more words than Sterling had ever strung together before. It had to be some kind of record.

Gilles sighed through his nose and slumped against the couch cushions. His body heat had finally caught up to him again, but even the thought of letting the blanket slip was enough to make him tense up. His eyes wandered around the living room, though not much had changed since his arrival that morning. The same floral prints hung on the walls, the same furniture filled out the expanse of flooring that transitioned into the kitchen. Only the minutiae had changed, little things Sterling had brought. A glass of water and a pitcher stood on the coffee table beside a small stack of handkerchiefs. And on the couch, Gilles’ silk shirt had been replaced with a proper pillow in a black satin pillowcase. He smiled a little, tracing the lines of his initials on the corner. GB, in wobbly yellow embroidery floss. Adéle had been so uncharacteristically shy when she’d shown him.

“I hope you don't mind,” Sterling said. “Hewitt mentioned you'd been looking for your pillowcases.”

Gilles shook his head, checked himself, then nodded. That was no good; that didn't mean anything. He smiled instead, wearily.

Sterling got up. “Let's take a look at your temperature.”

“Mm.” Gilles took the thermometer out of his mouth and squinted at it. He'd never gotten the hang of translating numbers to English and his head was far too fuzzy to really apply himself to it. He passed the thermometer over to Sterling rather than speak.

“39.4,” Sterling said. He pressed his tongue beneath his lower lip, brow furrowing. “I suppose that's alright as long as you stay hydrated. And lucid.” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you lucid?”

“Yes,” Gilles said, and couldn't keep himself from adding, “unfortunately.” Speaking hurt his throat, but the pitcher on the table seemed… inert. Unsatisfactory.

For some reason, this made Sterling relax. “I was afraid you might be too stoic for your own good,” he said, and poured Gilles another glass of water. “What do you want to eat? Anything you want, I'll get it.”

Gilles looked at the water on the table. He'd have to get out of the blanket to pick it up, and it would be cold. And it would sit in his stomach, just sit there. Anything would. “I’m… not particularly hungry.” A few coughs forced their way up his throat.

“I know you're not,” Sterling said patiently, pushing the glass closer to Gilles. “You have a fever of 103. But I also know you haven't eaten since this morning. Just tell me what you think you can stomach.”

If Sterling knew what a particular torture this was, he didn't seem to care. Gilles only just resisted the urge to hide his face in his blanket. “I don't know… Coffee.”

“What else?”

“Nothing,” Gilles moaned, giving into his childish desire to not be seen. He tucked his head under the blanket and buried his face in his hands. Every instinct screamed at him to raise his head and apologize like an adult. Sterling was only trying to help, and he did need to eat.

“Can you be convinced?” Sterling asked after a beat.

“What?” Gilles raised his head. Sterling was looking at him with the same patient concern as always, no trace of annoyance in his face or posture.

“Can you be convinced?” Sterling asked. “Or would you like me to leave you alone?”

Gilles just stared at him. Thoughts came fast and shallow. Sterling… leaving? Not hungry. Shaking.

“You did tell me you were lucid,” Sterling reminded him, but with a small smile. Teasing.

“I know… I just— I can't really think.”

“That's the opposite of lucid.”

“I'm sorry.” Gilles closed his eyes. “I'm not trying to be difficult.”

“It's alright.” Sterling was quiet for a moment, shifting in his armchair. “What about hot chocolate?”

Well, it was better than anything Gilles could come up with. He opened his eyes, staring at Sterling's hands where they rested in his lap. “That would be fine.” God, he was like a prince sitting here, forcing Sterling to dote on him.

Of course, Sterling didn't see it that way. He only nodded and got up. “Good.”

—

Hewitt came in around the time that the taste of chocolate started to go sour on Gilles’ tongue. At least the warm liquid had warded off the worst of his chills, but, as he'd feared earlier, his stomach didn't appreciate the intrusion.

He kept hold of the mug, letting it warm his hands, and looked up at the sound of the door opening.

“Did you miss me?” Hewitt asked, flopping down in the armchair beside Sterling.

“Terribly,” Sterling said, but he kept his eyes on Gilles.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Gilles forced a wobbly smile to his lips and shifted, bending forward a little to try to control the nausea building in his belly. “Where were you?”

“Seeing Adonis’ friends home,” Hewitt said airily. “You slept right through their visit, you know.”

Gilles frowned. He had heard voices, hadn't he? The memories came murky and cold, disturbed by the pressure in his stomach.

“They helped move your things upstairs,” Hewitt continued.

Gilles ran his teeth over his bottom lip. “Please thank them for me…” He shifted again. The nausea was building, but slowly. He just couldn't… Couldn't get comfortable; it pushed on him. Hunching over had only helped for so long, but straightening up didn't really help either.

“We made your bed, if you'd like to go to sleep,” Sterling said after a pause.

They'd both been eyeing Gilles with varying degrees of concern and suspicion; their eyes burned on his skin.

Bed… That would be good. If only he could manage the trip up the stairs. His stomach wouldn't like it. Even just sitting up was nearly unbearable.

