#communication errors

[malecaptions]

[free--therapy]

How Poor Communication Causes Stress

By Elizabeth Scott, PhD | Updated on November 5, 2020

At their best, relationships—both romantic and platonic—can be one of the strongest sources of happiness and stress relief. They can offer positive experiences, keeping our moods high and steady, and creating a source of support when times are tough.

At their worst, however, relationships can feel toxic and can be a significant source of stress. This stress can be the constant, low-grade type, the intermittent stress that creates some measure of anxiety even when things are going well, or a variety of other forms of stress.

Much of what can make a relationship stressful or stress relieving is the type of communication that holds the relationship together. Healthy communication can enable us to weather nearly any storm and can keep things running smoothly on a day-to-day basis.

If communication is open and clear, small problems are dealt with quickly and easily, and the relationship moves on. When communication is less healthy, small problems can become larger problems and resentment can grow.

Here are some unhealthy types of communication to avoid, and how they create stress. You’ll also find healthier ways to communicate in all of your relationships. Some things that constitute poor communication include:

Not Really Listening

There are several forms of poor listening, and they all wear away at relationships in one way or another. There’s the lazy listening of someone who isn’t really paying attention but is politely saying, “Uh-huh…uh-huh.” This is only mildly detrimental, but it can damage a relationship when it's one-sided or chronic, and when one partner realizes that much of what they say isn’t really being heard or remembered. This can make a person feel less valued than they’d like.

More damaging is the type of poor listening where an important discussion is taking place and one person is merely waiting for their turn to talk rather than really hearing what their partner is saying.

This creates a situation where listening isn’t really happening, so understanding cannot take place. This wastes both people’s time and brings them no closer to one another when personal details are being shared, and no closer to a resolution when done in an important discussion.

Perhaps the most damaging form of poor listening is when one person simply refuses to listen or even try to understand the other side. This happens all too often and creates a standoff situation more often than not.

How It Creates Stress 

This can range from leaving one partner feeling that their time is wasted to feeling devalued, to feeling hopeless in the relationship when it comes to feeling heard or understood.

What to Try Instead:

Try to be present, first and foremost, when you communicate. Use active listening strategies like repeating back what you understand of what the other person has said. Try to validate feelings, and try to be sure you’re truly listening as much as you’d like to be heard. It’s more than worth the effort.

Passive-Aggressive Communication

This form of communication can show itself in many ways as well. One partner can undermine the other by agreeing to do something and then “forgetting,” or seeming to agree, but saying the opposite the next time the subject comes up. Passive-aggressiveness can also show itself by constant disagreement over small issues, particularly in front of others.

How It Creates Stress

This can be stressful in part because passive-aggressiveness is hard to address; it can be easily denied, creating a “gaslighting” situation. It can also create low-grade stress to feel you’re communicating with someone who doesn’t understand or won’t remember what is said or simply doesn’t care.

What to Try Instead:

Again, active listening can help here. Also helpful is direct communication, where you directly discuss if you have a disagreement or an issue with someone. Using "I messages" (e.g., "I feel frustrated when...") can help others understand how you feel as well. This may seem like the conflict at the moment, but it actually circumvents long-term conflict by resolving issues as they arise.

Aggressive Communication

Aggressive communication involves overtly hostile communication, including criticism or even name-calling. It devalues the other person overtly, leaving people feeling defensive and leaving no veil over the overt conflict.

How It Creates Stress

It never feels good to be attacked. Those using aggressive communication tactics are more interested in power and “winning” rather than coming to an understanding. This brings the conflict to a new level and makes mutual understanding elusive. 

What to Try Instead:

If you find yourself being aggressive, it’s time to stop and try to understand who you’re talking to, seeing their side as well. If you find yourself on the receiving end of aggressiveness and can’t get the person to understand your perspective, it may be time to distance yourself and use assertive communication techniques when necessary. Setting boundaries is a must.

