#but also. i am not going to let myself be ashamed of questioning things. even if I come to a similar conclusion at the end

[bookwyrminspiration]

i've been having some discourse thoughts recently and going back and forth, and I don't really have a final conclusion at the moment so I'm just writing it out to try and make sense of it. I am not intending to get into heated arguments or cause problems, I'm genuinely just trying to question thoughts and beliefs I've been holding to that i picked up from others to be certain whether or not they're solid and I want to continue in that manner because reflection, introspection, and critical thinking are good practices. and posting it because consulting and engaging with others and perspectives outside your own is helpful. so don't mind me trying to sort myself out it's a genuinely earnest attempt to properly reason it through

the crux of it is that I realized it seems hypocritical of me to say I firmly believe in shipping and letting ship, supporting fiction's right to be fucked up and unhealthy, controlling your own experiences, for people to do what they want with fiction because fiction is not reality and should be a safe space where you can explore fucked up things, agree that policing what you can and can't do with fiction is a dangerously slippery slope, and then also turn around and condemn wylinh/wylinh shippers

I don't like the ship myself, I've made numerous posts discussing why I find it harmful--the main thing being its an adult x minor ship (Alden and Della's relationship is completely different, do not bring it up here as a counterargument. you can ask me to explain further if you don't understand). But people are allowed to engage with things that would be harmful or predatory or questionable or etc. in fiction; it's fake. People have said it before, but writing about murder doesn't mean you want to commit murder and all that.

So then since its okay to ship fucked up things because this is fiction, the problem with wylinh seems to become that people ship it in the same manner they do other ships without adult/minor dynamics, not with the understanding that it's got questionable elements. That it's okay to ship fucked up things but you have to do it a certain way that I think is acceptable (you have to know its not really healthy irl), and I don't think that's a mindset I want to have? That people's shipping needs to meet a standard I set? Even if I don't like it? I'm not arbitrator I don't get to decide those kinds of things for others, I just get to decide for me

And another big argument that's been made (including by me) is that children/young teens read these books and find fandom spaces even if they're not supposed to be here, and that that exposure could normalize a harmful age dynamic. Because while Wylie and Linh may be lovely people, they're fictional and it's not reflective of how an age gap like theirs would look irl and children could end up missing red flags of predatory people in real life by thinking of it like idealized fiction. But think of the children rhetoric is one that has been often criticized as cover for more malicious intentions (such as in politics) with the convenient safe fail that if you disagree, you must not care about children.

Part of the critique of that rhetoric is also that the actions being defended don't actually help or protect children. So I'm now wondering, does trying to stop (I can't think of a better word at the moment) wylinh shippers actually achieve that goal of protecting impressionable kids from idolizing an unrealistic relationship, or does it just motivate them to hide it and not trust the people who are, to them, unjustifiably criticizing them?

Wylinh is a widely disliked ship in the fandom, and that's okay, we're all allowed our opinions including negative ones. I just feel as though I'm contradicting myself on some points and want to straighten them out for myself. I don't like Wylinh, I don't ship it, I don't engage with any Wylinh content because of the aforementioned reasons. But my personal dislike shouldn't shape fandom spaces and others' actions, and making sure people are shipping things the "right" way feels like a much more harmful slope.

And if the best course of action to align with that is to just focus on myself, not engage with what I don't like, and politely share my thoughts without forcing them on others or trying to control their actions when the opportunity arises (though maybe this isn't the best course of action, there may be others), that makes this whole post feel redundant because that's...already what I'm doing. I suppose this is just to change my internal perspective not my outward actions? My intentions?

There's no real final conclusion to this, it's just me going "hmm, I've been criticizing wylinh shippers for shipping what I think is a harmful ship, but I also believe in shipping and let ship and allowing fiction to explore harmful things and not controlling others. can these co-exist or do I have to rethink something?"

and I think the answer is I have to rethink something? and that something is criticizing people for shipping wylinh. i still maintain my critiques and dislikes of the ship, but that's a separate thing. i find it more important to maintain and respect individuals right to engage with fiction of all sorts how they want to, without control from others

there's probably a million ways to negatively misinterpret things I've said, so just know all of this is genuine reflection made in good faith. i am earnestly trying to figure it out, and if anyone has input or opinions or perspectives they'd like to share you're welcome to, provided its also in good faith.

alright cool that's all, please do not be mean to me as I try to be a better person because I know its a discourse heavy topic :)

[writersdrug]

Ghost x Konig x Reader: I Don't Need You (Ch. 6)

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Summary: You (surprisingly) get more comfortable with Kortac, and slowly let yourself connect with the team. You subconsciously tether yourself to Konig, who is more than willing to help you fit in. The pain of the past begins to fade into the back of your mind like the end of a long chapter of your life.

Additionally, Konig starts asking the hard questions - it unearths a piece of you that you'd hoped would remain buried, but you still share the memories with Konig.

Chapter warnings: Mentions of violence, mentions of rape, cursing, google translate German, shirtless Soap, very EXTREMELY watered-down mentions of sexual themes (we ain't there yet, boiis)

Notes: Sorry it took so long, I've got a lot cooking in the kitchen now and I'm hoping to pump out a lot this week!

Additionally, I've had some comments on this work not being an x Reader. First off, I never want to mislead anyone. I label this as an x Reader because Bonnie is not an OC of mine. I've seen other x Reader fics include callsigns that refer to the reader, so I assumed using Bonnie similarly would be alright. I also mentioned a name ONCE in chapter 3, "Jane Morris," which I thought to be a very generic name, and I haven't used it since and don't plan to. I have a personal preference of writing longer, chapter-by-chapter fics in first POV because it feels more natural to me than second POV. The same goes for using y/n - I like to avoid it if I can because it feels unnatural.

Again, those last two thing are a personal preference. I'm not bashing any fics that use these things at all, I enjoy both ones that do and ones that don't, and I don't enjoy one over the other. When I say one feels more natural than the other, I mean it feels more natural to write, not to read. I'm debating changing the name I used in chapter 3 to just y/n l/n to make this a true x Reader. If you still feel like I should change this to an x OC please let me know and I'll be happy to adjust the tags, titles, and descriptions. Again, I never meant to be misleading, and I hope I didn't make anyone angry. If a mistake has been made I am happy to learn from it. Thanks!

Konig had cracked the code on me. He figured out that after a case of American beers and a long drive, away from the crowd of new faces, my outer shell began to soften.

There was still a wall that I was holding up between me and everyone else, even though it was significantly smaller than usual. When Roze and Castillo approached me at breakfast, I didn’t get up and leave. And when Juno used the empty spot in the gym room right next to me, dropping his bag on the floor and giving me a cautious glance as he set up for his routine - I didn’t grab my things and move to the other end of the room. That was my first instinct, but I fought it. Instead I huffed, facing the mirror in front of me and focusing on my sets.

I’d started going to the common area more often – maybe not every night, but often enough. We’d make it a habit to play poker on the nights I did show up. I was better than most of the group, since none of them were quite used to my mannerisms yet. However, Konig and Horangi still took the lead as the winners, despite most of us arguing that they shouldn’t be allowed to play if they were going to wear their masks. The argument would eventually turn into a casual conversation – I didn’t engage in it too often. I preferred to sit and listen, using the time to slowly learn more about the team. I typically planted myself between Roze and Konig, keeping my legs crossed on the seat and nervously fiddling with my Yuengling bottle.

Although I was ashamed to admit it, Konig had become a conduit for my interactions with the rest of the team. The way he engaged with their activities, yet still managed to stay reserved, struck a chord with me. I respected the fact that it could sometimes be difficult to find him on base, and that at the same time, he was always there when I started to feel overwhelmed. I didn’t need him, no… that was a stretch. But sometimes I felt grateful that he was so eager to accompany me places – especially when he invited me to go on “perimeter checks” with him, which mostly consisted of long drives off base.

I don’t know how I had grown to appreciate him so much – maybe it was because he felt similar to me, in the way that we both needed our alone time, and with how we often found ourselves slipping out of the common area around the same time, with the original excuse being that we were tired. Half of the time, we would sit in the mess hall and talk until the early hours of the morning.

“A sniper?” I asked on one particular night, fiddling with the mouth of my beer bottle. “You’re way to big for that – no offense.”

Konig chuckled. “And that’s what they initially told me.” He took a swig of his (nasty) German beer. “But, despite being handed other opportunities, I proved them wrong. I’m sill a damn good sniper.”

I huffed. “Nah, you should be happy you got promoted to Colonel; you’re lucky, you get to avoid being in the trenches – at least, as much as the rest of us.”

“Lucky? No…” Konig said, shaking his head. “I do not like being a Colonel. I’d much rather be doing the dirty work of soldiers than writing these stupid reports.” He slapped a large hand over the manilla folder that sat on the table next to his beer. “It keeps my head busy, and I don’t have to listen to myself think.”

I nodded while sipping my beer. “I completely get that – If I’m not actively doing something with my hands, my brain gets too loud. Like – like there’s a mini me in my head, and the only way to drown her out is by physically doing something. Anything, really.”

Konig laughed – almost a snort – “‘A mini you’. I like that, that’s good.”

I huffed a laugh through my nose, turning my head to hide the smirk on my face. Despite being a large, brutish man, he had a youthful essence about him. It was hidden deep beneath the thick exterior of a war-hardened soldier. But, every now and again, it rose to the surface, touching a part of my soul I hadn’t allowed to be seen in a long time.

I pushed my stack of bills into the middle of the table. “All in.” I said nonchalantly.

Gaz narrowed his eyes, leaning back in his chair and looking down his nose at me. “You’re bloody stupid…”

“Or really smart.” I retorted. I folded my arms over my chest, not wavering under his intimidating gaze.

It was unbearably hot in the room – whether that was from the tension of the game or the broken air conditioner (Price eternally insisted it would be fixed, “… by next week…”), I didn’t know. I was donned in my sweatpants and sports bra, Gaz was in a wife beater and sweats, Ghost was covered head to toe in a sweatshirt and jeans (one could ever rarely catch him wearing anything less), and Soap… well, Soap was Soap. Completely shirtless, with only a pair of gym shorts on. Typical for him to be so shameless.

Ghost looked at his cards, his jaw clearly tense underneath his mask. He wasn’t very good at hiding his unlucky hand – it was almost like he wasn’t even trying. Which was a possibility.

“Fucking hell… I fold.” He tossed his hand onto the table, revealing his sour bunch of cards. He walked to the fridge and cursed under his breath, rummaging through the contents.

“Jesus, you’re a load of dry shite.” Soap commented, leaning against the wall adjacent to Ghost. “You could’ve at least tried to intimidate ‘em.”

“You could try shutting your fucking mouth, alright?” Ghost snapped back. Soap raised his hands defensively, leaving Ghost by the fridge.