“Maybe… maybe in a moment.” Gilles shifted yet again and laced his hands over his stomach.

“You're terribly shy, you know,” Hewitt said. “If you tell us what's wrong, we can help. And you needn't be embarrassed. I told you, we never get sick. Looking after you is a bit of a novelty, to be honest.”

“Hewitt,” Sterling hissed.

They kept saying that, that there was no need to be embarrassed. Something in Gilles just couldn't believe it. All his ailments seemed so childlike, something he should have outgrown.

“Or you can keep your secrets,” Hewitt said. “But we didn't find anything particularly scandalous while we were looking for your bedding—”

“Hewitt.”

Gilles would have smiled if his stomach wasn't bothering him so much. The pressure seemed to have reached a peak, but he wasn't getting used to it at all, just stuck with the sensation of a hearthstone lodged firmly in his abdomen. Instinct took him and he doubled over, both arms wrapped around himself. “Sorry; I'm alright,” he said to ward off any words of concern. “I just… need a m-moment.”

“Now what's wrong with you?” Hewitt asked. “Are you dizzy?”

“It's really nothing. I get like this somet—” Gilles cut himself off with a hard swallow— “s-sometimes when I have a fever. My…” He bit his lip and released it. Why couldn't he just be normal? Why was this happening? “My stomach's a bit upset.”

“That can happen,” Sterling said. “Do you need to be sick?”

“I'd rather not.”

“But do you n—”

“No, Sterling.” Gilles grit his teeth and swallowed again, squeezing his eyes shut. “I'm sorry.”

“Sh, it's alright.”

“Do you ever get angry?”

“Oh, he does,” Hewitt chimed in. “Probably won't ever get angry at you, though.”

“Mm…” Who were these people? Gilles’ head spun, thoughts aimless and shallow. He might as well have been falling, picking up speed with every passing second. “I think I need to stay here,” he said. “I… I'll lie down properly in a moment, if— if you could just…” Words failed him then, and a terrible coughing fit jarred his ribs and his stomach, rattled his head.

“Yes,” Sterling said. His clothing raised against the fabric of the armchair as he stood. “We won't go far. Call us when you need us.”

Gilles didn't say a word.

[scullysexual]

Spooky Mulder's UFO Club.

After losing a bet, Scully is forced to join Spooky Mulder’s UFO Club. (actually it’s called The Study of Unexplained Phenomena Project, and it’s a class not a club, but whatever) Ridiculed throughout the school by students and staff alike, Scully wants to get it over with as soon as she can and come “back down to earth” when a class trip up to Alaska, to do their own investigations into the mysterious deaths of four hikers, finds them stranded with an unknown virus wreaking havoc and a woods that becomes its own entity at night, Scully realises this dumb little class packs a lot more horror than she bargained for.

---

Based on the Dyatlav Pass Incident, this is an idea that me and one of my friends have had for a while. While this is solely written by myself, I do have her to thank for the idea to turn it into a fic.

Despite having four chapters already written I'm not sure if I'll ever post the rest. If you'd like to see more in the future then please do let me know as that will contribute a lot in my decision.

This fic is a high school au (because I cannot write a normal case file to save my life) It features an Ethan/Scully ship and has brief mentions of bi-polar disorder. I also know nothing about American school or America in general. This is unbetaed but so much fun to write.

@today-in-fic

Why she had agreed to come here, she has no idea. It wasn’t like her presence would be missed if her current situation was anything to go by: stood in the corner of the kitchen, drinking subpar alcohol that tasted more like piss than the fruity cocktail it was supposed to resemble, and being ignored by virtually everyone around her. She should leave, could leave, nobody would stop her…except she didn’t have a car to drive herself home in. Dana rolls her eyes, the anger shimmering in her chest as she revisits the argument she’d only just had with her father before she’d left for the party. Ultimately, he didn’t think she needed one, she had him, her mother, and even BJ to drive her wherever she needed. Dana knew that in actual fact it was so she’d stay under his thumb, know where she was, and more importantly, who she was with. With her own car, she’d be free to go when she liked and her father had made that mistake with her sister: On her seventeenth birthday Melissa had been gifted a car and a year later she’d used it to drive herself down to California to be with her girlfriend without a word said to anyone. How Dana wished her sister had taken her with her.

The worse part of it all, she knew how to drive but after Melissa’s escape it was Dana who had suffered the consequences. Even sharing with BJ was out of the question after a Manic Missy episode had left BJ’s car busted in a ditch. It had been the funds for Dana’s car that had brought BJ his new one. Instead, she relied on Ethan to ferry her around, something she knew he hated.

In fact, Ethan was why she was here, begging her to come to this party because Marcus only turns 18 once and it’s gonna be wild. She had things to do- a Biology test to study for on Monday, and maybe, just maybe, she wanted to take some time out for herself. But Ethan had begged and nagged and perhaps muttered something about having an uncool girlfriend and no, normally she wouldn’t let a comment like that bother her but it had been Ethan who’d said it and Ethan was the one currently keeping her higher up on the high school pecking order than a geeky, ginger, and glasses-wearing girl should be. And so she had caved in, gone to this party at the behest of Ethan only to be ditched within the hour. Where the hell was he anyway?

