#brain aneurysm tw

[playedbetter]

Every Shinigami has a different method of procuring a human's remaining lifespan. Of course every Shinigami writes the human's name in their Death Note to kill them, thus claiming that human's remaining lifespan for their own, but it's which human the Shinigami chooses that varies. Some choose humans who have less time left to live, to be more merciful, in a way. Others choose humans who have a lot of years left on their lives, to give themselves more time. Other Shinigami choose completely at random, without any regard to a human's remaining lifespan.

Doomsday chooses completely at random. She doesn't particularly care who she kills, and that's not because she's concerned about forming attachments or anything, it's simply because it doesn't matter to her. Whenever she needs to add more time onto her own life, she looks through a portal into the human world, picks out the first human she sees, writes their name in her notebook, and goes about her day. Unless they have a small amount of time left, and then she might write a few names before calling it a day.

Sometimes, though, when she's bored and making bets with Ryuk and taking turns throwing their notebooks through the portals to mess with the humans, Doom will observe the humans a bit more closely. She's spent a bit of time both on Earth and watching the goings on of Earth through the portals. Whenever Ryuk is with a human on Earth, she watches him through the portals, laughing at his successes and failures. Whenever she herself is with a human on Earth, she learns all that she can about them.

She's learned how very greedy some of them are. How power hungry. Some of them like to hoard wealth. If they hoarded anything else it'd be called a mental illness and they'd have people from all over the city called in to haul away all their stuff, but if they're hoarding resources? Cash? Then apparently it's okay. Applauded, even, and heavily protected by the law, even if it's directly causing the suffering of millions of others.

Humans are really weird. And as evidenced, they love death.

This human would certainly love death. Call it a sixth sense, Doom can just tell. He has a lot of money and power, a certain ambitious air about him that tells her he'll give her the show she wants. The death parade. Ryuk will be impressed after this. This human is going to make his first human look like Gandhi.

Giggling to herself, Doomsday creeps into the office of Lex Luthor and simply drops her notebook right there on his desk, right where she knows he'll see it. She's been watching him for a few weeks now, she roughly knows his comings and goings in this little part of the world. It's not likely anyone else will come in and get to it first. And if they do? Well. That just might be interesting too.

That done, she then goes off and does her own thing for a little while. She'll know when her notebook has been claimed. And when it's used. And from that point, she'll have 39 days to reveal herself to the new owner of the Death Note.

(tldr; Lex Luthor has been given a gift by Shinigami Doom!)

@the-haunted-office

Plotted Asks / Accepting!

He'd just returned from a meeting about furthering the company presence in various countries, he approved or denied each for his own reasons mostly tying to how lax their enforcement of scientific ethics were. Progress was never made without some broken eggs, and it was far easier if nobody made any fuss over those eggs.

Immediately he noticed the notebook on his desk, he knew he didn't put it there, and it looked too out of place to be put there by any of his employees. Especially with a title like death note on it. This was certainly a sloppy attempt at delivering contact poison to him in order to kill him.

He retrieved a thick pair of gloves and put them on before touching the note and examining it. The text inside was certainly fascinating, if true. Considering the world he lived in where aliens and magic walked amongst man, he wasn't going to take any chances by letting anybody else take hold of it. He let the security team know to review the footage of his office before he went off to his lab to further examine the death note.

Upon review he found nothing off with the notebook, no poison or drugs, no clue as to where it came from. Stranger yet the security team came back with the story that the notebook had just suddenly appeared. This made the likelihood that this was real skyrocket in his opinion. He still hadn't touched the notebook.

He'd test it. He wrote down the name of a competitor he had in the market space, one he had a meeting with that very week, and wrote down that during the meeting they would have a sudden, fatal, brain aneurysm. As he did so, he still did not touch the notebook, as he was wearing lab gloves.

During the meeting he couldn't help but pay extra attention to his rival, did the man have a ticking clock over his head? Only time would tell. And tell it did when they suddenly grasped their head and collapsed dead. On the inside, Lex smiled.

Finally back at his lab alone afterwards, he picked up the notebook without thought to put on any gloves beforehand, finally becoming its official owner. He flipped it open to the first writable page and considered his next steps.

[dreamer-21]

Hello everyone!

One of my childhood best friends, and author of the WebToon Waterstrider, is currently fighting a really hard battle for her life. Last Thursday she had a brain aneurysm rupture and had to go through two different brain surgeries. Her family is currently trying to raise money for her time in the hospital as well as the procedures she is still undergoing. If you could, please donate to her gofundme, and if you cannot donate please share this information. I would really appreciate it and so would her family.

I am also planning on taking drawing/writing commissions in the near future to raise money for her as well, so keep an eye out for that information. I will probably post that info here and on my @primary-visions account as well.

[faolanmoon]

having a gender id is an insult to other autistic women. shame on u for not loving your own demographic.

What in the actual fuck are you smoking?

Since when the fuck is a gender id an insult? So I’m not allowed to be gender fluid and autistic? News flash : you can be TRANS, NON BINARY AND AUTISTIC.

Thanks annon for being a transphobic fuck while also accusing me of “ableism” just for having a fucking identity!

Clearly my ocs that are both LGBTQ+ and neurodivergent are enough to make you shake in your boots if being trans and having gender ID is so god damn offensive, bitch I’m offended by you shaming me for being gender fluid and accusing me of “not loving my own demographic “.

[waywardcrow]

Dress.

Summary: After a mission where they crossed a line, Bucky decides to talk about what happened that night with you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader.

WC: Almost 1600.

TW: Avengers kind of things, talk about weapons, sad reader and sad Bucky, misunderstendings, agents talking shit because of jealousy, SMUT (do not interact if you're not +18) some kissing, dancing and boners lol, semi public make out, oral (f recieving) fingering, hint of other things but not so much because I'm so bad a t this, sorry, let me know if I missed something.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language, please tell me if I make grammar mistakes.

You hated everything that night, the happy people who were eager to get drunk and forget about the ending year, the music too loud that didn’t let you think, the beautiful dress you bought for that very occasion specifically because you wanted to impress a certain super soldier in the New Year's Eve party but that was before last mission, before you messed it all up.

If you closed your eyes, you could see everything playing perfectly in your mind, how unprofessional you were, how much space Bucky put between you two in the quinjet, the tension that followed you the last days and the words of the agents who probably knew about what happen from him. It was a disaster and you wouldn’t escape from it, Tony would never let you go without an explanation if you requested a transfer to another area.

Distracted, drinking your problems you didn’t noticed Bucky’s gaze tearing apart the pretty gold dress you were wearing as if he could feel your skin against his like that night.

It was a simple mission, find the target, watch it until Valkyrie and Wanda could secured the evidence –an arsenal of Asgardian weapons- and then arrested everyone but your cover was necessary and thanks to your powers, the ability to manipulate brain’s perception to make your audience see what you want- make you perfect to blend with him in that shady club pretending to be just a couple looking for a good time.

Easier to say than done, Bucky fought his boner all night with you dancing too close to him, whispering things in his ear, sitting in his lap… sure you could feel how much he wanted to fuck you there in front of everybody, he indulged in his little fantasy when he feel your own arousal, he told himself it was for the mission when he took you to a semi empty corridor to kiss you dumb.

You tasted better than he imagined, like honey and salvation, Bucky was sure that if he kept kissing you he would find heaven.

“Are you ok, terminator? You look like you’re about to have an aneurysm” Sam pulled him out of his mind just in time before he got in trouble righ there in the middle of the party.

“I’m fine” he wasn’t and Sam let out a chuckle.

“Just go and talk to her, you can’t keep avoiding each other forever.”

You were avoiding him, Bucky just gave you space after you walked away from him when the mission was over, like he didn’t almost cum from having you exactly where he wanted you, with your perfect legs around him with just a thin layer of clothes between you.

“I said I’m fine” he said again, not looking at Sam when you made your way to the elevators, going after you.

It was better for you to leave early, too many drinks and you could end up crying or doing something you’ll regret, like talking to Bucky, who jumped in the elevator you called before the doors closed.

“Going to bed already?” he asked and you stared at him like an idiot, how could he look that good all the damn time? A black suit and white shirt shouldn’t make someone that hot, it was cheating “are you alright, honey?”

How have you missed his voice! A simple taste of him and you wanted more, you wanted him to touch you like that night, like he couldn’t get enough of you, like if time was against you both and every second he wasn’t making you feel all of him was a sacrilege.

“Why are you here, Bucky?”

Cornered, you crossed your arms in front of your chest, drawing his attention to your breasts, the memory of his lips pulling softly at your nipple made you want to close your legs to get some sort of friction, trying to calm the need for him.

Like he could read your mind, he licked his lips, wanting to pull your dress and bury himself in your chest but Bucky needed to have a conversation with you first.

“Are you going to avoid me forever, hon?” the super soldier lifted your chin to make you see him when you set your eyes in your heels “I can take a rejection, sweetheart but not you shutting me out completely.”

Bucky had made lots of friends with time but you were his first one, he didn’t want to lose you; you, in the other hand, were more confused than ever.

“What rejection? If anything, you’re the one who is not interested!” boldness coming from the alcohol made you talk before thinking about stopping “and don’t give me that look James Buchanan Barnes, you know perfectly what I’m talking about.”

The elevators door opened and you stormed out, going to you room, the audacity of that man!

“Can you explain to me what are you talking about?” Bucky took your hand and made you face him when you reached your door, all his cocky attitude was replaced by confusion.