He flopped onto the couch near me and Gaz. “Miserable sap…”

I did my best to tune out their bickering. I stared down Gaz, tapping my fingers on the edges of my cards. I was relying on the river card – I had a chance at a four-of-a-kind, praying the last card on the table would be another seven.. It was risky, and Gaz was probably right in calling me stupid. But I was never one to back down from a challenge. I craved the thrill of it. Most of the time, I ended up getting lucky.

Gaz chewed his lip. He cocked an eyebrow, slowly pushing all of his cash to the middle of the table. “Call.” He said.

And I heard it – the telltale sign of his bluff. A fraction of a second where his voice had waivered, followed by him grinding his jaw. I knew I had it in the bag.

I was savoring the moment of triumph, watching Gaz stare at his cards, when I felt a hand on my back. I nearly spun around and yelled at whoever touched me, until I saw a gloved hand place a Yuengling bottle to my right, the lid already popped off. I faltered, staring at the bottle, feeling the hand on my back rubbing a thumb back and forth over my spine.

I glanced behind me, looking up to meet Ghost’s eyes. He was looking down at me with an empty gaze. His eyebrows twitched for a brief moment as he continued rubbing his thumb over the skin of my back.

I knew what he was suggesting. What he was asking. Put a woman on a compound with broken, touch-starved men, and eventually one of them will succumb to the temptation. Even so, I was shocked that it was Ghost. I would say he was showing a weakness here, no matter what he decided to call this – it was an admission that he needed something – something from me, specifically – which I never thought would happen.

He continued staring at me for another few moments, waiting for an answer. Keeping my eyes locked on him, I took the bottle and drank; my reply. He gave the tiniest nod, walking away and sitting down next to Soap – who was shuffling the remaining deck of cards, eyes narrowed at Gaz. He knew he was bluffing too.

I turned back to Gaz, smirking as he revealed the river card.

“You ever think about what you would say to those kids now?” I asked, tapping my beer bottle. “The ones who bullied you.”

Konig hummed. “Mm… not really. I don’t hold too much resentment.”

I chuckled. “If only we could all be a saint.”

“Well, it all happened so long ago.” Konig tried to justify himself. “We were only kids, bored and trying to stay on the surface. They just wanted to look tough so that no one would pick on them. Of course, I wouldn’t understand that as a kid. Maybe then, I would have admired what I’ve become, and I would have wanted to boast about it. But now that I am a Colonel – Ich habe besseres zu tun.”

I sarcastically rolled my eyes. “And that means?”

“Ehh…” he groaned, squinting his eyes. “How is it said… ‘I have bigger fishes to cook.’”

I sputtered, turning my head and laughing. Konig glared at me. “Gibt es ein Problem?” he asked, which I sort of understood. He sounded irritated, that much I could tell.

“No, Konig…” I said, standing up and giving him a pat on the shoulder as I walked by. “Just keep up the English lessons, ok?”

He scowled. “Verpiss dich… Start learning German and maybe I will.” He retorted, and I waved at him dismissively from behind my back.

I stuck my head into the fridge, grabbing a Yuengling and one of Konig’s beers. I walked back and placed them both next to him. Like instinct, he took each one and hooked their lid onto the edge of the table, then smacked the side of his hand down on the tops, sending the lid clattering to the ground. He opened my beer and handed it to me, then repeated the process with his, before reaching down and collecting the lids. He added them to the pile, totaling six beer lids so far.

If someone had shown me this image a year ago – Konig and I, sitting up late into the night, chatting like we’d known each other for decades… not to mention the fact that I was so unusually open with him… I would have been insulted. I would have laughed. No one would have been able to convince me that I would become so attached to anyone else after what had happened with the 141. Yet, all of this felt so natural. It was beyond how I felt that Konig and I were kindred spirits… it really did feel like I’d known him before. Maybe, he reminded me of a part of myself that I tried to bury away.

Or, maybe, I was just submitting to loneliness and trying to justify how quickly I clung to the first available soul. That was also an embarrassing possibility, one that I would rather not admit to.

“I have a question for you.” Konig’s voice and the clink of his beer bottle on the table brought me back to reality.

“I might have an answer.” I replied.

He looked off to the side, perhaps wondering whether or not he really wanted to ask the question. “Who did you kill? And why?”

Just like that, I felt the walls being built right back to where I had them. Bonding time’s over. Back to square one.

His inquiry caught me off guard. I froze, my bottle hovering in the air before I could take a sip, my eyes glued to the table. Just the mention of the incident brought the painful memories up to the surface, like claws scraping at the dirt, digging up the deepest roots.

“Lots of people.” I said, deflecting. I took a swig of my beer.

“You know what I mean.” He scoffed. “Why did you end up in military prison?” He leaned over the table – clearly not planning on letting the topic go.

I sucked my teeth, staring at him defiantly – moments ago, it was pleasant talking to him. Now, I was fighting back the urge to leave him at the table and go to my dorm. I felt ambushed at how he had changed the subject so abruptly. Like he had been waiting for me to carelessly stumble into the trap, and now he was watching me snarl from within it.

He leaned back with a sigh. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I just thought we were getting somewhere here.”

“Oh?” I said dryly, cocking an eyebrow. “’Getting somewhere?’ What’s that sup-“

“Hey, it’s ok.” He raised his hands defensively. “I get it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” His words were forgiving, but his eyes said something else – I knew what he was thinking.

Weak.

I gave him a hateful stare. Fucker know how to play his cards.

“I killed a sergeant.” I admitted. “My lieutenant’s right-hand man.”

That got Konig’s attention. He leaned forward again, putting his bottle off to the side. “Why?” he asked again.

I inhaled deeply, then exhaled, as I leaned back in my chair. My eyes fell to the floor as I forced myself to recall the memories. “In Egypt, a while back. Don’t ask when because I won’t tell you.” I warned Konig, and he huffed – but obliged.

I continued. “We were going in to retrieve a hostile target. Everyone was jumpy – me included. It was dark, and we didn’t know what to expect. After the hostiles started to engage, we were scattered. I got stuck in one tower, so I went upstairs to try and make a foxhole.”

I paused. It was now my own hands, covered in dirt, clawing at the roots of the memory. Each word I said was painful, yet somehow felt overshared. Like I was trying to get Konig to pity me. Except I wasn’t – I just wanted him to listen.

And that’s exactly what he did. No comforting shoulder pat, no soothing words… he just listened. He knew that if he stepped on the wrong spot, it would break my openness, like a branch breaking under his foot would disturb the silence of the woods.

“The sergeant – ‘Flare’ – he was up there, too. I thought we’d had the same idea, but… holy fuck…” I ran a hand down my face, feeling my heartbeat grow faster. “At first, I didn’t know what he was doing, I just heard him making those sounds and I thought he’d been hit, but… he was taking advantage of this – this woman – and with her kids right fucking there… she was probably just trying to hide, to hide them, she had to be so fucking scared… he didn’t even stop when I found him, I don’t know if he even heard me screaming at him.”

I paused, almost waiting for Konig to say or do something, but he remained silent. Despite my eyes never leaving the floor, I could see his blue ones watching me carefully. Concerned, patient, and calm.

“I didn’t know what else to do.” I said, my voice faltering the slightest bit. “So I shot him. In the head.” I unintentionally shivered. “Probably traumatized that poor woman and her kids, but… quick decisions aren’t the best ones.”

I ended my rant with a heavy sip of my beer. Konig continued watching me with wary eyes, which I ignored. I didn’t need consolation, or sympathy, or whatever he might try to offer. Somehow, he seemed to understand that.

“I would have done the same thing.” He commented.

Would you?

After a moment, he exhaled. “I don’t understand… I’d say you were in the right. Why did they put you in prison for that?”

I chewed my lip. “There was… some speculation, that I was jealous of his position. We’d been close throughout my time with the team, and when he got the promotion to second-in-command, I was a bit envious at first. People thought I was taking my anger out on him in what seemed like the perfect opportunity to lie.” I took another sip. “But I was happy for him. He worked hard, and he deserved it. But then the pressure got to him – Lieutenant was always depending on him for too much, and Flare couldn’t handle the responsibility. If he slipped up, it was a lot worse than if one of the rest of us did. I guess… the pressure is what got him in the end. Made him crazy in the end. He didn’t have any morals anymore.”

More silence. It felt uncomfortably loud – Konig’s stare seemed to make my head ring, making me fidget and bounce my knee. I wanted to snap at him. What are you looking at? Why are you asking so many fucking questions? But I was able to keep my anger at bay, justifying the situation by assuming his questions were fueled by nothing more than curiosity.

I figured I had said enough for the night, and finished off the rest of my beer. I slapped my leg, the telltale sign that I was getting ready to turn in.

Konig ignored it, or seemed to not notice. “Why did you kill him?” he asked.

I narrowed my eyes in confusion. “Why did I? What do you mean?”

“Why kill him? Why not just… disable him for the moment, and let your commander deal with him later?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but my voice was a second too late. “Again… in the heat of the moment, you don’t make distinctions like that. You think: ‘shoot,’ or ‘don’t shoot.’ And shooting him was the choice I made.”

Konig’s gaze became scrutinous. He knew I was lying about something… he was hellbent on figuring out what.

He’s going to have to wait a long damn time.

“Goodnight, Konig.” I said flatly. I collected my bottles, getting up from the table. With a clang, I tossed them into the bin by the exit, walking down the hall and leaving Konig sitting alone in the mess hall. I feel tears stinging my eyes, but that’s all they did. It’s all just water under the bridge, y/n. Get it together. You’re alright.

-----

Taglist: @igotmajordaddyissues @princekonig @vixionix

[yelenasdiary]

Read this or don't, that's completely fine. I was going to explain everything in a reply to an ask that I was sent but an anon that has nothing to do with this, they are lovely! I just think a post on its own is more appropriate.

Below the cut I warn you that topics like, Sexual Assault, Physical & Mental abuse are spoken about. Please do not bother to read this if you're not comfortable. I literally do not expect anybody to read this, I am simply posting this because of how I am feeling towards the asks I received before I went to bed last night.

I just want to say that I've been open about certain things in my life on here and that is simply because I want my blog to welcome everybody (within reason). I want those who unfortunately have been through similar stuff to feel seen, heard and know you are loved! I want those who feel alone to know that you're never alone, I am here for you, my blog is here for you.

This isn't the first time I have received asks about my sexual experiences. A month or two ago I received a spam of asks that I never answered because of how disturbing and outright disgusting they were. Now, after last night, I feel that I need post this. I am not asking for anything in return, I just want to make that clear. All I want is for people to understand the hurt I am currently feeling.

I've always been open on here about the fact that I am a virgin. It's nothing that I feel ashamed about, I don't think there is anything wrong with it. I know there are plenty of people like myself who are also virgins. I wish there were more people who are open about being a virgin, if people can be so open about the fact they aren't a virgin, why can't we be open about the fact we are?

So when this anon asked if I was a virgin, I was honest and said yes. My mind was already racing with "oh god, what's next?" and I was just hoping whoever they are was jus being curious. But instead, I feel like they've made me ashamed of the fact I am a virgin, 25 and write smut.