She finds him in the living room, sat amongst his friends as they try to play beer pong and fail miserably.

“Hey Danes,” Ethan greets when he sees her. “Where’re you been this whole time?”

“Kitchen,” Dana responds and doesn’t elaborate. “Can I talk to you?”

Ethan stares at her when she says no more and fortunately gets the hint.

“Sure,” he says, standing up, wobbling a bit as he does so. He makes an effort to laugh at himself and some of his friends let out a light chuckle as he slowly manoeuvres himself around the furniture, coming towards her.

“Sup?” he asks, leaning against the wall for what Dana assumes is balance. He’s so close to her Dana can smell the same pissy drink she was drinking earlier and takes a step back in disgust.

“I want to go home,” she says plainly.

Ethan chuckles lightly. “Dana, I…” he lets out a huff of air. “I don’t think I can take you home.”

Her stomach drops as she looks at him, eyes glazed over and a stupid grin on his face. Ethan was her only ride home.

“Maybe you could ask someone els3?” Dana scoffs. “Or…or stay. Plenty of people are staying, camp out in a spare room with the girls or something…”

She doesn’t remind him of how little she knows anyone here. “It’s fine,” she says instead. “I’’ll…I’ll just walk it.”

“Dana, I can’t let you walk it.”

“Then I’ll call my dad.”

“He doesn’t know you’re here, remember.”

She stares at him for a moment.

“Could you not sober up?” she asks in a quiet voice.

“Dana…the party’s just started.”

She nods. Got it. No ride home from Ethan tonight.

“Ring this house when you get home, okay?” He starts heading back towards his friends. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“I don’t even have-“ But Ethan is gone, back to his beer pong game. “Marcus’ number…” Dana finishes. She watches him one last moment, completely ignoring her as he laughs and plays and takes another gulp of his drink, then she stalks through the crowd and out the front door.

The garden is mostly empty. With the main birthday party happening in the basement and the curtains drawn, no one would be any wiser to a bunch of high schoolers getting drunk inside. Dana sits down on a bench overlooking Marcus’ mini golf course A few stoners and those also unwanted loiter around but they ignore her as much as she ignores them. The only thing on her mind was how was she getting home.

“Marcus would be the prick to have a golf course, wouldn’t he?”

Dana turns around to the source of the voice. There stands a boy she actually recognises; tall, brown hair, sporty. The type of boy every girl (and maybe boy) would whisper about, want, a trophy boyfriend that would get them high place on the pecking order…if only he wasn’t so low himself. His reputation destroys any hope of being popular, of being wanted by any of the significant girls, so much so that Phoebe Green refuses to acknowledge a relationship between the two ever even happened. He is Spooky Mulder to pretty much everyone, a disgrace to the science world of their school, and a joke to everyone else. The sweatshirt he always wears bearing the letters TS0UP is the cause of that damning reputation.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?”

Dana regards him cooly. “I know who you are, Mulder.”

He smiles at that, a smile that would make any girl weak at the knees, but Dana stands strong, watching him with the caution of watching a bear (or a Big Foot, the creature popping into her mind but she banishes that again. What did Big Foot look like anyway?)

They shared a Psychology class together. Dana only took it because she was taking pretty much every other science, may as well tack psychology onto the list as well. Mulder, however, seemed to generally enjoy it, always listening, always doing well in tests. It was his participation that dragged his grades down, though, he never spoke, just listened. Anywhere else and that would have been endearing.

There was another time they’d met each other, however. 6th grade Geography were they had been paired together for a project. There topic was Bashful Peak in Alaska and they had spent weeks building a model of the mountain- weekends and after school spent at Mulder’s house creating it was a very fond memory Dana still had. They had done a presentation on it as well, both received an A+ for their work.

They hadn’t spoken to each other much after that, only a brief smile in the halls. When they got to high school, Dana climbed the ladder as Mulder fell, and they stopped acknowledging each other all together.

“I’m just wondering why you’re here,” Dana questions as kindly as she can. He went to less parties than she did.

Mulder shrugs. “Wanted to see what all the fuss was about, I didn’t get in the front door, though. You, however…” He cocks his head to the side. “I didn’t realise you were best friends with Marcus Shelby.”

At that she can’t help but smile.

“I’m not. Ethan…” She tries to find the words to describe. “Marcus knows of Ethan so…”

“So you got invited as a plus one. But you’re not in there, you’re out here.”

“I’m trying…I want to go home…Ethan…is- was- my ride back and…” She didn’t want to explain to a stranger that she doesn’t have a car.

“But Ethan is passed out somewhere?” Dana doesn’t say otherwise. “I’ll tell you what…” Mulder makes his way into the golf course and grabs hold of a club while still holding his drink in his other hand and holds it out for her. “Get the ball over the fence and beyond the wall, you got yourself a free ride”

Dana eyes the club and the wall nervously. “And if I don’t get it over I lose my ride?”