“Please don’t pretend you didn’t tell Carla and Ashley what happen that night, I heard them talking the morning after in the gym” Above all the embarrassment there was hurt, you thought he could be trusted but Bucky proved you were an idiot “they were talking how you hated being assigned with me and to pretend to make out with me.”

Bucky’s heart hammered in his chest, what the hell were you talking about? He didn’t say anything, at all but you looked so sure he couldn’t speak.

“You made it very clear putting distance between us in the ride home but you didn’t have to tell them” your voice trembled, still you refused to cry, if that was the kind of man Bucky was, he didn’t deserve your tears.

“I swear I didn’t say anything, honey, I swear” he promised, making himself small to look at your eyes “I don’t know how they know, please believe me.”

You shake your head; you wanted to believe him but…

“I told no one, I really thought you were mad at me for taking advantage of the situation, that I misread it” he mumbled, desperate to prove you he was telling the truth, taking your face in his hands “I should have been more professional, more of a gentleman, ask you properly on a date, not acting like that, no matter how much I wanted it. That’s why I put space between us; Wanda and Val were looking at me like they would spray me with cold water if I breathed near you.”

Bucky wished you could read his mind to see he was honest but you still could, sensing his desperation matching yours.

“Do you really mean that?”

His heart broke at how unsure you sounded, he would spend every day of his life proving to you how much he meant it.

“I do, honey, you’re not only a friend to me, why do you think I requested to be with you in that mission?” with his arms around your waist, you put your hands in his chest to feel his heartbeat “I can’t be apart from you, I needed you close while I was gathering courage to confess my feelings but then I couldn’t hide it and…”

You interrupted him to kiss him, not giving a damn about anything but Bucky’s lips in yours. He opened the door and you took him with you to your room, tossing his jacket to the floor and taking your heels off.

“You should keep them on” he said between kisses, guiding you to your bed.

“Maybe next time” you promised, opening his dress shirt, he gave you a smirk while he took it off, like he couldn’t wait.

“This dress has to go, even if I love it.”

“I only bought it for you to take it off” you confessed, mesmerized by his hands undressing you before he placed you softly in your bed, earning a grin from him.

“Really? Well, you deserve a reward for thinking about me, honey”

Before you could ask, he was with his knees on the floor, ripping your panties to eat you out like he needed it to keep breathing.

It barely gave you time to let out a lewd moan that only encourage him more, putting your legs in his broad shoulders, nipping at your sensitive bud and teasing your entrance with his fingers.

It was real? It was the alcohol? You could think so if it wasn’t very improbable, your imagination couldn’t make this up, not something this good at least.

“Please” you begged and he shove one finger in you, then almost immediately another while licking you and going back to your clit, moaning at the taste of you, humping the mattress to get some relief, especially when you pulled at his short locks, making him groan.

“Bucky! Pleaseplease…” were the only words you could form but then he decided to replace his fingers with his tongue and you were gone, the orgasm hit you like a thousand waves and you could swear you fainted for a second, only coming back to yourself when you tasted your own arousal in his kiss.

Surprised to being this responsive with him, you kissed him back and he looked at you, fire blazing in his eyes.

“Come back to me, honey, we are just getting started” he promised against your lips and dear God, he was a man of his word. Hors later, the fireworks were loud enough outside but you both couldn’t care less, you finally have what you wanted: each other.

So this is my first time writing smut and I wanted to do it for New year's Eve, it was fun! Tell me what you think and happy new year!

Love, Lily.

[kendyzzlewp]

you can do it with a broken heart

summary: jackson broke up with you for no reason, so now you try to survive residency while working at the same place. but you’re a real though bitch, you can handle your shit

tags: fem!reader, jackson avery, angsty, ttpd

tw: mentions of su!c!de

—-

“You seem… okay.”

You looked at Meredith who was staring at you with a concerned expression. You shrugged, spitting the toothpaste from your mouth into the sink.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You asked, grabbing a towel and wiping your face from any minty residue.

Meredith narrowed her eyes on you. “Well,” she said, entering the bathroom fully. “Avery dumped you.”

Your heart sank at the mention of him. You shook your head, forcing a smile. “So? It’s not the end of the world. He’s literally just a guy and I dumped him.”

Alex entered the bathroom, pushing past you to get to the sink. You locked eyes in the mirror and he shook his head.

“Pretty boy was not just a guy,” he grumbled, grabbing his razor. “He was like your person or twin or whatever it was you called him.”

Meredith hummed in agreement, sitting on the toilet with her eyes fixed on you. “He wasn’t just a guy, he was your guy.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. Your stomach twisting like a wet rag at the topic of conversation. It had been two weeks since Jackson decided to end things after months and months of the stupid will they, won’t they dance. It wasn’t even a viable reason, he needed to focus on plastics and you needed to focus on cardio. It wasn’t you, it was him. After the boards things were going to be different.

Blah blah blah.

“I’m fine,” you said in a failed attempt to convince both of them and maybe even yourself.

Because you were the complete opposite of fine. You were completely ruined. They were right. Jackson wasn’t just a guy, he was the love of your life. Your best friend and one random fight escalated to the point where you turned back to strangers.

Derek popped his head in the bathroom, catching your eye with a sympathetic smile. “Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine!” you exclaimed, pushing past him to get to your room. “Perfectly, fine.”

——

“You gotta fake it, till you make it,” Arizona said as she masterfully dissected a burst appendix. “Break ups suck. The important thing is though that you win, you have higher ground.”

You had the faking part down, now making it? That’s a whole different story.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, your eyes on the cavity in front of you. That seemed to be your new phrase lately, it had variations but fine was becoming your old faithful.

For some reason, you decided to look up at the gallery. Your eyes meet green ones. So green yet so blue at the same time. Like a watercolor painting of a beach paradise. You swallowed the lump that blocked your throat. Knowing the intercom was turned on by the red light, you decided to prove it once and for all.

“I actually have a date,” you lied, your eyes darting back to Arizona’s hand as she finished sewing up the kid.

She looked up at the gallery with wide eyes before landing her eyes on you. “A date? With who?”

“Um…” you racked your brain trying to come up with a convincing answer, your eyes briefly meeting Jackson’s. “A lawyer…yeah.”

Arizona dropped the subject when the monitor started beeping wildly, the attention shifting towards the patient. You look up at the gallery again. He was gone.

You’re fine.

—

“He said he’d loved me all his life,” you sobbed one into your arm one night at Joe’s. Lexie rubbed your back sympathetically. “He lied.”

She sighed, passing you another napkin. “You are going to be just fine,” she said, taking your drink away. “No more tequila for you though.”

You shook your head, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I’m fine,” you said, forcing a smile. “I can handle this, this is nothing.”

——

“It’s kind of ironic,” Alex said one day, watching you repair an aortic aneurysm in the gallery. “She wants to fix hearts for a living but can’t get her own shit together.”

Cristina mumbled an agreement, her eyes focused on the surgery. April shook her head, feeling sad for her friend.

Meredith shrugged. “She says she’s fine,” she said, taking a bite of her apple. “If that was me, I would’ve drowned myself in the bathtub by now.”

Cristina raised an eyebrow, turning back to look at her. “That was you and you did almost drowned.”

“She’s on the verge of a mental breakdown,” Lexie said, her eyes focused on a medical journal. “It’s a matter of time.”

“Avery is a dumbass,” Alex stated, earning a chorus of agreement from the rest of the residents.

All of them were blissfully unaware that Jackson was standing at the entrance of the library. His eyes focused on you as you performed your magic. The way you laughed as you bantered with Altman. His heart sank.

He really was a dumbass for letting you go.

__

You sat in the gallery with the rest of the group, your eyes focused on the surgery below. You mentally took notes. You hadn’t slept in days, food would not stay down no matter how much you tried.

The anxiety ate away at you constantly. The emptiness follows you everywhere you go. The hospital became your home as you dreaded going to bed alone.

Jackson entered the gallery, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. You still couldn’t be in the same room as him, no matter how cool you tried to play it. With a curt nod, you stood up.

As the tension mounted within you, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over, causing you to sway slightly in your place at the gallery. Cristina, noticing your unsteadiness, reached out a hand to steady you.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked, concern etched in her voice.

You forced a smile, nodding weakly. "Yeah, just a little tired," you replied, though the lie tasted bitter on your tongue.

Lexie glanced up, furrowing her brow at your demeanor. "Are you sure?" she remarked, her voice tinged with worry.

Before you could respond, Meredith interjected, concern evident in her eyes as she set her half-eaten apple aside. "Maybe you should take a break, get some fresh air," she suggested, her tone gentle yet firm.

“I just need to leave,” you whispered, hurrying out of the cramped room.

You’re fine.

—

“Hey.”

You looked up from your study notes. Jackson stood in front of you, shifting from one leg to the other. His hand gripping the strap of his backpack tightly.

Your heart was pounding. “Yeah?” You cautiously asked, closing your notebook.

“I just wanted to check in on you,” he admitted, taking a step closer. “You looked rough in the gallery earlier.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, a mixture of emotions swirling within you. Anger, hurt, longing—each fighting for dominance as you struggled to maintain your composure.

"I'm fine," you replied, the words coming out more sharply than you intended. "Just a rough day."

Jackson's expression softened, his eyes searching yours for a hint of the turmoil raging within. "You know you can talk to me, right?" he said softly, his voice filled with genuine concern. “I know you. I know you haven’t been eating or sleeping. Meredith told me you barely go home nowadays.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, surprising even yourself. "Talk?" you scoffed, the words dripping with sarcasm. "About what, exactly? How you broke my heart?"

His eyes widened, a pained expression crossing his features. "I never meant to hurt you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I was doing what was best for both of us."