TW; SA, Physical & Mental Abuse Mentioned -

A few of you would already know that unfortunately yes, I am a victim of sexual assault. I was a child and it was something that happened daily for a couple of years. Due to this, I have trauma, PTSD, depression and anxiety. I grew up with little knowledge on the basics of sex because of how triggering it was for me. I couldn't sit in on sexual education classes, I couldn't joke around about penis's with my friends let along look at one. For so long, I genuinely believed what happened to me was normal. I was 12 when I realised it wasn't.

It took me years to even be okay with the topic of sex, to see it in movies or even think of it. My sexuality wasn't something I always questioned, I had a big crush on Bieber during my teen years and there were a few other male celebrities that I found rather attractive, it wasn't until I was 17 that I saw women in a different way and tbh, the feeling I got from thinking about myself in a relationship with a woman was a lot more comforting then it was to thinking of myself with a male.

Did my abuse make me bisexual? Maybe. I don't know. I don't really care. I like women a lot more than I like men, I feel more comfortable talking to women than I do men.

Did my abuse stop me from having 'normal' teenage experiences? Yes. I have never physically been with anybody, I have never kissed anybody nor have I ever been on a date. Is that sad? maybe to some, to me? No.

I have little to no trust in males. Given that my abuser also physically abused me for such little things and mentally, I don't know what it feels like to not have the thoughts I do about myself. This person has ruined so much of my life and has had control over what I do because of the trauma they caused me.

But all that aside for a moment, I am still a human. I am a woman who still feels things. I am learning every day of new things. I have done plenty of research for the things I felt I missed out on in school. I have a best friend who is so fucking patient and understanding with me that he will explain things to me if needed.

Writing & reading smut over the last year has been really good for me. I don't mean that in a weird way, I mean that in a way it has helped me explore things I didn't know were a thing, it has helped me grow more comfortable with sex and that sex is a normal thing. Don't worry, I know what is written in smut is purely fiction, I know what happens in porn isn't real. I am not stupid.

But I can't sit here and say that smut has been really helpful. Some of you might not understand that and that's okay. But I have come a long way with being comfortable and finally feeling like I can be open about things I enjoy.

Back to this anon.

Yes, I am 25 and never had sex. I have never voluntarily sucked a guy off. i have never voluntarily slept with a male, touched a male or seen a males body. Why any of that is important to you makes no sense to me. You have brought back things that I wish to not think about. You have made me feel triggered and as though I shouldn't be writing such topics because of my lack of experience. You had no consideration whats so ever and I believe found it rather funny.

I am feeling so many feelings and having thoughts that I wish to express but I know you'll most likely see it has a sob story and make matters worse. What I do hope though is that if you have read this that you understand that your words and actions hurt. I am not weak for telling you this, I am not weak for not having any sexual experience, I am not weak for asking you to understand that your thoughtless actions were not called for.

I do not need to have sex to know what I am doing. I do not need to have sex with a cis male to know how to write about dicks. I do not need you to make me feel ashamed of this either.

This is already such a long post and I don't even expect anybody to still be reading this but if you are, please, please remember to always be kind! spread love, support and happiness. You honest have no idea what your words and actions can do to somebody. Be aware and be considerate, you would never want your closest friends to feel that way I am currently feeling.

I am sending love to everybody, if you ever need a friend to talk too my DMS//asks are always open. I will listen and be whoever it is you need 💜

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

I've asked myself many times over the course of three years about how would I react to information that comes to contradict a specific image I have about people. And the answer would differ, more or less, depending on a myriad of factors, such as my mental wellbeing, my attitude toward the fandom, the group, the members, etc. The truth is, I only knew how I would respond the moment it happens and I was pleasantly surprised in a way. I see it as a sign that I'm doing better or at least I'm on the path of doing better.

These are things that I didn't want to allow to come to surface in the way I used to handle the BTM blog. Perhaps because the point was to create a platform in which I could offer the rational, researched perspective which I considered to be the correct one. I'm not retracting any of that. I still believe that it is possible to offer a more complex perspective if I can back it up with knowledge from various fields, but it was also one of my defense mechanisms.

Without expanding on the personal reasons, it has become very easy for me to separate my rational and emotional side. So much, that even when I should be staying in the moment and let my emotions take space, I can't really do it, I need to come up with a rational explanation so it can make sense. I then applied this to BTS as well. I couldn't just say I like this group when someone would ask, I would have to tell them about all the studies I read and how my fascination is mostly intelectual, when in truth it was both. I used to talk about jikook only in the context of analysis, be it GCF through semiotics or various types of interpretations when it came to their performances or fandom reception in terms of their dynamics. It had to be in the context of rational fascination and curiosity because I was merely trying to justify myself on why I care that much about two strangers that I look at on my phone. Again, my intellectual curiosity is real, but that has always been only one side if the coin, but it was one that I pushed.

It's about shame actually. I can't actually accept that I have such an interest. It doesn't fit with the idea I have of myself. And sometimes I don't like it because it makes me question my intellect, my critical thinking. How can I be so good academically and at the same time I fear that I've fallen into a fandom trap? I'm smart, right? Right?

I'm sure a lot of people have dealt with or ar going through this process of cognitive dissonance. How does one deal with the mere idea that something they believe in based on their understanding of the world, their ability of decoding (not in a conspiracy sense, but in a Saussurean way) can turn out to be wrong? We see something that resembles a specific behavior that we are surrounded with our entire lives, sometimes we ourselves engage with, but we've identified it wrong on others? Of course, it's through the visual medium, one that is edited. It's a puzzle with large chunks missing, but we're getting a general idea of it. But we can be wrong. So how do we deal with that? Well, I don't have a correct answer.

Me in 2020/2021 would have been more affected because my mental health was not good. I was functionally depressed and I clinged so much onto BTS, Jikook and the small community that I found myself in at that time, that I would have felt a lot more torn than I am now.

A couple of years later and having to actually go through a situation in which my understanding of people's relationship might not be accurate, I realized I'm fine. And I think it's because it made me really register just now that I finally learned how to have fun with it. It took me three years. By having fun, I mean genuinely being able to simply enjoy the little things. I'm still on the path of not being ashamed for liking kpop or spending time talking about the dynamic/relationship of two people.

What prompted this post was reading what is currently being written in the jikook tag. Yes, I had this big introductory chunk that perhaps people won't bother reading, but I'm doing it for myself. If I can't be honest while writing stuff into the void for strangers to read, then what is the point?

I get frustrated very easily. I like debates and contradictory points of view, but not always. And that's because I like to be right. Almost all the time. So when I see something that I believe it lacks logic or I find it absurd, then my fingers are itching. I don't comment or DM people, I can control myself. I'd rather get out of the app and do something else.

What I want to say is I was surprised at how much fanfiction is being written. More that usual. Shipping contains a big deal of fanfiction by its nature. Gestures and events taking place at different times are interpreted and having information added that fills the gaps. People do that because they have to make sense of what they see.

They like to make relationship timelines. They speculate on first kisses and first sexual experiences. That's their imagination. None of us has any way of knowing. The element of fiction is heighted when people feel like they are losing control of the narrative. When they are unsure of what they are seeing. Which is what usually happens in the shipping community on a yearly basis. Anons flooding the bloggers' inboxes because they need confirmation or they didn't get any ship content in a month or two which means something is wrong.

There's this understanding that the shipper/supporter is delusional while the one who stops shipping is the rational one. From what I've observed throughout time and mostly now, that is a false distinction. The so-called rational fan makes use of fiction just as the shipper. The difference is in purpose. One talks about why the supposed romantic relationship is real and the other tries to refute that. But both categories seem to need fiction in order to build their arguments. That is because none of them have access to someone's private life and relationship, so the gaps need to be filled with speculation. There is no right or wrong version here, despite how much the idea is being pushed. And me writing about this won't make a difference. It's simply how the fandom works. The one who position themselves on the side of anti-delulu will always be seen as the less crazy one. The similarities will fade for the collective consciousness of the fandom.

I think it's difficult for a lot of people, regardless on which side they find themselves on, to accept that the option of simply not knowing is enough as well. Or knowing, but without getting anal about it. But it's hard and they write posts after posts, anons are sending asks over asks because there has to be a firm answer. Only a few allow themselves to be in between lines.

I'll bring back something that I always used to say. Shipping and involvement in the fandom is a lot more about us and less about the people we're talking about. It's about fullfiling some needs, of needing a community, of focusing on the idea of love. Those things can still be done in a way that still makes the experience enjoyable. But not everyone can and I'm not blaming it.

There's a way to just like how people behave with each other and imagine things without adding so much weight to it. Regardless of the true nature. It's our imagination, there's no need for a moral inquisition to tell anyone how to think or that they should stop thinking a certain way. Touching some grass is a cliche and an expression I ended up hating, but I do believe that being connected to discourse on a daily basis can really alter our sense of reality and what we consider to be real issues. We really should pay more attention to that and take some distance if necessary.

[wandafiction]

Sisterly Advice - Just Us Chapter 16

Warnings: Mentions of Sex Toy, Fluff

Word Count: 2451

Series List | Chapter 15 | Chapter 17

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

I'm currently in the elevator heading up to my penthouse going over everything that's happened these past few days, now don't get me wrong it has been amazing and it was like me and Wanda were in our own little bubble. But it's also a little scary, what I'm feeling, that is. I mean I know I like her, I like spending time with her, I like cooking her blueberry pancakes and I like when she just holds onto me. She is such a koala honestly. It just happened so quickly. We have known each other for four days and it's like I've known her for four years, it's just so easy to be around her, talk to her or even just cuddle with one another. This is a completely different feeling to any of my ex's, that's slightly cliché and an overused term I know. 'I've never felt this way with anyone else' ew. I never thought I would be someone to say those words, but here we are.

What do you guys think? Is this all going too quickly? Am I just kidding myself?

Ding, the elevator slides open and I see my sister standing there with a smug smile on her face and eyebrow quirked. 

"Who are you talking to?" Her eyes scan the elevator for another presence.

"No one. Just myself." I shrug off her suspicious look making my way into my home. 

I will talk to you guys later about this...whoever you are.

"You're talking to yourself again. Everything alright?" Carol jumps over the back of the couch getting herself comfortable before ushering me over to join her.

"Yeah just thinking about the past four days." 

"Yeah the four days you've been practically MIA with this mysterious woman who you met, oh that's right four days ago. So how's that going for you?" She leans her side against the back of the sofa so she can see me better, I copy her position.

"I'm feeling so many things and I don't know how to organise and register them." I huff out frustrated that I can't organise anything in my head at the moment.

"Well what would Dr Raynor do?" Carol asks gently, she shuffles slightly closer to me so she can take my hands in hers to stop me picking at my fingernails. 

"She would say to choose the one that is the loudest, and talk about why it might be the loudest." 

"So what's the loudest one right now?" As soon as she asks the question an emotion I've been feeling since I met Wanda jumps to the front of my mind, and I don't like the emotion one bit. 