[inkskinned]

100,000 dollars is not a lot of money.

it is also a lot more money than i will ever have. my student loans make up half of that - they're coming back, i'm told, like we all bounced back recently. the other day while paying for gas to go to work, i overdrew my account without knowing it.

i sat in the car and looked at the charge and tried to do the math. where the fuck is the money even going? i don't live extravagantly. i live in a hole in the ground, in an apartment the size of a sneeze; covered in ants. yes, i wanted to live close to a population center. maybe that's my fault. i've downloaded the apps and i've spoken to the experts and i've cut back on excess. i can't help the pharmacy bills or the medical debt.

i have a good, well-paying job. when i googled it to see if i was getting a fair salary, i found out i'd be making "upper middle class" money. which doesn't make sense - is "upper middle class" now just "able to afford a one-bedroom without a roommate". when i was younger, upper-middle meant a nice big house and a backyard and vacations and not flinching about eating at a resturant.

i was talking to my friend who is a realtor. he said 100,000 dollars is extremely cheap for housing. he's not wrong. 100,000 dollars would change my life. 100,000 dollars also won't really buy you anything. it could get you out of debt, potentially, if you were lucky and had a certain amount of scholarships to tack onto your degree. you could pay off the car and then have enough left over for "spending" money. how fucking amazing. one vacation, maybe two if you're thrifty. and then - like magic - the money would evaporate into nothing. people would sigh and tell you see, you should have put it into savings! like "upper middle class" people can't afford to value "actually living" over squirrelling wealth. you should spend your life only in scarcity. like that is what made the rich people all their real "actually a lot of money".

100,000 dollars would literally set me free. it also would just set me back to "earning normally" instead of paying down debt into infinity. god, do you know how many of us just want that? that our first thought is we could stop scrambling and just be free of debt if we won the lottery? that we don't even necessarily need to stop working - we just wouldn't have to worry about failing or falling?

and. at the same time. 100,000 dollars is next to fucking nothing.

[gooweep]

The funniest thing to ever happen to me

[judas-isariot]

The funniest guy on splatoon

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Why would you—That's not—I just wanted to ask for help, why did you have to go and make it awkward???

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[thechildoffandoms95]

I'm late.. I know guys :sob: ... but [hc and rambles below]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ERROR! ! ! 4-04

Error belongs to loverofpiggies

I hc that his little jacket turns into a full trenchcoat when he's boutta attack and glitches. Why? cause there's size glitches in games and darn it I think it's cool when he has that long coat.

(it's embarrassing how long it took for me to get the colors right... F#CKING.. 14 hours ARE YOU KIDDING ME :sob: it literally only took me 2 and half hours to finish all the line art :skull: ... I'm so mad at color theory.. sniffle...)

[citricacidprince]

Y'all need to be fucking nicer to men/masc queers

I was talking to an old friend/short lived boyfriend from highschool and the topic of sexualities came up. He identified as bisexual throughout highschool but told me that recently he doesn't know what he was and just preferred to remain 'unlabeled' until he figured it out. I told him to his face "thats valid man and being unlabeled doesn't make you any less queer than when you were labeled"

God you should've seen his fucking face, he looked so happy and also like he was about to goddamn cry. He told me that no one ever told him that. That he tried to join queer spaces but they said he didn't fit in cause he wasn't 'gay' enough. Told me that I was the first person to ever confidently tell him he was queer and that he didn't need to change himself to 'fit in'.

I gave my friend one of my mini pride flags I had lying around and the dopey grin he had on his face while waving that thing around for the rest of the night made me smile too. When he finally went home he thanked me for the flag and for reassuring him when he felt insecure for 'not being gay enough'.

I want y'all to know that whole time he telling me about people not accepting him for "not looking queer" made me fucking pissed. Oh, because he's not petite, feminine, and white he can't be queer? Because he doesn't look like a fashionable and conventionally pretty gay on you'd find on your TikTok homepage he can't be queer?

THIS ISN'T EVEN THE FIRST TIME I'VE HAD THIS CONVERSATION WITH A FRIEND BEFORE

In highschool I had ANOTHER friend who had this same problem but in a different font. He liked cute things, he liked flowing fabrics and skirts, he even liked being called princess! But because he was fat and not conventionally attractive he felt like he couldn't be queer. Because from what he saw, queer people don't look like him.