"Best for both of us?" you repeated, incredulous. "How is dumping me, without a single good explanation, the best for me?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. You blinked them back, refusing to let him see your pain. "You don't get to waltz back into my life and act like everything's okay," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "I'm not your consolation prize, Jackson."

He reached out a hand, as if to touch you, but you flinched away, the pain of his betrayal still too fresh. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I never meant to hurt you. I just... I thought it would be easier this way."

"Easier for who?" you shot back, your anger simmering just below the surface. "Not for me, that's for sure."

With a heavy sigh, Jackson took a step back, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Fine. I'll leave you alone," he said, his voice filled with resignation. "But just know that I'm here if you ever need me."

As he turned to walk away, you felt a pang of regret, a part of you longing for the comfort of his presence. But you pushed it aside, steeling yourself against the pain. You had survived his absence once; you could do it again.

You’re good. You can do it with a broken heart.

[angel-of-the-moons]

A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc, Steven, Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Annnngsssstttttt, mentions of sexual abuse but nothing is depicted, Steven being the bean that he is, Reader does a smort, knowledge is power, and knowing is half the battle lol

A/N: Finally! Things are falling into place! Will Steven reveal the truth? Nah.

Taglist: @bad4amficideas @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @lokisremainingsanity @mundivagantsoul @furblrwurblr @zoleea-exultant @latenightcravingz @daygirl26 @thelastemzy @leahnicole1219 @marsmallow433 @crazyunsexycool @oscarissac2099 @littlenosoul @animechick555 @capsiclesworldsblog @cloudroomblog @lov3vivian @princessakirika @fog-sama @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @badbishsblog @lillycore555 @stardream14 @meowmeowyoongles @kate-ohara @kittenlover614 @patchesofwork @enheduannasposts

Chapter 15:

Sphinx of Black Quartz

"Steven?"

Steven winced when you said his name, almost shrunk away when your hands squished his cheeks as you peered into his eyes; your gaze full of confusion, concern and... maybe a little hurt?

"I, uh... well... I..." He blathered, tugging on his sleeves anxiously, his nails pinching the threading in an effort to ground himself.

"Wait, what?" You released his face pressing your finger to the sides of your head as you gawked at him like he'd grown a second head. Not that that wasn't too far off the mark...

Technically speaking, we could be considered Cerberus then, couldn't we? Steven had asked himself.

"No, what?" You asked again, blinking at him as your brain struggled to catch up. One minute, you and Marc and Puck were just relaxing and chatting over some coffee, and then... The moment you got that phone call about the shipment you'd gotten approved for, and then Marc was just... screaming, yelling at the air. "Stay away from her!" He had cried, "She's our friend!"

Did he have a psychotic break? Had something happened on that trip he had taken--

Wait.

The "trip"? Was that even the truth? How was it, that Steven Grant sat before you know, where just moments before, Marc Spector had stood?

"Steven?" You repeated.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed at the lump there, and he nodded, a few stray curls bouncing free as he hunched over a bit on himself, continuing to pluck at the long shirt you'd loaned him.

"Y-Yes." He replied softly, his eyes shying away from you. Looking anywhere but you.

He was... he was afraid. Steven was afraid of you?

"I..."

Steven had taken a scant second to lock eyes with you again, taking in the depths of your gaze with lucid intensity--before darting away again.

"Steve." You breathed, rubbing your temples. "I... what? What happened to--did Marc--I... Can you please explain before I have an aneurysm? Did Marc have a psychotic episode?"

"Not... not far from it, actually." Steven mumbled again. His posture stiffened when Puck meowed at him, sauntering up to crawl into his lap, rubbing herself along his chest.

"Oh, hello... who're you?" Steven asked, getting distracted by the furry critter. His hands stopped plucking and tugging on his sleeves in favor of stroking Puck's silky black fur, "You're a sweet one, eh?"

You blinked for the millionth time at him, your brain abuzz with confusion, wanting--no, craving--some sort of explanation. You watched for another moment as Steven was suddenly laser-focused on Puck, speaking softly to the cat, petting her with his shaky hands.

"Steven.." You said gently.

His shoulders jumped when he remembered you were staring at him. "O-oh, s-sorry, luv."

Puck curled up in his lap, loafing as she blinked up at you slowly. Oh, you wished you could read her little kitty mind to hear what she thought of the situation...

Steven swallowed roughly once more, his hands petting Puck again--likely in an effort to relax himself from suddenly being brought to the forefront of this situation. His tongue swept across his lips before drawing it between his teeth; trying to think about where to begin.

"Marc is... W-We are..." He began to murmur, staring intently down at the soft black cat occupying his lap.

"It's difficult to explain, um... But we--Jake 'n me--we... We live in Marc's head. S-Sort of? We--we share the body, we... Uh. B-But it's not all the time, er... Sometimes not all of us are aware of what goes on when one of us is in control of the body, and..." He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead while the other continued to almost frantically stroke Puck.

"Oh, bollocks! We--we didn't want you to find out like this, but Marc..." He hissed out an upset sigh; "He was--he was upset, and... I tried to calm him down from inside, but he just... he checked out, and..."

You stare intently at him, his nervous posture, how he just seemed more... Submissive in the moment. A complete change from the guarded, stiff Marc you'd come to know. And the rather calm and carefree (almost) Jake, at Steven's admission.

Your brain began connecting the dots; one by one. So... Jake had been in control of the body these past few weeks. And... Marc and Steven weren't aware. You remembered how shocked Marc had been when you'd told him about having dinner with Jake in your flat; how Marc--and now Steven--didn't recognize Puck.

You always thought the three of them looked too similar to be triplets--they even had the same scars on their hands.

They "shared" the body. But at times weren't aware what was going on when one of them "checked out", as Steven had plainly put it.

Jake was apparently nowhere to be seen, Steven was trying to be a calming influence on Marc...

"Steven..." You said slowly, watching as his deep, soulful eyes finally crawled up to lock with yours. "Do you--do you have dissociative identity disorder?"

Steven rocked his head back, shaking it slightly as he gawked at you, bewildered, "How do you--"

"I own a bookstore, Steven," You said to him, your voice rather deadpan. "I've definitely read a few of the dozen and a half of the psychology textbooks and studies on psychological disorders."

"Oh... right. Heh..." He coughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"So..." You reached out and clasped his fingers in yours, making Steven's heart leap with anxiety once again.

Puck jumped from his lap as you took his other hand, gently guiding him to his feet and leading him back to your sofa. "...explain it to me, okay? If I ask a question that upsets you... please tell me. You won't have to answer it. I just... I'd like to know who I've been making friends with."

Layla groaned as she crawled back through the window, cursing as she bonked her head on the windowsill. Yeah, she had the helmet, but it was still annoying to have her proverbial eggs scrambled.

She spent most of the day hammering down on a cruel scheme begotten by a group of rather cruel landlords and real estate agents--they would find legal loopholes in contracts and leases, they abused the power they held over their tenants--in some cases sexually in return for "breaks" in rent--some, they would evict with little to no reason, sell out the rentals from beneath the feet of others...

Taweret had pleaded with Layla to put a stop to it. Even Khonshu had helped her for a bit, watching from the sidelines and giving his (not really wanted) input. The truth was, it was a sort of criminal gang behind it all, they just paid the landlords and agents to get a hefty chunk of the proceeds from their illicit goings-on. But... somewhere during her mission, Khonshu had left. Taweret had seemed miffed; annoyed that Khonshu would up and leave after being so bothersome and insisting that they "needed his help"...

She arched her back, groaning as the helmet slid away; vanishing to free her curls with a bounce. Pressing her hands against the curve of her spine, she looked around as the rest of her holy garb melted away.

"Marc?" She asked the empty flat.

No answer. Strange. She left him here earlier. He'd expressed no interest in going out today; especially given the weather outside.

Layla pulled her cell out of her back pocket and unlocked it, dialing the boys' phone. As she held it up to her ear, she became aware that the ringtone buzzed from somewhere in the flat.

"Marc?" Layla asked, not hanging up quite yet as she walked through the proverbial minefield of Steven's books, DIY'd desk, past Gus & Co's fish tank... to the bed in the back of the room.

It was made neatly--Marc's habit, definitely. Steven always left the bed in a mess, often forgetting to make it until just before he settled down for the night. Odd, how he would leave it a tangled nest all day and only be able to sleep in it if it were made up just before cosying down to sleep.

She shook her head and furrowed her brows as her eyes settled upon their cellphone, laying tossed at the edge of the bed, ringing.

"Lonely is A Man." Steven's favorite little jingle that she'd be lying about if she didn't say it got caught in her head every other day since coming back to London from doing Taweret's work in Cairo. It annoyed her how often she would find herself humming the tune...

She picked up the phone and hung hers up, sliding it back into her jeans, staring at it curiously as she walked back into the main area of the flat, and into the kitchenette.

She sighed, frowning even deeper. Khonshu's work, no doubt. The old bastard always had something to do with it when Marc (and by extension Steven and Jake) would vanish with no word. But why leave their phone? Did Khonshu have them doing something dangerous? Shady?

"Gods, what have you gotten yourselves into, Marc..?" Layla groaned, pressing her hands to her forehead as she leaned over the counter.

As she opened her eyes, she looked over the granite countertop, staring at the abandoned phone. Something was wrong. Something she didn't quite like. She--

Her long eyelashes batted for a moment, sweeting her cheeks as she tried to fathom what else her eyes had just landed on. Mail. Not just any mail, but bills in Marc's name. The address for some of said bills being...