"Terrified." I whisper out, ashamed that I'm feeling it in any way shape or form.

"Why?" I shrug my shoulders. "That's not an answer." My sister points out. 

"I don't know, I just feel this fear, like deep down inside that if I get close...that...if I let her in….all the way in...that…" I don't want to say it, because if I say it, it will make it real.

"You're afraid to lose again." I bow my head at my sister's observations, if she wasn't military she would make a fine therapist. 

"No Im fucking petrified." I feel my eyes become glassy with tears.

"Why?" Carol tilts her head in question.

"What are you my therapist now?" I scoff, but also hate the way I said it.

"No I'm not. I mean I could get Dr Raynor on the phone if you want. How long has it been since you last saw her?" 

"We have our once a month appointment. Speaking to her Thursday."

"Okay that's good. So can I stop asking the questions and give you some sisterly advice."

"Please do." Carol moves so she is right next to me, wrapping her arm around my back pulling me close so I can rest my head on top of hers.

"Take the leap." I move my head off of hers confusion showing on my face, I didn't expect her to be so blunt. "Take the leap, and let this woman catch you. Also I can't keep calling her a woman so what's her name?"

"Wanda." She repeats the name back to me once she has heard it, also giving an approving hum. "But what if she doesn't catch me."

"Then I will be here to fix all that is broken." 

"I'm scared."

"I know. But you don't know what will come of this if you don't take the initial jump. You need to take the jump."

"But how can I tell her about my shit, when I don't like talking about my shit." 

"Don't tell her straight away, but she will need to know because you know someone will bring it up and she will be there and lying leads to arguments." 

"I'm not lying."

"You're lying by omission." 

"I don't have to tell her straight away do I?"

"No you don't. You will know when the time is right. Just don't wait too long, okay."

"Okay." 

"Now enough talk about this. Can we go do something?" 

"Shopping?" Carol perks up at the suggestions.

"Yes! We can go to the mall, grab some lunch. I need new clothes anyway and a gift for the wifey for our anniversary. Oh and then we can go to that nice Italian place you like." I laugh at my sisters rambling.

"Sounds like a good plan to me."

"Can we take the G-wagon." 

"Well, duh! We are going shopping. We both know how much stuff you're going to end up getting, might need to hire a moving truck." She gently pushes me off her as she scoffs.

"Okay rude."

"But not a lie."

"No, not a lie." She grumbles as I get up from the couch to grab the keys to the car and my wallet.

Once we get in the elevator, Carol stands in the middle looking around suspiciously, eyeing up each of the walls before turning to me with squinted eyes.

"What?" I tilt my head at Carol's suspicious behaviour. 

"Did you and Wanda fuck in here?" When I tell you I choked, I fucking choked. 

"What! No, God no! Why would you say that?"

"Just making sure I could lean against the wall without the risk of it not being clean so to speak." 

"Okay me and steph only did it in here once. ONCE! and after your little meltdown about it, it's never happened again."

"Good, I guess. I mean I couldn't imagine what it was like when little ole Miss Cooper caught you two. She was just trying to get to the parking garage." 

"Oh don't worry, me and steph couldn't look the woman in the eye for months after. But after our break up, Miss Cooper said good riddance and we now laugh about the situation." 

"You talk very openly about steph?" 

"Why wouldn't I? It was good while it lasted. Just 6 months of fun." My sister now turns to me looking me straight in the eye.

"Yeah but it wasn't all fun and games, was it?"

"No but Dr Raynor has helped." 

"I was going to say, no happy reminiscing about that bitch please."

"Got it no reminiscing about the abusive ex." We both laugh at how serious I said it, but it's true if my sister doesn't want to talk about her then I won't. I guess my coping mechanism of laughing about everything is not to everyone's taste.

Ding. Me and Carol walk out of the elevator the whole elevator journey, we were just talking about everything and anything, just catching up on life. It has been way too long since I saw Carol last and to hear that my niece, and also God Child, questions where I have been breaks my heart. I need to plan a visit.

"So what are you getting the wife?" I ask Carol as we both climb in the car.

"Well it's our 5 year wedding anniversary, but also our 10 year of being official anniversary so its got to be something really fucking special." All the way to the mall Carol is rambling out ideas of what to get Maria, but always end up saying something like 'not good enough' or 'not worthy for my wife'. I can't even put in my input because she doesn't stop between each idea. I mean I have ideas for what she can do, but it's her wife not mine so I'm not much help to her at this point.

~~~~~

"My legs hurt!" I complain as Carol drags me into yet another shop, my arms loaded with bags that are not mine. "We have been at this for hours. I'm hungry" 

"This is the last shop I promise, then we can go to a coffee shop to grab a drink and a sandwich."

"Fiiiiine!" I was complaining so much, I didn't even realise what shop we walked into until Carol was holding an item in front of my face. A strap on. My sister was holding a fucking strap on in front of me. "What?"

"I said. What about this one?" 

"What about this one what? Why are you holding that thing so close to me." I swat it away as Carol huffs.

"As one of the anniversary gifts. Do you think Maria would appreciate it?" She drops her hand to her side now waiting for an answer.

"I feel kind of uncomfortable talking about my sisters sex life, with my sister."

"Oh get over yourself. Just tell me yes or no?"

"Have you used one before?" 

"Well yes, of course I have just not in a while, so I thought a new one might spice things up you know." She shrugs as she puts it back down on the display counter.

"Why not a double ended one?" 

"They do them?" Oh my god this conversation is going places I do not want it to go. I love my sister a lot but this is not a conversation I was ever expecting to have with her. Like ever.

"Well yeah. You know so you both get pleasure out of the experience."

"Talking from experience?"

"Okay. Nope I can't do this. I love you, but I am not going to be explaining my sex life to you."

"You used one on Wanda yet?" Carol laughs as I turn to walk out the shop.

"Right, that's it. Nope." But I mean truthfully the answer is no.

"I'm joking. I'm joking." Carol grabs my arm to spin me around. "Please, I don't know what half this shit does."

"Talk to the lady at the counter." 

"No, because it's embarrassing."

"This is embarrassing." I gesture between the two of us.

"I know. Please I will pay for lunch and dinner." I scowl slightly, but my face softens when I know I'm not going to win.

"Fine." I take a breath before walking back into the shop having a look around. 

Carol is following me like a lost puppy as I look over the shelves at what they have. Once I've done a quick scope, and have a few things in mind I turn to Carol.

"Have you ever used handcuffs?"

~~~~~

"Thank you for dinner." I look up to Carol from my food as I take another bite of my chicken parmesan.

"Of course. Tell me what's the loudest emotion now?" I swallow my food, before gently placing my fork on my plate to take a moment to figure it out.

"Relaxed." 

"Good. So tell me about Wanda." She gives me a smug smile as I roll my eyes at her.

"Really, we are being all sisterly now?"

"I know I wasn't always there, but I'm here now. So throw it at me and I can see what sort of sisterly advice I can give you.

"Alright. Also you know that's not your fault, you were literally on tour. You are in the air force, you go where they say you can't just decide to come home whenever you please." We both laugh, as she had definitely tried it once when she got the news two years ago.

"I know, I know. Now humour me, tell me about Wanda." She sits up more in her chair giving me her full attention as she slowly eats.

"What do you want to know?"

"How did you meet?"

"You know that."

"Right one night stand. Got it. What did she think of your penthouse?" 

"I don't really know, we were too busy for her to take it all in."

"Ew gross. Didn't need to know that."

"I literally just helped you buy new sex toys and stuff like 2 hours ago."

"Okay, yup, I see what you're saying now. We shall never talk of it again." I shake my head at her with a small smile on my face as I finish my meal. "But I do have one question."

"Oh god. Okay this one time. What is it?"

"Is she good in bed?" A sly smirk plays on my face and I shrug my shoulders. "Oh! So you're good in bed. Got it."

"Moving on please!" The waiter comes over, interrupting our conversation, thankfully, handing us over the dessert menus while taking away our empty plates. 

"Okay so you met Friday. What do you know about her?" Carold leans both her arms on the table, leaning her head on the back of her hands.

"Well. She is a divorced mum of two teenage boys."

"So she's a milf?"

"Oh yeah." I nod my head, just thinking about Wanda makes me happy.

"Oh look at you. You look like a love sick puppy." My eyes go wide as I hear the words leave her mouth.

"Woah. Hold up on the L word there. We are not there." 

"Whatever you say. You love sick puppy." Before I can hit her Carol catches my hand like it was the easiest thing in the word, oh right it is with her military training. "So how old is she?"

"33." I mumble, not prepared for my sisters reaction.

"33. Y/n she is the same age as me!" She doesn't look mad, at least not from what I can see. "I'm impressed."

My jaw drops. "How so?"

"Who knew a 22 year old multimillionaire could pull a hot mama." Carol wiggles her eyebrows at me as I groan. "She isn't after your money right?"

"I don't think so. She didn't seem to ask loads of questions or anything, she just accepted it, after getting over the initial shock."

"Well that's good."

"It is." Carol leans forward a bit more.

"So tell me more."

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

[marabarl-and-marlbara]

hello. i'm not sure how to phrase this properly but do you have any advice on not being afraid of being social with real humans? i admit i am a bit paranoid. i do not want to share anything about myself with anyone in real life, i do not want to use any social media that can be easily traced back to my real identity, i am afraid of meeting up with and talking to people i can meet locally etc. i know that human connection requires vulnerability and being "real", but i've seen far too many examples of people being bullied for being themselves and from my experiences relationships don't last that long, i can't keep friends, so it's almost not worth it to open up that much because it can be used against you later once you stop talking etc etc etc., at least that's what i think. i don't know how to perceive people as kind and stop being afraid. it's hard. sorry if this question is not phrased well.

hi anonymous; i:m terrible to ask for this!

i have basically no real-life relationships and my whole life has basically been a tomb built upon an inability to change, connect, and grow; spiritually i:m like what happens if the bacteria inside an empty house is allowed to stagnate and flow in-to the floorboards till it becomes like a fat pungent jelly saturating the baseboards, principal post, foundation; nasty and tepid and like a black mold :-))!

any-ways: what helped me get-over my social anxiety, slightly, was just gradual exposure at my own behest: forcing myself to go-out and get something nice for myself weekly/daily; when i had a little more money: this would be stopping out for coffee; or: just going to a thrift-store and looking at books.

for internet stuff and bullying: being open and facing consequence for your own existence is just part-and-parcel of being a person; even: if you are "making a career out of yourself" (whether it be an artist, or just some prolific poster (i:d consider this a career, absolutely, because when i was "way emotionally worse" i:d more-or-less literally get financially incentivized for being actively suicidal and mentally ill--blood sacrifice)) you sort-of implicitly are surrendering a barrier between yourself and other, cause ultimately it:s All About Connection & people don:t connect to barriers super well; incidentally, i think i had a worse time with "bullying" when i had more to be ashamed about myself, and had more internal insecurities -- but i also cared more about my identity as an artist; i:ve Confronted(!) the parts i:ve been too ashamed to confront and made peace with them, and now am mostly content with just housekeeping.