Mulder smiles. “I’ll still drive you-“ Relief spreads through her. “But…If I get it over you join T-soup.”

The relief vanishes. Her face drops as she eyes up his sweatshirt. Spooky Mulder’s UFO Club is a joke. No self-respecting person would ever go near it and what made it worse was it was, in fact, a class and not a club, a complete waste of school resources. He had to be kidding.

“Why?” she asks.

“Why…?”

“Why do you want me to join?”

Mulder shrugs. “I guess we could use more people who think like you. Makes it interesting.”

“No.” she outright says.

Mulder grins, undeterred. “You better hope I miss then.” He shakes the club in his hand but before Dana can grab it he pulls it back. “Just one more question. You’re not drunk, are you? I wouldn’t want you to be at a disadvantage.”

“I’m not. Are you?”

“Not a drop,” he answers.

Dana regards him. “You’re drinking,” she says, nodding to his cup.

“Orange juice.”

She doesn’t believe him.

“Try it if you don’t believe me.”

She takes the cup from his offered hand, drinking a small sip. It was orange juice. Only orange juice. She hands it back to him.

“Give me the club then.”

At the end of the day, it didn’t matter if she got the ball over the wall, she was getting her part of the deal regardless. She only starts to worry when it’s Mulder’s turn. He places the ball down, lines the club up with it as perfect as he believes it is and hits it. The ball soars over the fence, pass where Dana’s landed, all the way over to the wall.

Her heart sinks as Mulder smiles at her, unable to hide his joy.

“I’ll order you a T-soup sweatshirt as soon as possible.”

This was going to be the end of her.

[wizardfrog69]

Helppp ii just watched girl interrupted and i have an idea, yosano as an mental hospital doctor(idk how to call it, just a person who helps with the patients😭) and her mentee nb s/o whos a patient here, s/o might have borderline disorder if u want

Sorry if its complicated or cringey 💀, just a random though of my head

I just watched girl interrupted and it's a good film 10/10 would recommend, I also read some more about bpd but I'm probably gonna read more. So idk if s/o is supposed to be a mentee or patient so ill go with patient. Thanks for the request! :)

'•.¸♡ patient ♡¸.•'

Psychologist!Yosano x mentally ill!gn!reader

I'm not a mental health professional so I'm not gonna mention the mental illness cuz I could portrait it wrong or something and I don't want to mislead people and this isn't romanticising any sort of mental illness!

Fluff

Tw!!! Suicidal thoughts

If this subject is triggering in anyway please do not read, your mental wellbeing is more important.

Masterlist

Enjoy! :)

You just signed yourself into a mental hospital to get better, you were promised this place was going to make you feel way better. The hospital halls were as meek and blank as one would expect, dull colours and emptiness for the most part. The room you were assigned was a bit more lively yet the bars on the windows made you feel like you were trapped there for entirety.

Your days there were miserable and boring, there was nothing to do there, not like there was anything to do at home either, if you were home you would probably be laying in bed sleeping or looking at the ceiling think up little stories in your head. Here you could stare at a different wall and a roommate telling you about something which you only drowned out to be background noise.

You had forgotten why you signed yourself in, if you were completely honest with yourself you felt as though there was no hope left for you, people should have just let you to die but they couldn't and had to intervene.

The hospital made you see a new doctor, you've never seen her before but many of the other patients there said she was only there to steal their money and she works for the capitalists as do all therapist and others, or that's what you believed, maybe you were just told to believe that and everything you believe in is a thought forced upon you by someone else.

You were told to walk into an office and as soon as you saw your new doctor your swore your heart skipped a beat or two. She must have realised you weird around her because she told you it was okay to sit down. She must have thought you were nervous, hopefully she doesn't know how you feel about her, she was so beautiful and her voice was like heaven to your ears.

The only thing you looked forward in your day was visiting her in her office where you talk about everything and anything but your feelings for her, she us your doctor after all and you didn't want to see another one. All you had on your mind was her, when you awoke, during breakfast, lunch, dinner, when you stared at the TV screen the only thing you thought about was her and her only.

How long has it been now, 5 months? 6? You had a plan to confess your feelings and you knew you were getting out soon you wanted to ask doctor Yosano to see you after you left.

You entered her office as per usual but this time she drew your attention to your smile, it was the first time she saw a genuine smile from you. You told her you had a surprise for her but only if she could confirm that you would be leaving some time soon. You didn't hate the place just that it wasn't a place for you, with all the people and all and beside you couldn't do anything with sharp objects so how were you possible supposed to cook?

After carefully confirming you would be leaving that week you decided to ask her to meet you a day after your leave from the hospital in a park near by. She agreed to your little idea because you seemed so happy from it.

You were waiting at the park, sitting on a cold bench. You saw Yosano approach the bench and you stood up. 'I need to tell you something Ako.' Yosano smiled to herself from the nickname you've been calling her a while. 'What is it?' She asked in her usual tone. 'I think I like you, like I want to spend time with you and stuff.' Your eyes were filled with hope, completely different from the ones which saw the hospital for the first time.