She and Marc's old address, from when they had been married.

Her fingers quickly snatched up the envelope and used the letter opener to get a look at its contents. As she unfolded the paper, her eyes scanned the writing with lightning efficiency.

It was a receipt. A receipt for paid rent and utilities. Had he really been paying the rent and electric at an apartment he no longer used..? Why? Why wouldn't he mention that?

Taweret suddenly appeared, her ears flopping about in concert, "Layla? Something the matter, m'love? I sensed you were upset."

"Marc is gone. Left his phone." She replied on a mumbled breath as she continued to read through the other receipts, blindly walking through the flat until a sparkle caught her attention out of the corner of her eye.

A keyring. Marc's keyring, glittering under the buzzing fluorescent lights of the flat.

"Layla?"

"He's been paying our old bills, still." Layla further explained, setting the receipt on the end table by the door as she plucked the ring off the hook on the wall.

Her thumb caressed the scratched-up colorful key once depicting a rather cheery cartoon house; faded writing that said "home" at the flattest end of it, making her heart twinge slightly.

Some things Marc just really couldn't let go...

"He must still be doing mercenary work. Or, Jake is at least, to be able to afford both flats on his own."

Taweret frowned, tilting her head to the side, "What are you going to do?"

"Well, I'm going to see if he's been by the place, today... and when I get back--assuming he's back home by then--lecture him for letting me sleep in that sofa of his. I got a crick in my neck from it!"

The goddess giggled, nodding, "Be careful, Layla. Oh! And grab your umbrella!"

The woman grinned up at her, grabbing her scarf Jake had knitted for her, and her coat; before snatching up said protection from the sleet outside, wiggling it.

"Way ahead of you."

"So... Marc was arguing with... one of you?" You asked, your brows pinched as you try to make sense of thr fragmented story Steven was unfurling before you.

"Well, er... kind of. He was having a bit of... panic?" He laughed anxiously, his fingers carding through Puck's fur. The little cat seemed content to let Steven work out his nervous energy by petting her; her silky fur being a very nice texture for his hands to fiddle with while he rambled on for you.

"He has been having a bit of internalized guilt, lately, over... things."

""Things" being..."

"Things that, um..." He scratched Puck's chin as he thought carefully of what to say. He couldn't just spill the proverbial pot of beans to you. Like you'd believe him, anyway. Having cursory knowledge of the psychological... problems that they suffered with was one thing, but he sincerely doubted you believed that Egyptian gods were real, or that they and Layla were Avatars to two of said gods...

"I don't know if Marc would be comfortable with sharing much of it, 'm afraid."

"Does it... have something to do with him being a Marine? I know how common it is for soldiers to develop PTSD." You murmur softly, your eyes casting down into your half-empty mug. You and Steven had switched to decaf tea; the gravity and air inside your flat far too tense for the caffeine-loaded drinks you and Marc had imbibed just before.

Your eyes looked back into his, and, uncharacteristically, Steven was gazing right back, connecting with you.

"Is... that how... you know. You and Jake..?"

Steven shook his head, his curls flopping about, "No, DID sort of... it typically happens during traumatic events during childhood. In some people it isn't obvious until much later, and is sometimes misdiagnosed as schizophrenia or multiple personalty disorder. Marc has just been feeling... guilty, lately. Over people he... couldn't save."

As he uttered that last phrase oh so meekly, you could see that poor Steven was feeling Marc's internalized guilt as well. Your heart broke for them. You reached out and placed your hand on his shoulder, feeling how tense he was.

"Does Layla know?"

"Yes. That's part of why... why Marc has been so upset lately." Steven replied softly, nuzzling into Puck as she stood with her front paws on his soft chest, sniffing at his hair.

"He had an... episode. He woke up and... he was on top of Layla and he was--he was going to hurt her, and--he snapped out of it, but--"

"He feels guilty about it." You finished for him, your heart sinking in sympathetic despair.

Steven nodded and looked up at you, practically hiding behind Puck, "Yeah. Layla told him it was okay, that it happens, but Marc is just so... stubborn. He tries to handle everything himself when it comes to stuff like this; doesn't want the help Jake and I try to give 'im."

"And what does Jake have to say? Is he... listening right now?" You asked.

"No. He and Marc are..." Steven forced out a sigh as Puck settled down again, rolling to show her his belly that he was more than happy to rub for her, relishing in how hard she was purring, the vibration soothing as it thrummed through his hands.

"Sometimes we... we recede into the background. Into our own little "rooms" in the headspace." He explained difficultly, your poor brain trying to follow. "When we're in there, we aren't really aware of what's going on, or even feel each other. It's why I didn't know Marc or Jake existed--why I didn't know the body wasn't actually mine."

"Your headspace is where you share things with each other..?" You tried, tilting your head.

"Yes! Well, in basic terms. It's... I don't know how else to explain it to you, I'm afraid." He muttered awkwardly, poking at Puck's toe beans one by one.

"That's okay... I think if you try to explain anymore my head is going to explode." You chuckle softly, sipping at your tea.

Steven finally cracked a smile.

"It is quite a lot to absorb, innit?" He asked you, smiling a bit wider as Puck grabbed his hand with her paws and tugged it closer to her body.

You smiled affectionately as Puck seemed so intent on helping Steven relax, pulling out every ounce of cute feline charm her tiny body could muster. "Puck really likes you guys... Y'know when she first met Jake she snatched his glove and ran off with it? Stuffed it right into her little cubby where she hoards her toys I keep buying for her."

"Oh, no!" He laughed quietly, booping Puck on her little nose.

"Mhmm... that's kind of why I named her Puck." You explained, setting your mug onto the coaster on your coffee table.

"After the trickster fae from A Midsummer Night's Dream?" He grinned widely.

His knowledge of folklore didn't surprise you one bit; you nodded, grinning right back. "She doesn't spoil milk or lead people astray at night... But she certainly has her moments."

Steven sighed, smiling fondly at the fluffy little terror currently occupying his lap, "No, I'd say she does a very good job at bering very sweet when she wants to be..."

A comfortable, pregnant silence stretched between you, only interrupted by Puck's very loud purring. Until, Steven cleared his throat, rolling his shoulder as he looked away briefly.

"So... you invited Jake up here, too..?"

"Oh, yeah. That goof! I walked in on him at the market trying to buy one of those cheap microwave meals!" You huffed, rolling your eyes.

Steven seemed appalled at the news, but not at all surprised, "He didn't!"

"Nope, 'cause I didn't let him." You told him, "I finished my shopping and dragged his butt back here and made him eat an actual meal."

Steven was quiet for another moment, fidgeting awkwardly in his seat. His face seemed to get a little flush as he cleared his throat once again, the sound rough and forced.

"What's wrong?"

"Jake didn't... oh, bloody hell." Steven wiped a hand down his face, unable to meet your eyes as his face heated up, "Jake didn't... didn't try to... to..."

He swallowed, "...do it with you or anything?"

You could just hear the record scratch on an antique vinyl player as your brain came to a halt. His words sank in, and you couldn't keep down the laughter that bubbled out from inside of you, rocking back onto your side on the cushion as the humor of his question overtook you.

"I--! I'm only askin' because he's--he's kind of done it b'fore!" Steven squawked nervously, confident his face was eight shades of red right now. "Bloke thinks of himself as a bloody Casanova, he does! Damned bellend..."

You giggled again, sitting up to look at him, mirth overtaking the glimmer in your eye, happy the tension in the air was finally alleviated, "No, Steven, Jake and I didn't "do it". We had dinner, and Puck annoyed him for a bit. That's it."

He seemed to deflate and relax at your admission, trusting you wholly, "...Oh. Well, good. We'd rather him not ruin one of the relatively normal friendships we have by... boinking you."

His choice of words once again made you break out laughing, tears burning in your eyes as he floundered about nervously.

"Oh, my god--Steven! What are you, twelve?" You snorted, trying to gasp for air. ""Do it"? "Boinking"?! Pfsh!"

"H-Hey! The more vulgar language is usually Marc and Jake's territory, not mine!" He sputtered. "I try to stay more civilized, thank you very much!"

You snickered as he began to get all huffy, defending his quirky and conservative way of speaking rather haughtily.

"Right... right. Steven Grant, a man of absolute--snrk!--rectitude!" You squeaked, covering your mouth as a tear beaded in one of your eyes.

"Exactly! I'm the most sensible of--" Steven jerked his head to look at you, his mouth open wide.

"Wha--hey! You're still havin' a go at me, aren't you?!"

You just rolled back onto the couch, crying tears of laughter at the absurdity of your day as Steven fretted, muttering under his breath with a faint glow to his cheeks.

Chapter 16: Wahblargh

[midnightkens]

TW: Sudden death of a partner, self-blame

--

The house is far too quiet.

Ken's gaze flit about the living room. A gentle breeze trickles in from the open window, and if he pays close enough attention, he hears crickets chirping from somewhere in the distance. The world keeps spinning. Bottles clink in the next yard over, and Ken scowls at the roar of laughter that follows.

How can anyone laugh right now? His world came to a screeching halt six weeks ago. He shudders and wraps his blanket tighter around himself. The blanket still smells like Ryan, but it's a cold comfort. Traces of his partner are scattered all about the room, from his running shoes by the door, a half-finished painting on its canvas, the book he was reading on the coffee table.

It's Ken's very own time capsule.

"You can move some of it," Barbie suggests gently. "He - "

"No," Ken snaps. Barbie flinches, and he squirms with guilt. He'll apologize later, when he has the energy. "I can't."