But: i:m still terrifically lonely. purpose and identity helps there; the only things that have ever abated the loneliness for me is being completely ensorcelled with /something/ (like a writing project, drawing, fleshing out an inner world, feeling like i am furthering my goal to the Communication/bacteria) -- and those only come as impulses for me; without: every-day is just a lonely dead-quiet stretch between meals that:s filled up with finding excuses to keep myself busy.

~but: i think that:s also "better;" i keep myself to a routine and give myself responsibilities that i don:t let myself shirk (my praying, my cleaning, my exercising, forcing myself to go to church once a week, my cooking, my grocery shopping); it:s like what moto realizes at the end of boogiepop phantom episode 1,

unfortunately we have to reconcile ourselves by ourselves, and likely: that is a life-time struggle that none of us get to shirk;

if you:d like a recommendation, anonymous, i:d like you to watch "boogiepop and others" (not "boogiepop phantom") episode 6; it:s an episode about that struggle, suema talks about it; if i:m feeling super-duper down i:ll listen to that conversation @ the end of episode 6 between suema and aya, about the struggle with the imaginator, and whether-or-not boogiepop is real.

anyways, i don:t think i gave you great advice here anonymous; even: i doubt any of this will lift your spirits >:-)) but @ minimum: try to be kind to yourself, including patience with yourself, and also responsibility to yourself; often it seems like people are awaiting another to come and pluck the dirt out of us: but that dirt is us, and all another can do is add more slurry to us.

take care chief.

[mcalhenwrites]

I'm sincerely trying to find answers to these questions. I'm seeking advice.

I'm going to start this off by stating that I'm still writing. I haven't quit. I'm not going to quit. This is about sharing. I've had so many people assume I quit writing or only will write for the sake of being a published author. I'll always be writing as long as I'm alive.

And as someone who firmly believes that people can choose whether or not to share their art with the world and no one else gets to decide that, I also believe that it's not wrong to want to have readers. Libraries and bookstores and art galleries and art sites and everything else - we connect to each other through art. It wouldn't exist if everyone just went, "Welp, I made the thing, good for me. Done!" And if someone is going to tell me that I should feel that way, I hope you keep all your writing and art to yourself. If not, I'd consider it a kindness to us both if you don't respond to this post through comments, DMs, or asks. Thank you. ;)

So onto the questions I'm seeking advice on.

How can I overcome the shame of posting writing for about 14 years and still barely getting readers? (But often getting a lot of critique?)

I've been in writing circles, reading and cheering on others, and they read one anothers' writing, but I'm frequently passed over/ignored - and that's the kinder response. I've been told that I'm there for my support only, that I'm not a good enough writer myself, that my characters are all the same.

How does one keep posting links to their published work or AO3 chapters/works, when they never get any likes or reblogs across several websites?

When friends have done nothing but scold them for not being good at PR, when I'm just... I'm a writer, not a businessman. And I am trying, but even popular authors on social media have mentioned that word-of-mouth and boosting of their work on social media has impacted their success? That M*sk taking over one of those sites has negatively impacted their interactions and therefore their sales? (Wouldn't this mean they also suck ass at PR? xD)

Am I supposed to believe I have a chance, when even established authors are struggling?

I don't like myself very much, and I'm ashamed of level of skill, even though I enjoy writing so much I can't help but always want to do it. I can't help but create stories and get excited about writing them down. There are even times I feel like I've made progress. Gotten better as a writer.

But it's so hard not to end up letting other people make me feel ashamed.

It's true I shouldn't listen to those people, but why have they been so many, and why is the positivity always so few and far in-between? Maybe if it was one voice in one-hundred, but what if it's twenty voices out of thirty? What am I to believe then? When even friends clearly have no faith in my works and don't want to be seen associating with it?

I wanted to be a published writer. I wanted to make a little bit of an income on writing, so I'd have reason to do what I love even more.

But I've spent most of my life feeling like a fool who keeps humiliating himself. Who wonders if the truth is that I'm worse at writing than even I'm willing to admit.

I had one story that "took off" on AO3, but even that lost readers by the end, and no one is interesting in anything I have created before or since then.

And that story... I've been editing it heavily and even added chapters, and I'm like, "I should post the new version sometime" but I'm convinced no one even wants it. (And I'd have to do it for free, and I can't afford to do things for free. I just got on medicaid finally and went to a food pantry last week and keep applying for help, and I have to wait until April to see a doctor to get critical help for my multiple health issues that might make my ability to work even harder. I broke down and crocheted stock for a table this month, and the pain in my wrist is excruciating, and the pain my heart that I can't spend half that time making personal passion projects with something I only want to do as a hobby is even more excruciating. So no, not every story of mine can just be churned out for free.)

Anyway, thank you for reading and your time, and if you have legitimate advice/answers/support... I could use it. I could use it more than ever. 

[ayyy-imma-ninja]

Hewwooo it's been awhile since I sent one!

... there's been a scary amount of rodent questions and scenarios of late...

But anyway! I've had stockpiled like 20 or so questions about SK bois, but 3 for now

1. Let's say the torture basement gets really bloody (Sun went feral), are there any special chemicals Sun would use to clean up all the blood? I would hope that water and soap are enough to do the job, but sometimes that doesn't fully remove the traces that can be found through luminol. Would he get his hands on some Hydrogen Peroxide to 'dissolve' the traces of blood?

2. Would Sun have any access to the past hospital records of the children that visit the library?

3. A moon question moon question.... This is very trigger worthy in my opinion. Would there be any days where, before Moon picks a tool to torture with, he just ditches the knives and goes for something horrendously blunt. Just to make the pain more agonizing for the Rulebreaker. The constant sawing back and forth into the flesh just to 'cut' it. Bonus points if the knife is coated in lemon juice or hot sauce before 'cutting'

Apologies that most of my questions tend to be pretty morbid to imagine about..

Also, I'm ashamed of myself that I didn't recognise your name much much earlier, considering that YOU'RE ONE OF THE ARTISTS TO DO DJ PARANOID'S COVER ART ON HIS SONGS! Great art for his 'Use me up' songs...I need to go check which else you have drawn for him..

Anyway, thank you for answering this if you do. I hope you will have a day you will enjoy (whenever you see this)

hello again!

1~ Yeah they keep cleaning supplies stocked for if things get messy. Soap, water, hydro perox, vinegar. It's why Moon wears a black cloak and Sun a black leather apron, the stains are harder to see. Even if the likelihood of someone entering the bunker is slim, they are still careful about leaving any evidence behind.

2~ And both Sun and Moon would. They have computers in their heads, so all it takes is a simple hack to get into the hospital records of some children.

3~ While Moon primarily uses knives to torture, he does use other tools at his disposal. Scalpels, saws, crowbars, bats, etc. Sun is skilled with axes and hatchets.

and yes, I am! It was super fun doing the art for that song! Such a bop >w< Thank you!

[docholligay]

Doc is it okay to like irredeemable trash media? Something that makes you smile but is the intellectual/moral equivalent of eating Skittles for breakfast?

I am not your priest nor your God, and you can't receive absolution from me. What I think is only worth the value you give it. I take no responsibility for how much you care about this, just want to come out of the gate with that.

Now, to the question at hand. I actually think "eating skittles for breakfast" is a GREAT comparison. People often get on my ass, affectionately, about how I can be in such good shape and eat a bunch of chicken wings and whiskey and taco bell, and here it is: I don't do that most of the time.

There's nothing wrong with watching really dumb TV, eating shit with maybe one (1) nutrient, reading only YA novels, or moving only from the couch to the computer daily, imbibing a bit in silly juice, what have you. But. If you make these indulgences a daily thing, it'll start to show on you. That's just the reality. Everything in life is a muscle. You can huff going up the stairs and you can struggle to assess complex situations. You can struggle to get through a college-level text and you can get malnutrition.

Of course there are outliers, but for the vast majority of us, these are the consequences of our consistent choices. I am good at running because I run. I was not good at running when i started to run, and I would not be good at running if I stopped running for a year. I am good at understand complex texts because i read them. I am not a good artist because I do not draw. I can't do pushups because I don't do them.

(If you are a person who is special and so none of this applies to you because there is no way you could ever make choices that would make you better at anything, that's great for you! I assume you are intelligent enough to know this, and so go, much in the way that I do when I look at discussions of "Who the hell doesn't like bacon?" will simply say, 'oh cool, this doesn't apply to me." Because who would need a stranger to reassure them of what they already know? That would be weird.)

So, I love some really stupid things. I cannot believe I am saying this in public, because I am genuinely ashamed in this moment, but I love to watch 90 day fiancee. It's genuine trash. It is not good and it's also bad. Even the Golden Girls, which I don't feel quite such horror about, isn't really working my brain cells, if we're all living in a space of honesty. I read Louis L'Amour, a man with MAYBE four plotlines over 100+ books. But I don't do that ALL the time. I make sure to keep myself mentally conditioned to be the sort of mentally agile person i want to be.

If that's not important to you, then that is actually okay. I don't by and large, unless we're very close, care about what people do to themselves mentally or physically. I figure it's your life. But I just want everyone to be honest about it, let's not kid ourselves here. I am actually not just as good at critiquing ballet as someone who follows and studies ballet, for example. And I am not gonna trust the media discernment of someone who only watches kids' shows anymore than I'm gonna trust the palate of someone who only eats kid food.

That's also fine! we gotta get over this idea that we have to be likeable to everyone AND A L S O that everyone is honor-bound to like you unless you're actively mean to them. If someone's really into watches football and hates physical activity, we are probably not going to be friends because I don't know much about football and often absent-mindedly walk several miles while chatting. That's not a moral judgment. If someone is like, 'I do not want to be your friend because I don't want to talk about the things you like" I think that is totally fair.

So, is it okay with me, that you like dumb shit? Sure, as long as you have a balanced diet of thoughtful shit! But if you're not looking to be someone I am impressed with, then you don't have to care.

[beautiful-basque-country]

hi... weird question, almost a confession. I'm feeling sort of lost. My mother is from nafarroa, and I've grown up visiting euskadi a lot. But her father(my grandpa, from Valencia) became franquista and was abusive patriarch during the war and forbade euskera at home and made my grandma change her surname(she's now also diehard facha and refuses to even admit she's from nafarroa, saying she's lived in central spain all life... sure) and my mom never relearned and just integrated. So I never learned either, and then mom died a year ago... I have no contact with that side of the family at all, and have lived outside of Euskadi and Spain for the majority of my life now, but I want to reconnect with being basque. I just don't know how or if i even have the right.

Talking to my dad about it(he's english) he's always xenophobic about it saying you guys weren't even THAT basque and making etarra jokes at any oportunity, and saying nafarroa doesn't even count based on phrenology(yes he is also a racist). I don't feel I'm basque enough at all, and I don't know how to even begin reconnecting, I just feel like a huge part of myself was taken from me but I don't know if it's mine to take back. I feel ashamed when I try to learn euskera now because I feel like I'm intruding. Am I? I don't even know...