Yosano didn't know how to respond, you were no longer her patient so it could workout but could the two of you really work out? She asked you to take a walk while she can think about it and decide while talking to one another. After walking for a few minutes she decided to date you as she also developed feelings for you over time.

༺♡༻ 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 ⋆ 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 ༺♡༻

As you can tell I have no idea how Yosano's personality is.

I'm really bad at ending stuff.

I'm thinking of writing more for anyone from the ada but idk who or what I should write yet.

Have a wonderful day/night and don't forget to drink plenty of water and stay safe! :)

-lots of love, Az

[scary-monsters]

I genuinely don't know how much longer I can do this

I try to keep mental health shit off this blog as much as possible bc that's not what it's for, it's supposed to be a place to share the things I make and to support others that love the same characters as I do. But also I need to be human sometimes

I haven't been getting enough sleep, my body won't let me rest more than 6 hours a night because I'm constantly riddled with anxiety and the pressure to work work work, be productive, do things or else you're useless.

I don't eat nearly enough because I can't afford to buy groceries most weeks and rarely have time to cook on the days I work. Most of the time I eat one meal a day and that's only on my 30min break at work. My body doesn't even like to take anything more than that.

I haven't bought new clothes in at least 2 years, because I can't afford to and why would I when I never go anywhere except work? If I have a day off I don't have the energy to try and look nice, I throw on old jeans and a t-shirt. And it sucks because clothing has always been a passion of mine and I used to take so much pride in the way I present myself. I miss that part of me.

I'm miserable all the time, if I'm at work I'm only thinking about suicide. I cry all the time. Yes I go to therapy, yes I have a psychiatrist, yes I take medication for my disorder. But it feels like nothing helps anymore.

My therapist asked me two days ago what the barriers to my goals and happiness are and I didn't even hesitate when I answered "work". My job is draining me to a point that is scary for me, I feel trapped in it because no matter how many applications I do, I always get 'no's. The jobs I do have a good shot at pay significantly less than what I currently make, so I can't risk losing that pay. I live by myself, I pay for everything by myself. I don't have anyone else to lean on.

We recently had a loss in the family, and while I handled it pretty well it also brought up all the other loss I've experienced in my life, and there's been a lot. To a point where if my mom calls and says "I need to talk to you", I immediately assume someone else has passed. So all I can think about lately is all those people and all the missed opportunities I had with them.

I'm tired and I don't know what to do, I feel lost and I can't help looking at suicide as my only option to get out of how shitty everything feels all the time. I'm only happy when I'm making art or writing or talking to friends, but when I don't have the energy to do those things?? What then? I sit here and stare at a screen and cry and wish I could be anyone other than myself. I can't measure up, and I'm kinda tired of trying.

I had to call in today because I can't do it, I feel myself falling apart at the seams, I've been snapping at coworkers and having attitude with customers, that's not me, but I feel like I'm losing myself. But because I called in I've now lost a quarter of my paycheck for this week. Every single day I have to pick whether I'd prefer experiencing suicidal ideation for 10.5 hours at work or sitting at home and feeling lost/lonely and crying instead.

I've been pretty good at hiding it and masking this year but idk, I don't have the energy to do it anymore. I'm lost, y'all, I have no direction and I don't know when/if things are gonna get better for me

(also I don't need anyone telling me that I could use vacation money to fix some of these issues; vacations are how I escape, and I need to do that. Plus I always save up PTO/money specifically for them.)

[voxasks]

Tw: uhh...hook-ups. Bad dads. Unwanted pregancy (not mine) Smoking/Drinking. Mental illness. Adult content mentioned in the passing but not elaborated on.

Okay, soo...this seems interesting so I might as well interact. Nice to meet you. My names Mali, I'm 5'4, I'm bi-racial. (Taiwanese from my mums side and Hawaiian from my dads.) I've got grey eyes, curly hair black hair and tanned skin. (I've heard I look Filipino or Indian before, so...)

I'm an INFJ and I like writing poetry and stories and such, gardening, painting, etc., ect.

Artists I like; Maneskin, Nickelback, Poor Mans' Poison, Billie Eilish, The Neighbourhood, Fitz and the Tantrumz and Artic Monkeys.

Honestly, my movie/show tastes are kind of everywhere, Mostly old Disney movies, Nickelodeon shows (iCarly, Victorious), True Crime Documentaries, and cheesy Romcoms...yeah...

Same with my book tastes: I'm sort of addicted and I read anything honestly. Some favorites: Looking for Alaska and Our Fault in the Stars, John Green. Hoot and Chomp by Carl Hiaasen. The Little House Series, Laura Ingalls Wilder. The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett. The Maze Runner, James Dashner. The Tower, Gregg Andrew Hurwitz. Any Goosebumps book, R. L. Stine.

And a bunch of manga, One Piece, Naruto, Haikyuu, Sword Art Online, Death Note, etc., ect.