Ken closes his eyes, willing the onslaught of memories to leave him alone, but he knows it's wishful thinking. Ryan haunts his dreams, face contorted with rage, it's your fault I'm dead, why didn't you stay home, I thought you loved me?

Barbie, Gloria, and Sasha are kind enough to lie to him, but Ken wishes they would tell him the truth. It's all his fault; he already knows it, so what difference would it make? They probably talk about him, how worthless he is, how badly he fucked up. After all, they have plenty of time. They're holed up in the same house, and Ken's been cast aside, lost, adrift, and alone.

Ken buries his head in his hands. He's not being fair. They've been reaching out, trying to get him to talk, inviting him over and begging him to spend time with them. He can't make his hands reach for his phone. It's too much energy.

He doesn't matter that much anyway

"Maybe I should stay home." Ken puts his bag down and leans against the doorframe. Nervous energy buzzes through him, white-hot and angry. Ryan needs him. Why? Ken doesn't know. He only knows that he does.

Ryan swivels around in his seat and raises an eyebrow. "Ken, I'm fine. I've been looking at the screen for too long. I'm going to take some medicine, go to bed, and I'll be fine. It's a headache. Stop fretting."

Ken had gone off to work, trying to shake the uneasy feeling off. But Ryan didn't answer two, four, five and a half hours later. Six hours into his twelve hour shift, he races home, gripping the steering wheel tightly. The house was eerily silent, and Ken remembers the stairs creaking as he climbed them, getting tunnel vision as he walked down the hall and into the bedroom he shared with his husband.

A massive brain aneurysm, the doctors told him. He hadn't felt a thing.

Ken hasn't slept in his bed in weeks. Hasn't even entered the room. How is he ever supposed to go in that room again, surrounded by his clothes, his cologne, his side of the bed, empty and cold? The couch is fine. It's not the comfiest to sleep on, but that's fine.

Ken doesn't deserve comfort. He's a paramedic. He has pretty damn good instincts, instincts that were screaming at him to stay home that day, instincts that he ignored.

Ryan's dead, because he failed him. His husband's trust lay cradled in the palm of his hand, and Ken broke it. Destroyed it. He's existed for over seventy-five years. Ryan didn't even get fifty.

They didn't even get ten years together. Seven years isn't enough time for anything. They had so many plans! And it slipped through his fingers, because even years after becoming human, he's an idiot who makes the same mistakes over and over.

He never deserved Ryan anyway. It should've been him.

But it wasn't, and he just knows that his family thinks the same.

It's fine. He doesn't need them.

They can't give him what he wants, so why bother?

[jamisonwritestf2trash]

omg, hiii hiiiii!!!!!

Curious anon heeeeere!!

whats your favorite meal? do you have a drink preference? have you watched Scooby doo? whats the weirdest show you've seen? worst fun fact you have? do you hold any cursed knowledge you want to spread to the masses?

Hello :)

My favorite meal is chicken marsala.

I like tea over most drinks

Yes I have watched Scooby-Doo

The weirdest show I've ever seen is "Is That A Nail In Your Head?" Which is basically, how the fuck did you survive that?

Paranoia TW Under the cut!

Worst fun fact I have is that 1 in 50 people have a brain aneurysm that just hasn't ruptured yet.

Um, as for cursed knowledge, it's mainly just other not so fun facts, but the animal version.

[magnetic-regent-magneto]

I absolutely love your answer, super thought out 10/10. Follow up question to that, looking "scary" or "ugly" is one thing, but there's also a level of like.... Sometimes, when you're a mutant, things are gonna suck not because of other people but because of the mutation itself. Like the story of one kid who was so radioactive that he killed everyone who got close to him, or even Rogue not being able to touch anyone. Sometimes it can hurt your body, fuck up your mind. Pride in what you are can feel really impossible when it's fucking up your quality of life.

Does Magneto's powers have any sort of downsides that come from inside? Any headcanons on like, how being a big ol magnet(o) can suck a little bit?

He has canon debuffs actually. Just to name a few.

-- TW: MENTAL HEALTH

When he got his powers, relatively late for the average in modern times (he must have been 30-45), he could barely use a wink of his powers-- lest he was frying his brain.

Using his powers gave him severe headaches, pressure on the brain, as well as brain bleeding (aneurysms) which got worse and worse over time. This means that, originally, his powers were supposed to have a usage limit and he was killing himself slowly when using them.

MORE BELOW

THIS IMPACTS HIS MENTAL HEALTH. It is also mentioned that his powers create a pressure on his mind. The brain works on electrical signals and his electromagnetism messes with his own mind. It is mentioned in the Classical X-Men comic with Isabelle's death that his powers were breaking his mind so much that he was going mad-- that which finally turned him into Magneto.

Besides his obvious PTSD, it is said that his powers contribute to his mental health issues. He has heavy depression and suicidal thoughts ,as well as, obsessive behavior, chronic nightmares and anger issues. This is mentioned in old comics, also in Savage Land, also again in Magneto 2014, House of M consequences, and so on. Fun Fact, Pietro has the same side-effect to his own powers, but it is explicitly mentioned various times.

(below are some examples from early Magneto)

Only after various times of losing his powers and regaining them or being buffed or taking heavy drugs (or Fabian Cortez), did the "debuff" of aneurysms and headaches stop. But it is very clear that oftentimes, his powers take an immense physical strain on him. The last time they appeared was in X-Men (2019) comics when he tried to move Orchis' forge into the sun and he died to an aneurysms twice.

Also, I get the feeling that each time his powers are weakened, his mental problems skyrocket again. This could, of course, be for various reasons of the circumstances of losing his powers. However, I think it might be that when his powers are weaker, more out of his control, the pressure to his mind becomes more significant again. Getting his powers back full means control over his mind again.

[carcasstohounds]

parent death tw??

anyway i’m so scared and paranoid that my mom is going to die. every time she leaves the house or doesn’t answer my text for a few minutes, i assume she got into a car accident or had an aneurysm or something. my brain likes patterns and two of her sisters died recently, so to deal with that. my brain wants to make a pattern out of it. the pattern says that either she or her last sister dies in the next four years. the reason is that she has three younger sisters. in birth order it’s A (my mom) with two kids, B with no kids, C with one kid, and D with two kids. D died three years ago, and C died a few weeks ago. the pattern could either be that all of the sisters with kids die, which means that my mom will die. or, the sisters will die in order, which means that B will die and my mom will die after her. and none of this is logical, and no matter what my theory will be correct because eventually they both have to die because that’s. you know. the nature of life. but what if the years stay the same? what if my mom dies in three years too? or in six? i don’t want my mom to die and i can’t stop thinking about it. sometimes i think about her like she’s already dead because i’m so scared she’s going to die.

[gena-rowlands]

tw /// death illness

so it's the 10th of january and already this year my grandma passed away (we were estranged but that kinda grief is hitting in a different way than i've ever experiences grief before) and today my dad passed out at work and after tests/scans at hospital they've found a brain aneurysm and its like. okay do you want to make this year any fucking worse.

[sharedink]

So what happens if a toon kills someone with a funny gag?

( boxing glove in the box accidentally hitting to hard and causing a brain aneurysm )

😭🫶🏼 not the boxing glove

TW: DEATH

If this was before the 60s, there would be essentially a witch hunt for the accused toon and would typically be melted with DIP. Before the first huge push for Toon-rights, they were not seen as something that was alive nor truly sentient.

If this were to happen after the 60s, the toon has the right to a fair trial to judge what they'll be charged with and their sentence would be. I'm not too knowledgeable about the legal system at the moment, but there will probably be separate courts for toon-explicit crimes and misdemeanors. Anything above that, in a felony bracket, may be a mix of both human and toon courts.

Toon sentences are a bit different from human, especially for a charge like murder as toons are basically immortal in this world - but I've yet to figure it out 🤺🤺

One would be what was mentioned in the previous answers, which is a forced redesign that strips the toon of Toon Force, so they essentially live as a human.

[acefms]

MEET WESLEY!

if you’re hearing STARTED FROM THE BOTTOM by DRAKE playing, you have to know WESLEY ‘WES’ CARTER ( HE/HIM; CIS MALE) is near by! the 40 year old RETIRED NBA BASKETBALL PLAYER has been in denver for, like, 3 YEARS. they’re known to be quite UNYIELDING, but being DAUNTLESS seems to balance that out. or maybe it’s the fact that they resemble JESSE WILLIAMS. personally, i’d love to know more about them seeing as how they’ve got those A LUCKY WRISTBAND, DRINKING BURBON IN A DULLY LIT BAR, RUNNING RAIN OR SHINE, LIGHTNING STRIKES TWICE, NEVER FORGET WHERE YOU CAME FROM vibes. and maybe i’ll get my chance if i hang out around the WASHINGTON PARK long enough!

NAME: wesley ‘wes’ carter

AGE: forty

HOMETOWN: Detroit, Michigan

BIRTHDAY: april 11th

ZODIAC: aries

GENDER: male he/him

SEXUALITY: bisexual

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single

OCCUPATION: former star basketball player in the nba / bar owner

[ tw: poverty, car accident, severe injury/paralysis & death.]

• Wesley grew up in a loving household with two parents still together and four other siblings. Wesley is the second eldest, with one older sister, one younger sister and two younger brothers all aging from 25-45. His mother was a stay at home mom and his father worked as a basketball coach for the local team. However, a car accident would leave Wesley’s father with serious injury causing him to be paralyzed from the waist down. It didn’t take long for the family to feel the strain of their fathers new reality. Wesley was in the car with his father but very luckily escaped with only a broken collarbone and several bumps and bruises.