If you're one of those people who would gatekeep ANYONE who doesn't fit into your Pinterest board ideal version of queer from the LGBTQ+ community, you can fuck right off because anyone who would just shut of someone out of our community for something so petty and dumb and ignorant doesn't deserve the keys to the fucking door in the first place.

Start treating people who don't fit into your saturated and commercialized view of queer with more respect and kindness before I start biting off your fucking arms

[otomiyaa]

Adorable Tickle Scene!

Error In My Love Chapter 28

(SFW and quite a long tickle scene, I won't post the full one here but just wanted to let you guys know😍)

[ventiswampwater]

subterranean

FANDOM : house of wax (2005) PAIRING : bo sinclair x afab!fem!reader RATING : explicit 🔞 WORDCOUNT : 3.9k

Reader POV. Basement fuckery. He tells you it's to keep you humble. It’s really just to keep you scared. The distinction doesn’t matter. You end up here again and again, knees biting into the concrete.

Crossposted on A03 here.

⚠️ Stockholm Syndrome. VERY dubious consent under duress. This was supposed to just be porn without plot. But then I lost my goddamn mind. Oops. Decent amount of weird prose. Depersonalization and derealization. Pet play (but make it weird and kinda metaphorical). Collaring. Forced boot riding. Vibrator and anal plug use. Bondage/gagging/edging. Bo at his absolute WORST (his natural state), being smug and mean and awful. Dirty talk dialed ALL the way up. Extremely dehumanizing and degrading language. Mind break elements. LOTS of backhanded praise. ⚠️

You always got too comfortable.

A lifetime before—when you were first here—you sat on this mattress with him, swallowing down mouthfuls of cold beef and carrots. You can remember the soup swirling in the can, murky and brown like a puddle of stagnant rainwater. He hadn't bothered to warm it up for you, but it hadn’t mattered. The food was something. Sometimes it felt like everything.

You licked the broth off the spoon as he plugged another tape into the VCR.

“One of my favorites.” He told you. Of course it was. Every movie he showed you down here was one of his favorites. Every can of soup might be the last. It was always the same things, over and over.

That’s when you started to lose track of time, you think—when you’d started to cling onto all that nothing.

Time wasn’t all that bad of a thing to lose, was it? Who needed it when his thumb was rubbing against your knee, stroking up your skin? The soup was cold, and his hand was warm. You traded one for the other and you liked it.

Funny. Thoughts like that always felt like they came with an or else tacked at the end.

A chunk of potato sat unpleasantly on your tongue—almost bitter, gravel in your mouth. Just like everything else, you swallowed it down.

He pressed play, his fingers drifting up your thigh. The TV quality was fuzzy, interrupted by the occasional flicker of static. Sometimes the films he chose would start in the middle of scenes. You’d get brief glimpses of things he’d recorded over—the triumphant blare of a talk show theme cutting off mid-note, dropping you in media res. He always assured you that you weren’t missing anything. At least that was one thing he didn’t bother lying about.

The movie wasn’t why you remembered that day, though. It was because of something he’d asked you.

“Where’d ya’ grow up?”

You hadn’t known what to say. He never asked you things like that. Your confusion only deepened when you turned towards him. There was no tension in his jaw, no furrowing of his brow. He looked, for the first time, wholly and startlingly calm.

When you failed to answer, he leaned forward and switched the TV off. He never did that either.

“Tell me ‘bout it. Whatchu do out there, anyway?”

You always regret not lying to him.

The world had shrunk down so much in the time you’d been in the town that it almost felt like you could gather it up and stuff it in your pocket.

You think about home. It looks different now.

Spidery tendrils of dust cling to the gaps between the balusters. It’s so difficult to get light in the house. No matter how many windows you open, there are always corners lost to shadow.

It’s strange how you could be up there one day, replacing the bulb under a fringed lampshade—and the next, you’d be tumbled back underground.

Just last week, you were lying on the couch in the living room.