My dad and mum basically had me on accident since they were both in the military, they got dumpy one night and hooked up, and my mums parents were super traditional, so they pressured her into getting married once they found out she was pregnant. My parents basically divorced when I was nine, and they did split custody.

My mum was having issues with alcohol and smoking and my dad had issues with smoking/drinking and adult content.

Then my dad got remarried, but my mum was still recovering so she stayed with my grandmother a bit before getting her own apartment.

The woman my dad was an immigrant from Portugal, she already had one kid from a past marriage, then she came to live with my dad.

They stayed married for four years, and he had two more kids with her, and then they divorced because my dad was being super toxic and she moved in with her family in San Francisco.

He got diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder and borderline personality after being evaluated by a psych ward for the case, and basically my mum got full custody of me and my two half-siblings and stepsibling live with my stepmom in San Fran. (Fifteen at the time.)

My mum eventually got remarried to this Navy Seal named (not gonna say his real name because pretty sure that stuffs supposed to be classified so lets call him Bob) when I was in sophomore year and he was okay. But the ended baby up being born with birth defects since she was pregnant during Bobs deployment and was smoking and stuff when he wasn't there.

Plus I still haven't come out of the closet to my parents. My grandparents on my mums side are staunch Catholics...and my dads side is estranged...My mums Catholic, and Bob converted to Catholicism too.

“i  wanna  say  you  seem  completely  over  this  but  then  you  choosing  to  tell  me  about  it  in  my  inbox  kind  of  negates  that.  my  expertise  lies  in other  familial  issues  so  apologies  but  i  don't  think  i'll  be  of  any  help  here.  though  i  am  supposed  to  give  you  my  inner  thoughts  so  here  it  is  :  i  really  think  it's  nice  that  you  seem  to  have  your  life  a  lot  more  together  than  i  would  have  expected  considering  your  circumstances;  you  have  good  taste  all  around  the  bases,  from  hobbies  to  music,  your  favorite  shows  and  all  that  jazz.  you've  had  it  rough  a  kid  so  i  can  only  imagine  how  it  must  have  been  to  get  yourself  to  where  you  are  today.  and man,  that  whole  'coming  out'  thing.  i  didn't  even  know  there  was  a  term  for  whatever  the  fuck  i  was  back  then.  i  didn't  bother.  i  like  whoever  the  fuck  i  like  and  that's  it.  though  i  understand  the  complications  of  your  situation.  if  you  want  to  come  out  to  them,  it's  completely  your  decision,  but  just  know  that  if  they  don't  agree  with  who  you  are  then  i  promise  it  will  be  a  lot  easier  being  alone  and  yourself  than  being  controlled  by  your  family.”

based off of the 200 follower event.

“🫐 — tell vox about yourself and he’ll give his inner thoughts about you.”

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary195

3/28-29/24

thursday - friday

named yesterday's entry wrong... whoops.

anyway, tomorrow i work for like 8 hours basically, and then the next day too. it sucks a lot, and whatever. i don't think one of the closing people i usually work w/ is gonna be able to come in, i mean, obv not, her hand is broken which is pretty horrifying.

i hope she recovers as necessary. it is weird to me when co-workers would wish for speedy recoveries, i almost did, but it seems like a way of thinking which foregrounds the fact that they need to be able bodied to do tasks and things, to help me or others. it's distantly self interested. i know the broader idea/supposed/assumed thing you communicate is that really you just hope the pain stops soon, i just feel like there's other stuff implicit in that. i hope it stops hurting though. it's awful that it hurts.

it feels awful also, to now talk about how i'm going to work on a song, to get it ready to release like, tonight maybe. that will be fun. i finished the cover and drew some stuff for fun as well. the stuff i drew is basically bad because i was too zoomed out and that made the pen movements translate weird, however maybe that kind of incompetence is cute.

and then there's this other doodle i did while messing w/ something for cover art i screencapped. she's kind of super obscenely ugly in a way but also cute. idk. they're giving 'alien' and 'in pain' which i feel i think. i relate, to the drawing, that i made.

these are my #bad #drawings

here is my human body in photos i took of myself because i am vain and felt good yesterday.

notice ... i cleaned the mirror. wow.

i am feeling cuter lately i think, which makes me happy, or like, on my days off where i go out, i feel really cute, and like i need to be, because i am working now there's this wider variance between ways i might be seen and stuff. so it's this really pathetic need to be cute/pretty/sexy, that emerges, when i'm not working. but at least i am feeling that way.

i also like how bad i am at posing. it's funny to post photos of me trying to do...whatever it is i am doing. i'd rather expose myself like that, it's sort of like i'm living for the failure of affecting something, which is maybe cuter than actually being effortlessly anything. the evident effort and the failure. it's at least kind of 'kawaii'.

the reading today was not much, but interesting nonetheless. he gets to an example of an early quarantine, and the methods of observation/surveillance, delivery, and keeping count, an early expression of the relation between medicine and discipline/surveillance.