• With seven mouths to feed, Wesley’s mother had to take on any jobs that she could, and each of the children did whatever they could to help, but nothing ever really seemed to help. Most days they’d all share a small amount of food, but despite their conditions, and many disagreements, there was only love at the core.

• Of all the siblings, Wesley showed the most promise from a very young age, taking after his father with his own love of basketball. During his younger years it was the only thing he truly could focus on to escape his reality. Star of his high school team, he was accepted into college on a full sports scholarship and did everything that he could to succeed.

• Despite a setback with his own injury during his senior year, after finishing college he was one of the top draft picks for the Detroit p.istons and soon found his career taking off. Since then, he’s played for a number of different teams and brought each one a certain level of success. At the age of thirty-seven several injuries forced him to retire, and he’s still trying to figure out who he is when he’s not playing the game he spent his entire life loving. The game that saved him, in many ways.

• His career has allowed him to give his family a better life, and no matter how much success he has, he has never and will never forget where he came from and the fight he had to put in to get to where he is today. He took every no and turned it into a yes, never once accepting defeat.

• His mother would end up passing away in her sleep 5 years ago of a suspected brain aneurysm. This was very hard for him to take, but being the sibling who always ‘fixed’ things, Wes bottled up his grief and made sure everyone else was ok. His father moved in with him, and Wes made sure he had the best medical care possible. It is also not unusual for his siblings to stay with him for long periods of time, either. But he doesn’t mind. His success is theirs as he wouldn’t have been able to do it without them.

HEADCANNONS

• He hates not being able to fix things for the people he cares about. He’s such a fixer?? Your problems come first, his can wait. Which of course makes them 100x worse but it’s cool.

• Romantic with someone? You are getting beyond spoiled.

• So competitive it’s unreal. Like no, he’s not even gonna let you win to be cute. It’s just the way he is wired to fight to be the best ? He’s sorry he doesn’t mean to be an ass about it, it was just programmed into him to show no mercy in that sense.

• Needs quiet moments to simply get through the day? His home and job are always so loud, he needs the quiet for at least five minutes or he will explode honestly.

more tba.

[kokoro-no-kintsugi]

Session II

CW/TW: mentions/allusions to ab-se, r-pe, s-bst-nce use, s-lf h-rm, s--cide attempts..a lot. Proceed with caution.

"I think it's time to get into the thick of it. Can you tell me what makes you hate yourself so much?"

Sure, I guess. I'll give you the long version.

It started when I was very young. It started with angry words from shouting voices that belonged to the people meant to love me and keep me safe. It started with abuse from otherwise trusted babysitters. It started with me being wrong for protecting myself, with me being too much, with me not knowing any better when I was barely conscious as a person yet.

Nobody remembers the bad things except for me. I guess it's easy when that's just a weekday afternoon for them, but I unfortunately took it as trauma in my formative years.

I'd like to say it got better. Sadly, no, as I aged into school years, I found out that you cannot beat perfection into a kid, but you can beat them into being a perfectionist for the rest of their lives, apparently. You can make them terrified of being themselves if "themselves" were seen as a child with "behavioral problems". You can make them overly analytical and second-third-fifth guess themselves because mistakes are not tolerable.

That's when the family deaths started. A man I was not blood related to that had treated me like his own grandchild since the day I was born, and one of the scarce amount of family I did not feel the pressure to put on a perfect kid act for, and arguably my favorite adult in my life back then..I'd watched him lose toes, his foot, and eventually his leg up to the thigh, along with his kidney function. But no one expected when he went under for surgery the last time that it would indeed be the last time. I balled my little eyes out for him. When he passed, he also took any relationship I thought I had with my grandmother with him. As I know now, good riddance. As I knew then, though, why didn't she want to spend time with me anymore? What did I do wrong? I learned many years later, she wished that my father--and by proxy, myself--didn't exist at all.

Then it was a distant great uncle, whom I'd only ever known as a funny family nickname until I saw his obituary. Another adult I'd loved to spend time with, although it was rare due to the distance. He taught me about his garden, how he'd save table scraps from his and his wife, a sweet Asian woman he'd brought home with him after a war, and turn them into compost. Turned out that soy milk and tofu were pretty good when he'd let me try them. His funeral was tough, being tired from the night before...

The night before, turns out I was just small enough to be slid through my aunt's kitchen window. My uncle, who had a penchant for alcohol, had fell asleep (so we thought) on the couch in the back room, leaving my aunt effectively locked out of her house. We couldn't have that, my dad and I, so we helped her get back inside so she could work on cooking food for the next day (we tended to eat a lot after funerals, perhaps that explains why my depression/grief always has such an appetite). Our aunt, however, was unable to meet us for my great uncle's wake. Fresh from the memorial service, a phone call struck us all like lightning; we were meeting her at a larger hospital in the city we'd traveled to for the funeral. My uncle, sadly, had not been sleeping when we'd broken my aunt back into her home the night before. My aunt discovered the next morning when he'd still not moved from the couch that he was unresponsive and that something was very, very wrong. That something being a brain aneurysm. He'd been airlifted from our small town to the hospital we'd be headed to shortly. I sobbed into my slightly older cousin's shoulder and her into mine; it's not exactly a picnic as a kid to walk out of a funeral basically into the next one in progress.

I'd never felt such a level of grief in my life until then, yet I remember my older family harshly quieting us down instead of giving us any sort of consoling. I, at some point, had taken this as emotions are meant to be quiet, bottled up, and dealt with alone. Terrible lessons for a child, I know, but I guess they didn't.

Somewhere in there, I went from being an only child to being an involuntary third parent to three siblings, who went from being difficult because they were infants to being difficult because of their own mental dissonances. As I like to put it up, we're all very different shades of fucked up.

Then, I was a teenager. A 14 year old with a quiet rebellious streak and a fondness for an older boy. An older boy that had his own problems and abuse he faced at home. An older boy who needed a pretty punching bag. It was mostly emotional abuse, destruction of any self worth I'd tried to make for myself, sexual abuse..though, I'd gotten pushed around and mistreated physically from time to time as well.

I got taught how to shut up about my feelings a lot more efficiently. Also, as a testament to the impressionability of a young teen, I learned a new method for dealing with pent-up pain, hurt, and growing self-loathing from a television show. I put a knife to my skin for the first of what would be many, many more times. I lined my arms with neatly spaced cuts, feeling some sort of relief when they welled with droplets of blood.

Sandwiched in the middle of said mistreatment, I met arguably the worst person I ever could have--the only good to have come from meeting him is that it lead to my current life. Just freshly over the line for statutory status in my state, and desperate for a love that didn't hurt, I happily threw myself at him. He seemed to give a damn about the scars on my wrists and my wellbeing in a way that no one else had been in my life so far. I sure as hell didn't give two shits that he was 5 years my elder, I mean, I was already with an older (17 to my 15) boy right? What's the difference? I spent a weekend with him behind my parents backs, and in the process learned that women could in fact be on the receiving end of sexual favors (I'll let you figure out why I didn't know until then).

The next weekend, I tried to spend with him too. I felt loved and happy for once, and I felt like a junkie looking for my next high as I hoped to spend more time with him. My father, though, being off that weekend, was meticulous in trying to keep up with his eldest daughter in the way that he always was until I moved out on my own. I was caught in my lie, and when what happened beforehand came out, my parents were angry in a way I'd never seen before. Having to tearfully explain it all over to a police officer, being forced apart from someone I cared about until I was at least 18, and being threatened with a military/corrective academy/group home when I did try to contact him one more time... I'd never felt more hated as a person than I did then.

Until my freshman year was over, I spent my time at school in constant tears and watching the great grades I'd once had slide quickly into the garbage. I knew what was ahead of me that summer anyway; any contact I could've had with the outside world was to be cut off, and I'd be stuck in a house with siblings I couldn't help but resent at the time and parents I was convinced didn't even want me as a kid anymore.

I think I made it nearly to July before I tried to ride the sewer slide into what I hoped would be a forgiving afterlife. I still remember the feeling of the overdose rather vividly. I grabbed a bottle of pills of mine that weren't being used and wouldn't be missed--I swallowed what was in the bottle. I hadn't researched this in any way of course, so it most likely wasn't a deadly dosage. But the feeling of losing feeling in my legs sure felt like my soul was being lifted from this heavy waste of a body, so I pulled myself onto my bed and fell into a silent darkness.

From my best guess, I woke up a day later. My absence hadn't been noted, and I felt an extra curse on my being that I was still alive. Why did I continue to survive in a world I wanted no part in? (I guess so I could get to where I am now..)

Sophomore year came finally to save me from my crippling loneliness. I slowly fell back in to some sort of normalcy, and took on a new personality in the form of ROTC. The rigid structure rekindled my need to excel, and I eventually leaned so far into it that, in the moments that my older boyfriend from prior didn't manage to dash it, I reclaimed some sort of power for myself. I made friends, I worked hard, I cut my hair short and leaned into the person I wanted to be.

Which was easier before the sexual assault. An older cadet had taken note of me, and decided to prey upon my naivety in the form of a late evening outing to a private pool. Why not? I trusted my fellow cadets well enough. In the swimming we'd done before the sun fell down, I found myself constantly fending off advances. I tried very hard to convince him I wasn't interested. So, he finally said he'd take me home. Crisis averted, or so I'd hoped. Wrong.