The dog had padded into the room. She’d been gone for the better part of the day. With the doors unlocked, she went wherever she pleased. It had worried you at first, but it didn't anymore. She'd never leave town. She knew better.

At least, that’s what he’d said.

“Come here, beautiful.”

Jumping up, she curled into the space beside you. You wrapped your arm around her, wrinkling your nose. She reeked terribly of dog, stale corn chips and dirt and musk. You wondered if she might let you give her a bath now that you were in her good graces. It took a while to get there, but she came around. In a manner of speaking, the same thing had happened with you.

Pretty funny, huh?

Earlier, you'd been thinking about the puppies in the pet store window. Did she know about them? Slumbering away behind glass and dust, forever only a couple breaths old. Click. A switch was flipped, and they were as alive as they would ever be, nestled on newspaper shavings. On days like this, did she ever make her way down the hill to see them?

“Girls don’t last in this town.” You murmured, scratching behind her ear. “Just me and you, yeah?”

With a huff, she buried her head in the crook of your neck. It seemed like she was done listening to you.

That was fair, really. Half the time you weren’t even saying what you were really thinking anymore—and when you did, you weren't entirely sure that you made much sense. So much of yourself was locked up in your head and you kept forgetting where you left the keys. It all got clogged up inside your skull and oozed out of your mouth in a trail of sickly platitudes. You were just so thankful, so grateful.

“Sorry.” You whispered. You were always sorry for something, and sometimes you even meant it.

The rays of light were receding off of the arm of the couch, crawling up the wall. Your thoughts filled the living room. You could almost see them floating through the air, bouncing off each other like bubbles. Fleeting, effervescent things, popping as soon as you tried to track their paths. When you turned your head, you could smell his cologne. It was his jacket, hanging discarded over the couch cushions.

For a sudden, terrifying moment, you missed him.

That’s when you said the prayer. You didn't know where you meant for it to go. You guessed it was for whoever was around to hear it. Most days it was him and some of the time it was his mother. Both choices rang false. If God was still in this town, it was here, caught in these beams of light. Or maybe God was the dog heavy on top of you, her breath a rhythmic rumble against your throat.

Maybe you wouldn’t last long. Maybe it was all just wishful thinking.

Today, Bo fastens the collar around your neck. The leather feels heavy against your skin.

He tells you it’s to keep you humble. It’s really just to keep you scared. The distinction doesn’t matter. All the light bulbs you screw in will eventually need to be replaced. Wiping away the dust only gives way to more dust. You'll end up here again and again, knees biting into the concrete.

This almost feels more like his room than the one he sleeps in up at the house. Here, you can feel him more than anywhere else. There's more of you down here too. Real, tangible parts of yourself. Look around. There you are in the stain on the mattress, the blood crusted on the vinyl.

Welcome back, baby.

You keep your gaze on the ground, searching for something to bore your eyes into. Your eyes land on his shoes. Flecked with dirt, they bear obvious signs of wear. There’s a sizable hole in the toe of one of them. You focus in on that as he readjusts the collar, tightening the strap around your neck.

Embarrassment heats your cheeks as you hear him click the leash into place. Even without looking up at him, you can picture the expression on his face. It isn’t a good one. You still can’t decide if he looks more or less like himself when he screws his face up like that.

Tugging roughly at the leash, he forces you to look up at him. Wrists bound; your hands flex uselessly against your back.

“Please—”

Without warning, he sticks his fingers into your mouth, forcing them to the back of your throat. You choke, your hands flexing in panic behind your back. When he pulls them out, you cough, eyes watering.

“Now, normally I like hearin’ you, baby.” He says, smiling down at you. His face is a discordant thing. All American, boy next door. A slice of apple pie that someone put a cigarette out in. “But you know somethin’—”

He crouches down in front of you, still smiling. You watch him silently, shifting anxiously on your knees.

“I never did meet a dog who could talk.” Reaching over, he flicks at the metal ring on the collar. “Feels wrong.”

Dropping the leash, he gets to his feet, striding away. You crane your neck to the side as he rustles around behind you. After a moment, he lets out an affirmative grunt.