Kaixo anon!

First of all, thanks A LOT for sharing your story with us, especially because it isn't a pleasant one and sadly it's very similar to thousands others. Eskerrik asko.

Secondly. There's no such thing as Basque enough, so please leave that out of your head. Nobody is giving Basque IDs or asking for requisites to fulfill to get one. Our culture and language is open to anyone: many foreigners have become interested and speak a beautiful Basque and enjoy our history and traditions, and many locals couldn't care less about it all. Our language would be dead by now if it wasn't for new learners. Nobody will set you a limit as how deep you should go depending on where you come from or how much Basque blood you have.

Basque is an identity, yes, and that includes being a feeling, a calling, wanting to reconnect, being interested in our point of view, our history, our dances, our places. Maybe because EH is your family homeland, or because you just feel a connection. Nobody's gonna ask why you feel that. Who cares. We certainly don't.

That said, if you want to reconnect, go ahead!! Read something like The Basque History of the World as a first step, deep dive in the Wiki, get a general view and discover if you want to know more and more. Show a big middle finger to all those fascists who suppressed our culture in your family. Do it for yourself.

But don't let fear stop you, you're doing nothing wrong, quite the opposite!!

[kriimhild]

I know this is probably a dumb question but I've been struggling with motivation and wanted to ask you this, what motivates you to continue working on the lore of your aus and universes and even draw them as well?

*thinking* I don't know how useful would be for you what I want to say... I can only explain how I, Kriim work. But I'll try, kk? :) Sorry for the wall of text... :')

So, for me, two things drive me. One -to the lore part of your question,- is my partner, and role-playing with him, because from this will be most of the work I share. It helps a lot that we have common interests and can give each other ideas, like from a book we've recently read. I'm currently reading Asimov's books and I love Lovecraft, so I often try to find connections or just imagine. (For example, the Blob completely resembles a shoggoth appearance for me. That's good! Okay, and if I treat the Blob as a shoggoth, how can I give it an even more absurd personality? How can I create a new perspective?)

I often make characters in a crossover-like manner, trying not to violate their basic principles. It remains the same, but I try to make not only the character but also the atmosphere they carry more interesting. Many times, I sit or stand in silence at home for hours, thinking about how to incorporate these into the story. I never write it down because it's mentally exhausting for me. Instead, I mentally play an animation over and over again until it makes emotions for me. When I've planned out a longer section, we sit down to discuss what would be realistic, what needs to be discarded, and I write down the guidelines for where the role-play needs to go. So, let's say I have four months of screenshots on my phone. What comes next? The whole Daily Daycare is from screenshots on my phone, I'm not kidding.

I draw faster than I write fanfic. I am more instinctive about what colors, shapes, perspectives, and angles I want to use for the scene than to describe the same thing in a few lines. And that's why I have the second motivation, which I'm not so proud of, but it's often useful. My ego. I'm Roxanne Wolf lol

I motivate myself when drawing, rarely leave any work unfinished because I compete with myself. If I'm unhappy with any artpiece, then I work on it until it's acceptable. Simply because if it's not perfect for me, it hurts my pride and I feel ashamed. I look at it and say, well, this is shit… pull yourself together, start over because the idea is good, you're just not in rhythm. To get in rhythm, I use references from previous works of mine, or other creators' details.

like color schemes, shapes, a certain angle that I don't understand but I know they do, and I keep doing it until "theirs" becomes "mine." These are needed to make the soup come together more easily and to have a little sense of accomplishment to move on to the next phase. I'm 90% satisfied at the end.

This is it, I think :)) I hope it helps, and sorry for the wall of text again! Have a nice day/evening! and a potato

[pansyfemme]

hey i just found your blog and wanted to let you know that your gender expression is exactly what i want for myself, but i'm so afraid of getting there.

I identified as nonbinary for four years before I started T and soon after that realized I was just a binary trans man. I used to dress pretty feminine a lot of the time, I used to wear a lot of makeup, jewelry, skirts and dresses, etc and I wasn't ashamed of it. I even would dress up in drag sometimes, and I still have all of that stuff. but I also had really severe dysphoria that was so debilitating. when I started T and first began to pass, I gained a bunch of weight and no longer fit a lot of my feminine clothes. And I stopped dressing feminine at all.

For months I was soaking up the euphoria of now passing as male, it was so amazing and such a huge relief. I liked being masculine a lot of the time, I gradually ended up turning into a bear, and I loved that. But eventually I started to miss my old style, I missed wearing makeup and I missed it all. I started wearing earrings again to work, my boss always comments on them that she loves them, and it makes me happy. But it's not enough.

I have really deeply ingrained internalized homophobia, it's probably something I need to work on but right now I have a lot else on my plate. I live in a blue state, in a progressive city, I've never experienced any LGBT hate personally directed at me, but the fear is still there. I'm also terrified of people assuming I'm nonbinary again, because I know with my heart that isn't me. I'm a man, there is no question to my maleness at all to me. It took me a long time to realize that. Even now that I pass, my dysphoria fears are still there, and I fear that dressing how I want to would cause people to misgender me again, but this time as nonbinary instead of female.

I have a bunch of money in gift cards at this one costume/vintage store I got most of my old stuff at, I want to go and revamp my closet with stuff that fits me now, but I'm so afraid now that I pass as male. I'm afraid of the judgmenet, trying to be a feminine man when I am neither skinny nor hairless.

Do you have any words of advice at all? Looking at the photos in your pinned post, you give me so much gender envy. And we're the same age. I wish I could get to where you are but I have so much fear preventing me. Thank you for your time, hope you are having a wonderful day <3

First of all, thank you for such a sweet honest message. It means a lot that I could be someone you think of to seek advice from.

Given your concerns, i cannot tell you that it's going to be easy. I'm also from a progressive city in a blue state, but even there, i get a lot of rude words shouted from cars, laughs at me, and a lot of hurtful statements pretty reguarly. I also have that issue of people assuming im detranstioning or nonbinary. I'm not saying these things to caution you against it, because I continue to dress the way I do regardless of these things, but I want to be fully honest about how I experience going out in public the way I do. I'm lucky enough to have very supportive friends, teachers and classmates, that are both positive towards, and downright thrilled about the way I present.

I feel very similarly towards my maleness. I identified with various labels in middle and highschool, but remained he/him pronouns and leaned masculine until i realized that perhaps I was just a man who enjoyed presenting femininly. The original transition back to dressing feminine happened while i was still identifying as nonbinary, but already on hrt. For a period of time, i decided to present very differently. I was on hrt, but i shaved all my body hair, wore heavy makeup, and i still had my chest at the time, so i essentially presented as what most would percieve as a cis female but continued to use he/him. This wasn't an act of detransiton, it was actually based on consistant bodyshaming i recieved from another trans person in my life. I'm just spelling this out because at different times in my transiton, i have presented as masculine, feminine, androgynous and something in between both before and after medical transiton. I still have days I choose to take on a more masculine apperance in public for various reasons, though I no longer have the ability to pass as a cis woman. I believe that gender presentation is fully fluid, and I've become pretty comfortable moving between different states of being even when my idenity remains static. What you are percieved as externally has very little to do with your internal idenity, and being fluid in presentation doesn't mean your personal identity is fluid.

For me, the best ways I could manage presenting the way I do is the fact that I have a personal network of people who are very confidently supportive of my choices, as well as seeing a regular therapist who encouraged my crossdressing after seeing how happy it made me. You have to be aware that even if you are already visably queer, this will increase it signifigantly. Queer visability can be good, and theres no way to entirely turn off your visability, but understanding that dressing like this can become stressful or anxiety inducing is a big factor. I, for example, never use gendered public restrooms unless i am presenting masculinely. The main positives of dressing this way is that it can feel really genuine. I don't feel like a girl in makeup and skirts, I feel and look like how I am. You'll also notice a decline in people gendering you specifically transmasculinly. Yes, people will assume you're trans, but you will be left to tell people your actual identity. While having they/them used on you can be an issue, I find people ask your pronouns a lot more often when they can't directly assume he/him or she/her. This has led to me gaining a lot of control over my own coming out, and me being able to tell someone my idenity in my words because they can't fit into boxes immediatly. So yes, people may assume you are nonbinary. However, this can manifest in different ways, including people being less likely to assume things as all, if that makes sense.

The issue with being fat and hairy and presenting femininly can manifest in a lot of ways. It's just an assumption that people make that a man who presents femininly must be skinny, hairless, and submissive. The power we have is being able to show people that that isn't reflective of our community. As a guy on here who's gained a lot of following specifically for being a feminine man who is not what people may expect by that description has lead to a lot of people telling me they've experimented a lot more with gender presentation, and that means a lot. I cannot tell you that people will be polite about it. However, I have experienced a lot of love towards me because of those aspects of me as well, and that's really exciting.

I appriciate the ask. sorry it took a few days.

[multifanderwrites]

Clay Beresford x Reader (Well… Technically, Writer) Head Canons: He Finds You Self Harming

[TW: Blood, self harm, suicidal thoughts. Also, Zip the golden retriever is in this one because dogs know when humans are sad. Dog people, back me up here. Y’all know it’s true. No one asked for this, but I kind of needed it. Like… really need it. If this is something that you currently struggle with, please don’t read this right now. Plenty of other stuff on my account]

It’s been a rough few months for you. Every day feels like a downward spiral. And now, you’re in the bathroom. All alone… with a blade in your hand. Tears fall down your face as you begin to slide the sharp edge across the smooth skin of your arm. The emotional pain has transformed into physical pain. You’re an awful person, aren’t you? You deserve what’s coming for you. You’re a pathetic excuse for a human being, and a waste of breath. How could anyone possibly love you-

“STOP!”

Oh, shit. You recognize that voice. Clay Beresford, your loving boyfriend.

“Y/N, what are you doing?”, he asks as he walks up to you and gently takes the blade out of your hand.

How the hell did he even know- The dog. Of course it was the dog! You look Zip in his sad brown eyes and say, “Traitor.”

The only thing Zip does is sniff you so he can find some bare skin that isn’t covered in blood. He ends up licking your bare ankle. It’s as though he’s trying to say, “Were you really going to expect me to not care if you were trying to kill yourself? I’m a dog. My primary responsibility is to make sure you’re loved.” [ngl, I almost cried writing this. I miss my dog so much. 😭😭😭😭 my Zip. He was the best dog in the world]

Clay gets a first aid kit from under the bathroom sink, then begins to treat your self inflicted wounds. He’s quiet. You’ve never seen him this way. It scares you. “Are you mad at me?”, you ask in a meek tone.

His eyes instantly soften as he registers your question. “Mad at you?”, he asks incredulously. He repeats it and then says, “No, sweetheart. Of course I’m not mad at you. Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” you reply quietly. You can’t look at him. You just feel so ashamed of yourself.