one thing he also mentions, and this is an interesting theme in the book, is the writing of discipline, and power, the writing, legal code and observation, which create life for power and discipline, and the way discipline observes individuality/individuates first by a process that homogenizes people. this seems counterintuitive but he's just getting at the categories created and the ways we for instance are put into the categories. here is one place i have always felt foucault/implicated him, in particular with my gender and the impossibility of placing myself, i do not like the idea of making myself visible in the writing of power, or visible to power by writing myself in its tongue. however in many ways i sort of do. i try to look girly and stuff, i post pictures of myself. i am visible. but i am still trying to be noncompliant. i want to be noncompliant. but one noncompliance is easily absorbed into another category, take for instance a diagnosis like 'oppositional defiant disorder', or simply 'noncompliant,' or even 'truant'. i would like to be truant but really i am some other kind of issue, much smaller than even a single truant child. sad.

he also points to the early developments of examinations, medical or otherwise, mechanisms for discipline, things he looks at in his book, as ignoble sciences which, undervalued / unexamined, have enabled the uncritical birth of the sciences of the man/human.

another thing he gets at that i feel is very very very important is how the good subject is individualized:

"and when one wishes to individualize the healthy, normal and law abiding citizen, it is always by asking him how much of the child he has in him, what secret madness lies within him, what fundamental crime he has dreamt of committing" ( pp. 193, discipline and punish, michel foucault (when i do quote should i do pages/authors and stuff? if i am pulling from a real book yes probably. (real as in, in my hands, for reference later perhaps, for myself)))

this point here gets to something very interesting that i think about at times, perhaps controversial but the propensity (i am not above this) to self diagnose, seek out some kind of medicalization, this sort of thing in people, is very interesting. i don't blame anyone because being an individual is constructed as a desirable thing, and this is not the individuality where one's being and life day to day is left alone, not looked at/written, but instead the lives we lead are subject to observation, from inside ourselves and especially from the outside, appraisal, and so one. we do not know who watches but we are watched, and so this means, needing to be individual, but many of the individuations we see are related to things which, in the past, were treated as issues, they are now things that might be 'rewarded' as in with attention/sympathy, which is now part of the disciplinary reward system, or i suppose it always was, to have some portion of the sovereign will of crime or that which is a difficulty in some way, some portion of you which might become special and useful in another way. it can always be turned to use.

however this isn't what i was thinking, the use stuff, it is just true, just that it's interesting that this is something one might be able to see going farther back, and that it would blossom into what we see now.

and it's uploaded!!!

i'll put it on tumblr in a regular way tomorrow or ssomething, with tags and stuff

there's like a weird popping sound. maybe i can like, fix that, or something, before anyone even gets to hear it. let me see, #lol.

omg... ableton is being so annoyingggg.

okey:

and here's a hi res version of the cover art, that i have slaved over, and is only okay:

the photos of the mascara/eyeliner running onto tissues are from me, i did makeup and poured water on my face to make it run like i had been crying, and that picture at the top is me attacking a broken imac. and then there's the little drawings and then a photo i found of a woman's lace collection.

anyway, i need to sleep now, so

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[wawawawawawawawawawawawawa]

hiiiiiiii we havent sent you any asks for some time. mostly because kanra didnt front much

[idk if you can recognize us after all the url changes]

ereyesterday our their of pissed suggested getting into an outpatient psychward and told us to think about it. and silver[headmate] made a post on the tumbler saying that this could be a bad idea because somewhat recently i made a hole in a wall and less than a week ago Lyra messed up a cupboard. as if we're the only ones who on occasion damage stuff when angered. this is literally so mean for no reason.

also. a few months ago shinra had an accident with a knife. and we got a fun new 1 inch long scar and possibly a little bit of nerve damage or something. and we were supposed to get some reminder tetanus shot around a month after that since i had no idea when was my previous tetanus shot. and i uhhhhhhh didn't get it since i'm scared of doctors, and it would probably seem quite weird if i went to a doctor about this now

also im sorta balding but. scared of doctors so cant do anything about that

last sunday i was in some social studies class or some other shit. and the teacher said something about how lgbt people were never oppressed in this country. which is a very bold thing to say as someone living in a country in which like a quarter of the area declared itself a "lgbt free zone" and only calmed down a little when the european onion told them that that's probably illegal. and i decided to argue with the teacher a bit. one of the things she said was that sometimes there's dudes in pup masks on pride parades, which invokes disgust and thus should be banned, and. idk why but i kinda expected teachers to have a bit more common sense than 14 year old twitter users. also i came to school wearing a spiked dog collar on a regular basis. [for reasons unrelated to kink.]

well. good thing i'm failing every single one of my classes lmao. at least i won't be invoking disgust in fragile old ladies

also. i just met a doggy and he was very niceys. very soft and friendly. and polite also.