Quickly, you pivot your head back to the front. Making his way back to stand in front of you, your eyes flash to the item in his hands. Seemingly amused by your concern, he dangles it in front of you.

It’s a ball gag, shiny and black—noticeably a hair newer than the rest of the junk down here. Maybe he bought it just for you. It’d make a pretty lousy gift, but then again, he was always shit at stuff like that.

He had an incredible knack for getting you shit that you never asked for. Everything came with conditions, a laundry list of provisos and conditions that you didn't remember signing up for. Everything he gave you was actually for him.

“Open up, baby.”

Before you can think to do as he asks, his thumb forces your mouth open, pressing down on your teeth. You sputter as he forces the gag into your mouth, securing it around the back of your neck.

“That’s better, yeah?” He asks, grabbing hold of the leash again.

You stare up at him, exhaling tight bursts of air through your nose. You tilt your head a bit, working your jaw around the ball. Your teeth rest uncomfortably on the rubber.

“You been so good today, think we outta give that pussy some attention, huh?” He smirks. “Whatchu think?”

You whine, the noise coming out in an embarrassingly wet gurgle. Spit runs out of your mouth, dripping down your chin and trickling onto your neck.

“So cute.” His voice is syrupy sweet. He can play at authenticity, but never with you.

He kicks your thighs apart with his foot, nudging the tip of his boot between your legs. His eyebrows shoot up expectantly as he nods down at you.

“Go on, then.”

Disgust is an old friend. She disappears for months at a time, only to show up unexpectedly as if no time has passed. She’s back again, turning your stomach around in her hands. You tilt your hips down. Rubbing yourself against the tip of his shoe, you wonder if he’s doing this for old times' sake.

Rocking forward, you imagine a glossy magazine cover. You could see him on the cover of one. He does have the face for it, when he bothers to put it on.

Bored? 50 Ways to Keep the Spark Alive!

Your jaw is beginning to ache. Bo's hand strokes softly at the top of your head. You hate that the pressure against your clit almost feels good. Your mind unhelpfully supplies more article titles, bubbling up in your mind in obnoxiously curly lettering.

10 Mouth Exercises For The Modern Woman. Have You Tried Screaming? It’s All The Rage in This Town. Once You Start, You Won’t Want to STOP!

“That’s it.” He grins. “What a little slut.”

You look up at him pleadingly, another dribble of spit running down your chin.

“Always got told ya’ shouldn’t let dogs up on the bed.” He muses, the amusement plain in his voice. “But you been on your best behavior, huh?”

Last week, you fell asleep on the couch. You woke up somewhere else.

It was dark and you were pressed against something warm. Not the dog, not the light. Those were both gone. His jacket hanging off the side of the couch, maybe. But it was moving now, and so were you.

“Gotta getcha to bed.” He’d muttered, carrying you up the stairs.

You lay across Bo's lap, the side of your cheek against the dirty mattress. You shudder, your legs shaking.

“Pretty girl.” Reaching over, he tugs you up by the leash, forcing your head back.

Every breath you take seems to make your muscles clench around the plug in your ass. He works it in and out of you slowly and you gulp, shallow breaths whistling out of your nostrils. Every time you jolt forward you can feel him press against you, hard against your belly.

“Hey. What’s wrong, baby? That hurt?”

You nod frantically.

“Huh. Funny…'cuz I don't think it does. You wanna know how I know?” You feel him spread you open, fingers dipping into your pussy. “You’re wet for it, baby.”

He pushes the plug deeper, and your head spins at the sensation. A warbling moan pitches out of your mouth as you feel it sink fully into you. You shiver uncontrollably, whimpering around the gag. Saliva gathers on your tongue, and you feel it spill out of the side of your mouth, pooling under your cheek.

“Good.” He rumbles out, stroking his knuckles along your back. “That’s my good girl.”

You squeeze your eyes shut when you feel him nudge something between your legs. With a click, the vibrator buzzes to life. You let out a startled cry as he strokes it along your pussy.

“It’s nice, huh?” He chuckles. “Don’tchu act like I never gave you anything.”