“Baby, I just need to understand something. Why in the hell would you do this to yourself? What prompted this?”, he asks in a very sad voice.

“I don’t know, Clay-“

“Am I not loving you enough?”

The question breaks your heart. You immediately shake your head. “Clay, it’s not you, it’s me.”

By now, your arm is bandaged up. This allows your boyfriend to pull you into his arms and hold you tight. “That’s… that is bullshit. There’s nothing wrong with you, Y/N.”

“Clay, you walked in on me cutting myself-“

“That has nothing to do with it.” His tone makes you anxious. He sighs and pulls back so he can look at your face. His eyes are loving, and gentle. “You are so beautiful,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry for whatever pain you’re feeling right now, baby. But I want you to know that I’m here, and that I love you.” He glances at Zip. “We love you.” Before you have a chance to respond, Clay gives you a gentle but passionate kiss. When he pulls away, he smiles at you. “I would never forgive myself if I let you die. I’m so sorry you feel so alone. But I want you to know that you’re not alone, and that I’ll make you feel loved. I promise.”

All this passion coming from him… it’s enough to make you cry. But he wipes away every tear. And that night is spent watching the latest episode of The Office. Zip, the good dog he is, watches too.

At bedtime, you and Clay usually have an encounter. Tonight, however, Clay doesn’t initiate anything. Well, not anything sexual, I should say. Rather, he initiates a cuddle session. And you don’t fight him. Because it’s something you desperately need after all the stress and pain you’ve been feeling lately.

“Clay?”

He’s holding you in his arms, keeping your head on his chest. “Yeah?”

“Thank you for saving me today.”

He smiles and kisses the top of your head softly. “I’ll always be your knight in shining armor, sweetheart, in whatever way I can.”

Of course, it wasn’t just Clay that saved you today. It was your dog Zip too. That golden boy has been with you through some tough times in your life. This one must’ve been the toughest since that toxic friend. But thank goodness for Clay Beresford as well. Thank goodness for all the people who love you.

Without them, you’d be lost. Just one more reminder that you’re not alone.

[no one asked for this. I know that. But I really needed it. I’ll probably make a post talking about it, but there’s a reason why I title these as “Reader (Well… Technically, Writer)”. But if there is anyone who did need this, please know that it’s not hopeless. It’s going to feel that way but there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Find something to look forward to, and use that as an excuse to keep going. Once you reach that point, find something else. Find every reason to keep going. Find someone who gives you a reason to keep going. Even something as simple as an upcoming tv show or movie. But don’t give up]

[felgueirosa]

if it’s not too triggering, why were you institutionalized for being picky? (If it’s too personal feel free to delete this ask, sorry)

Hi! It's no problem, it is triggering, but i think about it a lot, and it is something i sometimes shared on here, after it just happened, because i was in shock and had to let people know and to reach out like hey? has this happened to anyone else? but right after that it became too hard to put words to and too triggering to talk about so i talked about it less.

but its a story i want to tell now and am becoming more okay with telling, because i want people to know what happens to people, what happened to me, and what could very well happen to me again

and also, it just so happens i have been thinking about it a lot recently and thinking how to tell my story because i have been psyching myself up to tell my girlfriend.

so like. suuuuuuuuper long story below the cut. can be very triggering, its a very upsetting story. tw for like. institutionalization (obvs), suicide, medical abuse, eating disorders, psychiatric abuse, parental abuse (?)

I was kind of institutionalized. At first, it happened almost 9 years ago, I remember the anniversary every year. I was 16, my doctor recommended I be put in a childrens hospital eating disorder program. I have ARFID, no one really knew what it was at the time. I've had it since i was an infant and went from doctor to doctor and no one had ever seen anyone like me or knew what to do. One doctor said I wouldn't live past 21 if I continued to eat the way I do, but clearly that was not the case.

I am forever astounded by the amount of people I run into on here and online in general who identify as having ARFID or being that level of picky eater, though talking with some of them more in depth, it seems like they are often not on the level of pickiness i am on and seem to have experienced less shame and be more open about discussing it though everyone is different and impossible to tell.

I was excited for the program at first before it started. I thought they were going to help me and I would finally be a normal person. I was so tired of being harassed by random strangers, laughed at by waiters, and ridiculed by my family. Every person I made friends with I had to at some point make a terrifying confession to and going on dates (for the small regrettable amount I did it in high school) was near impossible when I had to show the part of myself that I was most ashamed about and hated the most on the first date.

I thought at the program I would find specialists who would sympathize with me and help me and would fix me. And when I got there, before anything even happened, I had to sign all these papers, and my parents did too, and I didn't know what they were, I didn't question it. What I signed didn't even really matter anyways, I was 16. And the first day I brought my phone with me and a book, and my bag with some other stuff. But after I signed everything, they took everything I had away, and we went to this room with all these doctors, 'my treatment team', I had never met them before, they barely looked at me or talked to me, but they talked about me and my 'treatment plan' and they were never caring to me, never talked to me like a person.

The plan, as it was for everyone, was that they give you three meals a day, of whatever food they bring you, you have to eat all of it by the time an alarm they set goes off, you have to drink every drop of water they give you, have to use every packet of sauce they give you. If you don't do this, you get moved down a 'level' and you get privileges taken away. Things like watching tv, or being around other patients, but most of all, I found out that being moved down a level just meant you usually get locked in a room by yourself for a few hours because that happened to me. a lot.

i was very upset when i found this out. this was not helping me. because as i found out, it turns out no one really knows a fucking thing about helping people with mental illnesses or eating disorders or developmental disabilities even though the medical establishment likes to talk about how much it has progressed. they don't know a single fucking thing.

so i finally went out to the common room with the other patients. i was crying very hard and told the doctors that was it i wanted to leave i didn't want to be part of the program. but they told me it was too late i already signed the consent forms. so i don't know if medical consent/institutionalization is still like this almost 10 years later, if someone was lying to me or if this is true, but my mom also told me the same thing, and apparently if you consent to this kind of thing you cannot take it back. which by definition, makes it not consent.

i remember sobbing in the common area with the other patients (they were all girls, about same age as me), and there was another new patient, also sobbing. the other girls tried to comfort us and talk to us, but the orderlies (i don't really know what else to call them, all they really did was sit and watch us and make sure we didn't do anything that wasn't allowed. they were all college girls. they were extremely mean to us, they thought we were being dramatic) wouldn't let them, we weren't really allowed to talk to each other much and we weren't allowed to touch each other and we very specifically for some reason were not allowed to comfort each other.

i was crying especially hard because i knew that this program was expected to last for a couple months. but as i talked to the other girls there the small amount i was able to, i found out that most of them had been there for much longer than a couple months, many of them for over a year. i managed to catch my parents as they were leaving from dropping me off and talking with the doctors (i had only been there still only like 3 or 4 hours) and screamed at them to get me out of here. my mom seemed really shaken by the way i was acting and the doctor told her not to worry and i specifically remember him saying "they all act like this at the beginning".

it is something i will never forget because every time i tried to convince my mom to get me out of there she seem conflicted based on the fact that the doctor said that. and it hits me every time that all the doctors, the nurses, the people working there, can see children. children. acting like that about what they are doing to them and think they are doing the right thing. i will never forget it ever. and every person who came in after me did the same thing! because it was prison! it was punishment! for having a eating disorder! for being autistic! when i was able to talk to my mom, she kept saying "we are not trying to punish you" and the more times she said i realized she was trying to convince herself.

i ate some of the foods they gave me but i never got used to them like they said i would. i just got knocked down a level every time and got locked in a room. and the thing is, unlike most media and reports about mental wards or asylums. it was a nice hospital. it was brand new. the room i was locked in was not a padded room. one of the walls was just a window. and in some ways, that made it worse. because it looked out on a highway and i saw all the cars going to and from work, going to the store, going to eat. and they were so free and they could go where they wanted and eat what they wanted and when they wanted and they weren't locked in a room. and they passed this hospital and had no idea what was happening to me or to anyone else here and it made me so angry and so defeated. i felt so close to being away from a waking nightmare but i knew i would never get there. a year!!! i could be there for over a year.

a year without going where i wanted when i wanted. no access to my phone. i wasn't allowed to see my friends. i wasn't allowed to read my books. i wasn't allowed to eat what i wanted when i wanted. i did therapy a few times a day but it was more like an interrogation. when i was a high enough level to be in the common room, i sat in the corner and did puzzles obsessively so i could just dissociate and focus on the puzzles. eventually the therapist told me i wasn't allowed to do puzzles anymore because it was "distracting from my recovery" and i "wasn't thinking about my eating" (i don't know what the fuck i was supposed to be thinking about). it got to the point where i felt like i didn't have ownership of my own mind anymore. i wasn't allowed to dissociate. i wasn't thinking about what they wanted me to be thinking about.

they told me if i "was good" (aka if i reached a high enough level, not going to happen) i could write them a list of 100 songs. they would load all the songs on an ipod shuffle to loan to me. but only after they listened to all of them first to make sure they were appropriate. they told me if i "was good" maybe i could see my best friend for a few hours for one weekend. a few hours. for one weekend. i was understanding how truly controlling the program was. seeing a friend for a few hours once a month is a privilege. listening to a few songs they approve is a privilege.

but it didn't matter. i realized after the first day that obviously i had to kill myself. i was already in a pretty bad place before the program and was passively suicidal but i realized instantly that i could not live like this and if i was going to be stuck here indefinitely then my only way to escape was to end my life. i didn't have a plan at that point but i knew for certain i was going to do it. the loss of control, the violation, the loss of body and self was unbearable.

every morning they had us strip and then weighed us and did an ekg. why did they have us strip and do an ekg? it doesnt seem like it has much of a point. they watched us go to the bathroom. it all seemed like humiliation and violation for the sake of it.

even after the second day i had realized that i didnt want to be fixed or get better and i had to come to the very quick realization that there had never been anything wrong with me. when i went to therapy they asked me questions like "don't you want to be able to go to restaurants?" "don't you want to be able to eat with friends?" and i realized none of that had to do with my health. the reason i had problems with restaurants was because they didn't accommodate to me and the reason i had problems with friends was all social. all these reasons i had for wanting to be fixed and all these reasons they had for me to want to be fixed were other peoples' problems. the way people treated me was not my problem.

for your treatment plan, one of the first steps was to admit in group therapy that you had an eating disorder and what your problems were (i fucking know) and that would get you more privileges but i decided i wasn't going to do that because i didn't have a problem, my "problem" was everyone else's problem and the way they treated me. so i refused to every session and got locked in the room every time for this. they fucking hated me for it.

if you can't tell how long i was there for based on this. i was only there for a week. because after a week our insurance came back and declined to cover the program. i always hate myself that it was a week. it doesnt feel long enough. for the amount that it did for me. for how much it does to me almost 9 years later. it doesn't feel like enough.