I had no idea what road we were on, out in the countryside in the dark now. I had no idea why he'd pulled over and parked until he was on top of me. I begged him to stop. I just wanted to go home. He'd forced himself inside and if I hadn't thrown him off by making up a pretend phone call with my "worried mother", I don't want to think about how much farther it would've gone. When I finally stumbled through the front door in the pitch dark, that same "mother" half-asleep on the couch, asked if I'd had fun. I'm sure I mumbled something to get away to my room and fell asleep in tears.

I wish I could say I had some time that summer to process what happened to me, or even talk to somebody about it. Of course though, I didn't. Story of my life so far (ha ha, I'm funny).

July the 4th. One of the last days I would spend with my first boyfriend. We were part of a bigger group of friends hanging out in a friend of a friend's pool, and I thought we were having fun. I guess, though, my playfulness had come off as aggravating, and I was swiftly punished in a way that I still can't quite shake to this day. He shoved my head under the water, and as my playful squirming quickly devolved into panicked struggling, I felt myself honest to god drowning under the arms of a boy that I had spent the last two years loving and serving as an unofficial girlfriend. Before I could feel my mind slide completely from the lack of air, I aimed my teeth at his chest and bit him with everything I had in that moment. Finally, I was let go, and as I broke the surface, I could barely take in any air for the coughing up of water.

A couple of friends tried to tell him he'd done something fucked up just then, but he shrugged it off. The day ended with his apology of "if I'd meant to drown you, I would've fucking done it." One friend in particular had stayed in my aide, and I tried to take solace in it.

Too bad that it had to be another boy with nothing good on his mind. That also couldn't take no for an answer. Imagine white knighting a girl from an abusive boy just to drag her out to your remote, empty house with no cell signal and turn 10 "no"s into a "whatever, get it over with". I'm glad he found somebody else to date when junior year started, because the last thing I needed to do was be romanced by another creep.

Except, to no one's surprise at this point, I was. Just not the same guy from above. It wasn't an uncomfortable relationship at first, we'd struck up a quick friendship in ROTC, and I quickly became his long distance now-exgirlfriend's public enemy number one. She brought out the worst in me, causing my mountain of insecurities and once targetless rage to culminate in a hateful campaign against her. I did things I wasn't and still am not proud of doing, but it was nothing particularly harmful or illegal...just made me look like (and feel like) a nutjob. I guess I wasn't too happy about having someone I barely knew of threaten my wellbeing however she could.

Right, this is supposed to be about the newest installment to my dating history at the time, not her. Our relationship wasn't particularly notable in the beginning, I think the only change was that I actually started liking sex instead of it feeling like a chore. Life came and went around us.

I started experimenting with otc pills not long afterward, remembering the pleasant feeling of floating off when I'd attempted over my freshman summer. I'd also sporadically add in a prescription pain killer my mom had stashed in the same cabinet; at my worst, I'd mixed it with sleeping meds as well as a migraine medicine with caffeine, downing the lot of them with a cup of coffee. This is the first time in my life I'd ever known what "high" felt like. It'd been a short lived experimentation, though, perhaps a month at most.

It had luckily (if you could call it that) coincided with my grandmother raiding the medicine and liquor cabinets in the midst of a mental breakdown, so I'd gotten away with it in the end. Not so lucky, though, I'd been the first to find her covered in bloody scars. I remember her apologizing, trying to explain what had happened, and though I'm sure she doesn't remember, I'd simply responded that I understood with a vague motion at my own scars.

Eventually, things sorted themselves out, at least a bit. I went to my boyfriend's senior prom, watched him graduate, we went on a vacation to the beach with his family, blah blah. If we weren't constantly on the edge of an argument, I might've said I was happy.

My senior year came. I dropped ROTC as I'd been passed over for a position I'd fought tooth and nail for, and the anger burned too much for me to simply gloss over. I did continue in the extra curricular parts of it, but the resentment never really died. I also found out my boyfriend was in fact another of the "10 no's and a whatever means yes" types. The year was mostly unremarkable otherwise; I was refused when I begged my boyfriend to take me to my senior prom, so I missed it. I also lost the most crucial woman I'd ever had in my life, my great grandmother. She'd been more of a mother to me than my actual one ever was. I'd always told her she'd see me graduate, but leukemia cut her life short by just a couple months. Good god did that sting. Managed to get a concussion for my senior day and still walk the stage for my community college degree later on that day. Graduated high school.

I'm sure I sound deadpan about all that. Mostly because I'd assumed I'd have finally offed myself before I ever picked up my diploma. No dice. So I started working my ass off in a fast food kitchen and took classes at the local community college. Somewhere in the midst of that, I'd been invited by friends to come to a youth group.

It was there that I met my future exboyfriend and my future exhusband (spoilers). Seeing as my current boyfriend was constantly shit-talking me to his pals even though he knew I'd see it, I started getting closer to my friends to have some sort of light in my life. My mental health got worse as my relationship collapsed, though, and I tried to overdose again somewhere in there. Which is only remarkable in the fact that I'd swallowed half a bottle of sleeping pills and managed to work a night shift at my job without anyone noticing.

Inevitably, he'd decided my getting close to my future (ex)husband and best friend was actually me cheating on him. Hilarious really, because we'd never even so much as looked at each other that way. I did like him of course, he seemed like much less of an ass than my boyfriend, but he was in a relationship and I didn't want to interfere. Boyfriend becomes ex over text, only to try and patch things up the next day. I told him to go to hell. My friends invite me over for games one day, only for me to find out he'd staged a meeting with a bouquet of roses. I once again told him where to get off, and let the roses rot and die in the backseat of my car. He even tried to say how he'd been making payments on a ring to propose and asked how that'd made me feel. "Angry" I had replied. I think he finally started to get the hint.

I'd ended up in tears at my at the time good friend's house. He talked me through things, and of course it ended up in a confession of feelings for me. Dreading the thought of being alone after being single for a little while, we back and forthed about whether it would be a good move before he left for college, but we inevitably ended up together.

What a fucking ride I was about to go on. He's the first and only person in my life to make me feel like I was inadequate sexually, however this seemed to be much more a problem with his own struggling sense of sexuality than it was a problem with me..didn't stop me from taking it personally, though. I'd even started pondering my sense of gender at this point--I was a tomboy my whole life anyway, it wouldn't have been a huge leap to just be a boy, right?

Either way, he'd left for college and I made long drives every weekend I could to see him. It helped that I'd gotten a new job thanks to the last kind thing my cousin ever did for me, referring me to her fiance's uncle, who became like a surrogate father figure in my worklife. I went down and took my boyfriend on the nicest dates I could think of; lavish dinners, expensive card and collectible store raids, the whole nine yards. Put myself in a hell pit of credit card debt.

Then my friends and I all went down to spend the weekend with him at an anime convention. The weekend would've been absolutely amazing..except. Saturday night happened. Tired and frustrated with trying to get everyone together after a late night rave, a few of us milled about on the sidewalk outside. A random person offers my boyfriend and another friend a tenner if they went across the street and made a jump from a story up the stairs of a under-construction building. They were unable to get past the gates, luckily, but another random guy was able, and managed to break his ankle in the jump.

I helped the guy best I could to get his ankle straight until he could get checked, then went over to playfully hassle my boyfriend over the fact that that could've very well been him. After a minute or two, I watched his expression go blank. He pushed me backwards first, just far enough so that his fist could wind far enough to land a hard punch to my chest. I felt the wind go out of my lungs. I felt a rushing in my ears and tears well in my eyes--then I lost some time. I was apparently hysterical, having something worse than a panic attack (in fact, I learned much later into my mental health journey I'd been triggered into a ptsd flash). Someone drove us back to the dorms, and my then bestfriend came into the room later on and it was then (must've been an hour after the fact by this point) that I was able to squeak out "he hit me" after having lost my voice since it happened. He immediately begins saying if IF it did happen, he'd blacked out, must've been because I was hassling him, whatever he could say to deflect. Right. It's always my fault, somehow.

You'd think I would've walked away from the relationship, but I sadly believed him as much as my friend did. I even ended up planning (and failing due to my car overheating halfway to the spot I'd picked) to propose to him myself, and I did, though it was an odd bojangle's parking lot instead of the beach. Woof. That's hard to relive.

I turned 21 that year. Not long after, my father said I was becoming an alcoholic. I kept liquor under my bed to nurse myself to sleep for some time. Couldn't show my face at a New Year's party I normally would've loved to been at. Turns out that this is what my depression feels like when it's bad.

After sporadic contact off and on, my friend (future exhusband) starts talking to me again. Invites me over to take some extra junk food off his hands. I get there and within a minute he recognizes that something is very wrong with me, and starts talking me into going to see a therapist.

Maybe you'll see a pattern here, but it felt really nice to have somebody see I'm struggling and give a damn about my wellbeing. All the feelings I'd had for him before that had never died off came back and hit me like a deer being plowed by an eighteen wheeler.

It came to a head on Valentine's day. We'd flirted and skirted around the gray areas of being unfaithful for a bit, but when he took me to dinner and kept ordering me drinks (I wanted them, I don't believe this was a ploy BECAUSE) he brought me back to his house and put me to bed to sleep it off, but in my drunken, sad state of being, I begged him in tears to sleep with me. He gave in to my begging, and I became something I never wanted to be--a bonafide cheater.

You could maybe write off one night like that, but once that first time happened, I couldn't stop. I loved him, I wanted him, I wanted what I thought was happiness and forever because I'd waited so long for this. But god, did the guilt fuck my head right up. The worst of my scars on my thighs came from that guilt, and I was so suicidal that I was dubbed a "flight risk" constantly. I started to feel like he was my only anchor to life.