- toby

HOW COULD I NOT RECOGNIZE U MY BESTIE IN CHRIST <3 u changed ur url a binch of times but ur icon remained the same sdlfndnfkjsnsdf so i was able to keep track!

i however do not understand a single word of that first paragraph. if u want my advice, DO NOT. FUCKING GO. TO A PSYCH WARD!!!!! idfc Who it helped, it hurts a lot more than it helps, theres NO WAY to tell which psych wards are good and which are shit. no really let me go thru them all rn:

REFERRALS: most professionals that work in different offices do not know each other on a personal level and may never hear of their bad stories. a doctor that was the chillest coolest doctor id ever met referred me to a psychiatrist that sucked fucking ass shit. there is no way to know for sure

GOOGLE REVIEWS: im gonna b real i dont trust some of those mfs. you seen the guys that go into psych wards? a lot of mentally ill people r internalizers and just accept whatever happens to them, and even if they arent, society looks down on the mentally ill SO MUCH that they could b told "you deserve this bc ur crazy" and due to all this societal gaslighting, theyd agree

REVIEWS ON OTHER WEBSITES: same thing lol

why is this so important? because you cannot Fucking leave a psych ward. an outpatient ward yeah you can leave, but ive been to both in and outpatient and they excert the same level of bullshit control over their patients. in outpatient, one of the therapist told me "you are not mentally ill" and made me cry lol. she MEANT to mean it in a "you're not mentally ill, you're ~suffering from a mental illness~ uwu dont let ur disorder define you" kinda way, but that concept was introduced in therapy..... two days after she told me this. like hello? and then she tried to spin it as like, it was a problem with Me i.e. My PTSD Was Triggered and not She Is Dog Shit At Timing The Explaining Of Concepts.

this place also invited my abuser into group therapy even after me incessantly telling them "this is my abuser, she will use all this against me" and yeah guess what she did immidiatley after lol

dont go to wards.

WRT THE KNIFE: damn :0 thats insane dude, hopefully the nerve damage will heal but from experience its gonna take like, a few years at minimum lmao. i had a Knife Incident involving my pinky and the nerve damage was so bad that i couldnt hold scissors w my pinky in the scissor loop thing but evenchually it got better but it took like 4 years. if the knife was clean and not rusty ur risk of tetanus is pretty low i THINK, do not quote me on this. if ur scared of doctors, look into if ur pharmacy offers tetanus shots! some pharmacies have vaccinations other than flu and covid (which i need 2 get lol rip) so u might be able to get one THERE and not see A Doctor about it!

u dont need a doctor for the balding. minoxidil my dear boy, its at walmart, its the stuff thats in rogaine. you want "minoxidil 5%" thats whats in rogaine, theres "minoxidil 3%" thats For Girls but idk ive never heard of anyone having a problem w it. IT IS TOXIC TO CATS THOUGH IT IS VERY VERY TOXIC TO CATS IF YOU HAVE A CAT DO NOT LET THEM FUCKING TOUCH YOU OR RUB ON YOU UNTIL IT DRIES ok? :) id google more if i were u but boom. problem solved. i am the doctor now

"dog masks invoke disgust and should be banned" babygirl disgust is subjective and like, someone could use that logic to ban whatever YOU like, or Are. maybe someone is really disgusted by lil old ladies bc the wrinkles look gross as fuck to them. should we quarrantine the grandmas?

also lol at the dig against 14 year old internet puritans and then surprise surprise guess what happened on This Very Blog while this ask was sitting n collecting dust!! i gotta b on my best behavior bc theres a nonzero chance that The Feds will be looking at this blog (did u know u dont report cybercrime to local police and instead theres a form on the fbi's website? Well Now You Know!) and that goes 4 all of u too. bart please be good..... for the love of GOD please be good....... please tell me yall know that simpsons scene

also also yay doggy!! was it a regular dog or a dude in a pup mask? either way very fun n cool!!!

[diamondshapedcat]

I've never seen Girls last tour but this video really resonates with me and my experience with schizoid personality disorder

I've spent all my life with szpd although I didn't know for sure until a month ago. My whole life I was searching for it, this grand goal that lay at the heart of my soul. An explanation and, for a lack of a better term, a cure. Some clever trick or technique to defeat szpd and let me live the life I was supposed to have. I was even willing to trade parts of my very identity for it, things I would never give up the world for. So when I found the answer, the truth that I have szpd and that there is no magic weapon to defeat it, I felt hopeless. I had wasted my life.

There's no way to get what I wanted. It doesn't exist. I'm gonna be stuck with szpd forever. I don't have any job prospects, my social circle is a straight line and I don't think there's a place where I will ever feel like I fit in. It's just me. Always just me. But there is one silver lining, now that I know about szpd I don't have to worry about it anymore. For a while I felt sad about what I missed and what I could never have but once I got over that I realised that it was business as usual for me. I didn't have to change anything about me, my behavior or how I lived my life.

A lot of people with szpd tend to end up depressed and detached from the world but the one thing I have that seems to be absent from most szpd suffers is that I don't want to give up on life. The world is awesome! There's loads of cool things to do and see so why give up on enjoying the world? I don't want to end living anymore of my life in a hole just waiting for the end. I want to go out screaming, battle axe in hand, thinking of the good times and the things I saw.

I still want to smile. I'm sad that I didn't get the life I wanted but I'm glad that I still have the chance to do some cool things with the life I've still got.