i got home and screamed at my parents. i was so angry. my mom had allegedly been trying the entire time to get me out of the program, but my dad had been trying to keep me in. when i got home my dad had taken away my phone and my laptop and said he wasnt giving them back. i screamed at him and cried and he threatened to call the hospital and have them lock me up forever. i was terrified, i tried to get away from him, to hide. and he got out his phone and took video of me, at my worst moments, he claimed to show to the doctors. i ran away. for a few hours. i had nowhere to go. i ran about a mile. and then sat down outside the rec center and cried until it got dark. and then i went home.

i had nightmares that i was still there for months. it never ended. i was so paranoid about everything. i thought people were coming to lock me up. i couldn't draw any attention to myself or i thought i would be locked up. every time we drove anywhere near the hospital i thought my parents were taking me back there. i was so paranoid i couldn't sleep i couldn't sit i couldn't do anything i had to be looking out for everything and i trusted no one. i walked around, angry at everyone, that they were so carefree in everything and they had no idea what happened to me. i was angry it happened to me and they were worried about things that had no importance. i was angry when adults thought they knew more than me and i felt i had been through more in life at 16 than they had at their age. was it true? i'm not sure.

i think the most important thing i learned, whether true or not, besides not needing to be fixed, was that i could never trust anyone and never ask anyone for help again. i thought they would help me and i was excited. for some time, i thought it was my fault. at least partially. but now i am angry. i was 16. who would do that to a 16 year old who was looking for help because of how people had treated them?

for a while after i talked about arfid a ton on tumblr and also on wordpress. i created the actuallyarfid tag but became disillusioned when so many people in the tag just talked about wanting to get rid of it or their progress in getting rid of it. and eventually i couldn't even talk about it anymore. it was too tied to everything that happened and i was still so ashamed of it. it was to triggering. i stopped.

i think for similar reasons i have stopped associating so much with the autistic community online. i think it has jaded me so much to see so many people who have only had the slightest negative consequences of being autistic and do being autistic like putting on and taking off a coat after something like this happened to me. it was in this program that doctors first told my parents they think i am autistic though i wasnt diagnosed until later. i recognize now that having arfid is part of my being autistic but i don't like to talk about it in the context of having arfid because i don't feel like i 'have' anything. it is just me being me. and i use autistic as a label when i need to explain my needs and differences to people quickly and its fun to make jokes about being autistic sometimes but i dont like to constantly identify myself that way.

my parents are "health" nuts (fake garbage health bullshit) so they were still convinced my eating was going to kill me and many years later have taken me to see several nutritionists. and all these years later, after doctors many years ago declared i had a problem and would die, most of them did not see a huge problem with the way i eat. one of them in particular who i love and have seen over and over again at the behest of my parents has pointed out many things to me. there are plenty of adults who don't eat or barely eat fruits and vegetables. there are plenty of adults who eat the same thing every day (bring the same thing for lunch at work everyday anyone?). the world does not end. if you are different and you do it. then you are a problem and you need to be fixed. but if it is within socially acceptable norms, then it's okay.

i've always thought that some day i wanted to write about what happened to me publicly. in a paper or something. i want people to know. that this happened to me. that this happens to people. still. that it could very well happen to me again. though i'm not sure i could take public response if i did write about it. and after i got out of the program, i wrote it all in a journal, but then ripped it up and shredded it because the words weren't enough. they were so insignificant and i could never ever find the words to capture how horrifying it was what happened to me and how badly it ruined me and destroyed me. it changed my whole life and my perspective on everything. but i think now, almost 10 years later i am starting to find the words. and i think now i am less scared.

[cissyenthusiast010155]

TW: sh, talk of scars, peoples reactions, hiding sh scars, feelings of shame surrounding that.

So, I have a question, but I'm not sure how to word it...

Welll.... okay, so it started because I wanted to have a good experience... enjoying some alone time 😏😏, and I thought it would be fun to wear somthing sexy. I don't really like my body, but I thought a cute little teddy and maybe some filly underwear would make me feel pretty.

I shaved my legs and got dressed in my little ourfit... ... .... but when I looked in the mirror... I saw my self harm scars, and I was totally ashamed, which completely turned me off. I tried to think of myself as pretty, I just... I couldn't get over the fact that anyone who would have sex with me would see these... I don't even let people see the ones on the more visible parts of my body, much less the damage I have done to my thigh... I don't know how people could ever look at them... I even try not to look at them when I'm by myself... if I'm scared by them... won't others be?

So... the serious question... how would you react to seeing someone naked for the first time (in a romantic way) and seeing that they had sh scars? Would it be different if you knew ahead of time? Like how would you react if they had told you, or how if they hadn't? Like... what would go though your head... or would you want to know when or why or...?

So like... if a girl... goes down on me 🙈... she would eye-height with a bunch of scars... isn't that kinda gonna... I don't know... make her hate me? People always seemed to be so angry when they found out I was or had self harmed... I don't want a romantic partner to be angry or think I'm gross or... I'm rambling... sorry. 😔

I know this is probably really hard to answer, I'm sorry. And I know you can't speak for others reactions, I'm genuinely just wondering what you would think.

Also, if this is too much to ask, just let me know, I want to be respectful.

And thank you for being so kind to all of us. You are so wonderful ❤❤❤

-🫖

Ps. I feel like this deserves a disclaimer: these are old scars we are talking about, and I'm asking you in the context of what you would do if you see old scars. Recent sh would be a whole different thing.

{Let’s Talk SH and Intimacy…!}

Hi sweet girl…!! It is so very good to hear from you again! I hope this ask finds you well. Thank you for reaching out and being vulnerable like this. I admire your bravery and sharing. ♥️♥️

TW/CW//: Talk of self-harm, sh scars, old sh scars, sex talk, shame, mention of suicidal ideation, etc.

First off, I want to commend and applaud you for taking the time to dress yourself up and take some time for yourself. I am very proud of you, Darling. Even if it didn’t go the way you wanted it do, it’s the thought that counts in this case.

Next, your feelings and experiences are completely valid. I am so sorry for how looking in the mirror and seeing your body made you feel… It hurts my heart. But it’s so very valid.

To your first question— If you’re scared of your sh scars, won’t others be?

Again, I am so sorry for what you have undergone and the shame you feel towards yourself. You deserve only love and positivity and beauty.

To answer your question on whether other’s will be scared of your sh scars, it depends on the person. It depends on if they have ever seen sh scars, if they’ve been through something similar, if they have had someone close to them who’s been through something similarly, and more.

Personally, sh scars alone don’t scare me. I have seen them before on people that I love, and I have personal experience with suicidal ideation and other forms of sh. Now, if the sh is current or its paired with active unaliving attempts, then that would cause me to more likely to be scared and concerned. But again, it depends on the person and the person who has the sh scars.

Next, your serious question— How would I react to seeing someone naked for the first time (in a romantic way) and seeing that they had sh scars?

This answer is also not as simple, and it’s depends on a couple of factors. My reaction would depend on how well I know the person, how much I know about their struggle with sh, how much they’ve told me about the scars, and more.

Let’s say I had no clue about any scars and I see her for the first time. When I first see any scars, I would immediately be concerned and feel sad for my partner. But I would also immediately reassure her that I love her just as much with or without scars. Because in the end, I care about her, and scars won’t bother me one bit in being intimate with her.

Your next, linked question— Would it be different if I knew ahead of time?

Let’s say I knew ahead of time. What would be different would be my immediate emotional reaction, the feelings of concern and sadness if I didn’t. However, I would be just as reassuring and loving. And I wouldn’t care about the scars in terms of intimacy whether I knew about it ahead of time or not.

Then— Will your partner hate you, think you’re gross, or be angry with you?

I can’t speak for other people. But I would not. And if I did, I would have a conversation with you about it, when we aren’t in an intimate situation. ♥️

I hear where you are coming from. These were some great questions. And it wasn’t too much in the least. I’m so proud of you for asking all of this, sweetheart. You did such a good job. Hope to hear from you soon again! Have a lovely day/night!! 💞💞💞

Talk with Me ❤️‍🔥

[smores100]

hey.

so. haven't been around for quite some time, mostly due to my health issues (the usual + muscle aches and joint pains, i'm having a great time), but also in part due to The Situation. it's hard to care about anything with everything that's been going on, it all seems so pointless and meaningless, i'm living in a completely different universe from everyone else here. wish i could be that privileged, but alas. it's also hard being around here, and on other social media platforms for that matter, and seeing the raging antisemitism and sheer hate everywhere. i haven't checked my dash in almost 2 months, haven't checked specific blogs like i used to either, and have no plans on doing so anytime soon. i know what i'll find, i don't want it.

i was gonna stay quiet like i ususally do, especially since i genuinely don't have energy for anything rn, but it's been 2 months and i've been biting my tongue and screaming and crying into my pillow daily and i just need to get some of it out before i implode. there's only so much ignorance and hate that one person can take before snapping, so. here i am.

i have so much i want to say, i've written a million posts in my mind in the past 2 months, but i'm too Tired to actually write them down, and it'll just be one big messy ramble anyway, so i'm just gonna reblog a couple of other people's posts and make do with that. just a couple, don't worry, i know these are issues most either want to avoid dealing with or the opinions shared in those posts are a complete 180 degrees from what's trendy to believe in today. but i have to share it anyway. for 2 months i've been terrified, frustrated, bitter, angry and absolutely heartbroken, but there's one thing i haven't been, and that is ashamed. i'm proud of who i am. i'm proud of my people and their spirit. you will never understand what it's been like for us, what it still is like for us, but let me just say this: they wanted to break us, they wanted to break our spirit. they failed. we've never been more united. they just made us stronger.

so i'm gonna reblog some stuff so i can get it out of my system and move on. at worst i hope you just ignore and scroll past it; at best i hope you keep an open mind and maybe for the first time read things from a different pov instead of just the one sided propaganda everyone is continuously exposed to. maybe you'll see it isn't all black and white, maybe you'll see there are nuances you're not even aware of, maybe you'll realize you've been fed a lot of misinformation, half truths and even lies over the years. maybe. if you have questions or want to have a mature and civil conversation about it, feel free to msg me and i'll try and reply when my health allows me to, i'm open to discussion. if you want to unfollow me after this, feel free to do so. i'm not gonna force my truth on anyone, but i'm also not gonna change who i am for anyone either.

and on a more personal note, i wanna say thank you again for the msgs i've received last time and haven't replied to (due to health, Situation etc), and for the ones i've gotten since (will get to those soon i hope). i do feel the need to say this tho - i did have a peek or two at my dash and on twitter earlier on and saw some things. i was in a super sensitive state at the time and it was pretty disheartening ngl. it's hard nowadays, with all the hate going on and public opinion being what it is, to know whether or not you're still welcome in these spaces, whether or not people still like you and care about you, or if you've officially become persona non grata. most days it feels like the latter tbh. i just don't know where i stand. i said i'm not gonna force myself on anyone and i'm not, so if you're still ok with me…i guess the ball's in your court? 🌻

thanks for reading. thanks for sticking around, to those who decide to do so. take care y'all. never again is now. am yisrael chai. 💙