It took a little over two months, but I finally had to come clean to my boyfriend lest I let the guilt eat me alive. I'd struggled with the thoughts of telling him as he was incredibly mentally fragile as well, and I dreaded the thought of being the one to push him over the edge. That's no excuse to lie I realize, but it was where my mind was at the time.

When I had told him everything, he'd suggested overlooking what I'd done, he didn't want to lose me. As sweet a gesture as it sounds, I simply couldn't allow the relationship to continue--I wasn't happy with him, I hadn't been in many months even before my affair, and if I'd ended things the way I should've, it wouldn't have been an affair in the first place. We remained friends for a while afterwards even as my new relationship started rolling.

Somewhere in this, my boyfriend and I spent a night hanging out with my oldest friend from school and her waste of space then-husband. We all got drunk, and before I knew it, I had three people on top of me in a sexual way that I felt gross about. I ended up leaving boyfriend there and driving myself home, wanting to throw up but not from the liquor.

I also got into smoking weed at this point. I fell in love with the stuff; it tempered the constant body pains that I couldn't get a doctor to take seriously and it helped my currently unmedicated brain process emotions a little better. One day I'd gotten high and not felt like driving, but my boyfriend and friend wanted to go to the pool. Friend offered to drive, I agreed, and laid across the back seat of my car for the ride.

We never made it to the pool. My friend pulled out into an intersection and got us t-boned, totaling my car and whipping my spine, which resulted in my one and only ride in an ambulance in my life so far. I stayed the next couple days with my boyfriend at his house, and it wasn't a couple months later that I finally moved out of my parents house to live with him and his family.

Not long after my moving in, my ex had asked me for an online game, which wasn't uncommon, but I was tired from a long day at work and politely declined. Thirty minutes later, I'd been one of a few friends and family to receive what was meant to be a suicide letter. I panicked, calling him almost a hundred times as I ran over to his family's house to bang on their doors and warn them--all of which, the calls and banging, were ignored. I thought finally to try my work phone, which had a completely unique number. He answered on the first ring. I cried in relief begging him to be okay and while he had attempted to run out into the heavy traffic near his college, he was unsuccessful and was being escorted to a psychiatric ward by a policeman. I went back home, sobbing painfully and nearly vomiting from the stress. He called once from the psych ward, and then I never (and I mean to this present day) heard from him again. I tried so hard to talk to him, apologizing over and over, begging for responses for quite some time after.

Oh well. Back to the rest of it. My boyfriend and I were happy-ish for a while, until his anger issues and general aggravation with my precarious mental and emotional state started to make arguments a regular part of our lives. Well, he argued, I shut down. I went to therapy, went through a long laundry list of medications for depression and insomnia. Nothing ever worked too well for too long.

I also lost my relationship with my cousin who'd been my best friend growing up because I refused to go to her wedding without him accompanying me; he was my rock and the only thing standing between social events and anxiety attacks. Sad. Life goes on.

Stress and drama became a usual mainstay in my life. It wasn't much different than my life before, but I was slowly losing my ability to tolerate it. Then, I brought up the idea of trying polyamory. I will preface saying that polyamory probably is wonderful for other people, but it isn't something I should've gotten into, as I was in it for the wrong reasons. I'd gotten the idea from him, he'd done it in his previous relationship. And when I wanted to try it, it was funnily enough with his previous third partner that I'd always had some feelings for, but my god what a trainwreck of drama that girl ended up being.

Then we had a threesome with one of my long term friends. He became a ENM fling for me, but I cut it short as I did not want to mess up our friendship. Then, I got the bright idea to try the same thing with the guy my parents had tried to put under the county jail when I was 15. It was fun at first, then I made friends with his ex/baby mama, and was informed that he had an STI...that he'd not mentioned at all. I was blindsided and full of rage. I struggled at first with whether I should forgive him or not, ultimately I didn't, and stranded him at work one night as I cut contact after I left him there.

Not long after, we traveled to meet my now-fiance's partner. I loved her, she was a wonderful girl, and I helped plan an extravagant weekend for the three of us. Too bad I didn't take him spending the night in her room instead of mine too well. Or him sleeping with me, me begging him to stay with me a bit longer or at least to not go over there to sleep with her immediately after he left me.. that one really didn't go over well.

I couldn't take it. I ended up making them split up, which was such a heart rending feeling of guilt for me that I had a mental breakdown at work and got rode over in an ambulance (oh, guess it was twice in my life) to the hospital. My dad had to come pick me up, and I lost my job over what I'd done to myself at work.

We got married a couple months later. I remember having a conversation with my dad and lying about how I was feeling as we waited for him to go back to the house and get his license (which you need for the paperwork part of marriage to his surprise).

October came and he took my car out one night without asking. Half asleep from a powerful dose of ambien, I answer a panicked phone call. He'd wrecked my car. I had to go pick him up, and was made out to be a horrible person for being too tired to have a proper reaction.

Except I absolutely was positively pissed beyond belief. This was my second (also my favorite) vehicle to be totaled by someone else. I resented him so much. January rolled around and in the midst of a volatile argument, he'd said he hated me a little right then. I was truly never able to let that comment go.

We fought our way through to April, having made friends with yet another trash-incarnate human being in the meantime, but it didn't matter right then. One day I sat by the river with a bottle of pills I was sure would do it this time, and a photo of the two of us together. I didn't do it, then got to make me feel like I wished I had. The next day I took myself to the emergency room and, because of my prior history, my voluntary admittance was quickly flipped into an involuntary stay.

I never felt worse than I did while I was held in the emergency room, no contact, nothing to do but be alone with my thoughts. I cried, screamed quietly, couldn't sleep despite being loaded with valium.

I was transferred to a nice hospital psych ward in the mountains. I spent my week there making friends with people of all kinds, doing group therapy, and enjoying what felt like a safe little fishbowl compared to the terrifying ocean that was reality outside.

They figured out part of the problem was an antidepressant I'd been against taking in the first place, go figure. I was finally put on a medication that worked consistently, and sent on my way.

I spent the next month after my discharge absolutely drunk off my ass. The whole month. I ended up screwing around with the garbage friend despite not having permission to do so, and nearly lost my marriage when I admitted that it happened a week later. My husband and I spent my first week at a new job fighting over text, but we were eventually able to reconcile (kinda. Things wouldn't be the same afterward but that's expected).

Maybe a month later, I met who is decidedly the love of my life, but we started off as just friends (and coworkers, too). He quickly became my best friend since we spent so much time together. I was good friends with his ex (then girlfriend) too, and the four of us hung out outside of work almost daily.

We managed to get through my birthday and halloween happily. Then, without warning, his girlfriend becomes his ex and he's being kicked out of his living situation. I honestly took offense with how awfully my best friend had been treated, and decided to show her how clearly I was on his side the only way I knew how.

I picked him up and brought him back to my house from his family's, and we spent the weekend talking through things until the sadness turned into laughter, and I had very fast and hard fallen deep in love with my best friend.

I was an asshole for asking my husband to allow me to have a relationship with him, but he did agree to it as he was afraid of me doing it behind his back if he said no. But, any yes was good enough for me at that point.

It worked for a while, he even moved in with us for a month or so. As expected, though, things blew up, and instead of trying to salvage my broken marriage, I ran away with my boyfriend because I felt something with him I'd never felt before now--peace.

And even though we spent a month effectively homeless on a friends couch, even though we've been through so many things already together, he has consistently been my peace. He has loved me through some of the toughest decisions of my life and has helped me try to rebuild my mental health with a type of patience and gentleness I never thought possible of another human being.

"This sounds like more of an autobiography than it does reasoning."

I'm sure it does, but I've at least halfway answered your question in telling you all this.

[gancegancerevo]

Twitter gave me a brain aneurysm so I'm going to rant for a second

TW: mentions of SA, rape, and minimization of such

SOME PEOPLE DON'T DESERVE PEAK FICTION BY THE LORD

Utena isn't yuri even as Utena stands up for Anthy and fights her bullies while playing the prince's role

RGU isn't yuri because Utena acts like a boy and has bisexual feelings for multiple characters

RGU isn't yuri because Utena and Akhio had sex and it's Anthy's fault

Nevermind the implications of abuse, nevermind that Anthy herself has been sexually abused on the regular, nevermind the fact that AKHIO IS THE ONLY LEGAL ADULT IN THAT ROOM. No, Utena consented because she was seduced. Totally fine

I mean, statutory rape isn't rape apparently and the fact that Utena had sex with a penis means all the connections and implications she had with Anthy aren't worth shit

Also, if you were convinced by a guy to have sex you weren't raped. That's the sort of nonsense I read when all I wanted was to see people talk about a favorite of mine

I HATE EVERYTHING AND EVERYBODY

[coloradohqconnections]

ESME LOOMIS (MAME-ANNA DIOP) is looking for THEIR LATE BOYFRIEND’S SIBLING. they’d like the faceclaim to possibly be someone along the lines of MONICA RAYMUND, AJA NAOMI KING, JAY HAYDEN, MICHAEL TREVINO, WINSTON DUKE, MEAGHAN RATH, ANY FC 34+ (FCOC PREFERRED) but you must reach out to DADIISM to find out more! ( esme met wc’s brother, jeremy, their junior year of high school when he transferred to her school. they quickly started dating and got serious fast, making plans for college and the like. (death tw: their plans were ended one late night during their senior year. on the way home from a date, jeremy collapsed and was pronounced dead at the hospital from an unknown brain aneurysm). i imagine esme and wc have stayed in each other’s lives over the years and have an understanding of each other in ways most people wouldn’t due to their loss. how close they are, their dynamic, etc can definitely be discussed beforehand! )