The vibrator teases against your clit in short bursts, pressing down just long enough to leave you panting before he pulls it away. Almost enough, not quite. You arch back uselessly, chasing after that glittery warm sensation. He laughs a bit, holding the vibrator just above your clit.

You can feel the edge of pleasure, but it’s nothing more than a distant dull thrum. He keeps you hovering over it for what feels like forever, squirming over a feeling that’s hardly there. You bite down on the gag, your sob watery and muffled around the rubber.

“This body’s all mine, girl.” He murmurs, running his thumb down your spine. “I ain’t gotta make it feel good.”

With a hum, he rests the vibrator fully onto your clit. The sensation you’ve been chasing envelopes you, shimmering through your core. Nasally, high-pitched whines escape you in quick, desperate succession.

“But I do, don’t I? ‘Cuz I’m just so sweet.”

You open your eyes, staring up at him in bleary gratitude. He presses down on the plug. The discomfort has crested over and all you feel now is loose and pliant. You moan around the gag, your eyes fluttering.

“You like having somethin’ in your ass while I play with this pussy?”

And you nod, humming out your agreement.

“Mmm-hmm? Yeah?” He teases, mimicking your garbled reply. "That's good, baby. That's real good. Reckoned I’d fuck your ass today, but that pussy’s gettin’ nice and wet for me. Whatchu think? Which hole you want fucked?”

You mumble incoherently through the gag.

“All of ‘em?” He exclaims, the grin evident in his voice. “Well, ain’t that real sweet. Good answer, baby.”

He keeps talking, but it’s getting harder to focus on what he’s saying.

“Next crew that comes through here—maybe I’ll tell ‘em I got a slut who needs breakin’ in. You spread those legs so nice, sure you’d fuckin’ love it.”

The image flashes through your mind. Hands everywhere, laughter and heat and friction from a kaleidoscope of people destined for death. You’re in the middle of all of those faceless people—a tribute to be used up, one last meal for a parade of living corpses.

You’re all destined for the same end, but theirs is closer than they know. Yours is prolonged, tied around touches and salt.

Bo would be in the corner, lighting another cigarette—watching, because he’s always watching. Mouth twitching into a smile because he’s right again. You’re exactly what he thinks you are. You’ll keep your eyes on him because you can’t look at anyone else. After all, if it isn’t his hands, could you even feel it? Would it even count?

The panic is sudden and hot, twisting inside your chest. A desperate little whine builds at the back of your throat.

If I’m everybody else's, I can’t be yours.

“I’d have a hard time sharin’, though.”

Relief. The vibrator pulses against your clit and your eyes go unfocused.

“’S funny. Gotchu down here—and nobody knows.”

Between your legs, your pussy feels pathetically wet, sloppily sliding along the vibrator. You almost wish he’d keep you like this forever, jolts of pleasure lapping hungrily between your legs.

“If there’s even anybody out there lookin’ for ya’…” He muses. “Wish they could see ya’ now, huh? Don’t think they’d feel bad for you, baby.”

Pleasure rolls dizzily through you, electric licks of sensation as he rubs the vibrator against your clit. The rubber in your mouth is an anchor, it feels good on your teeth.

“Betchu thought you were really somethin’ out there.” He chuckles. “How’s it feel to find out you ain’t? Feels good, don’t it?”

You open your eyes and nod up at him, panting out your agreement. Through the haze, you see him smirk. It’s a cruel, cold thing. You’re all full and useless, but he doesn’t need you to say it, because he knows. Thoughtlessly, you shift in his lap, trying desperately to spread your legs wider for him.

“Nothin’ but a little fucktoy.” He coos. “That’s all you are, baby. Want you to remember that.”

He doesn’t need to worry. You remember everything, except what counts.

“Good girls cum, baby. They can’t help it.”

You’re hurtling higher and higher, the pleasure battering against your brain. That’s where the memories are, where the time used to be. It feels better to fill it with this. But then again, you’ve known that from the start.

“Go on, baby. Cum all pretty for me, yeah?”

And you do, a million times over.

He keeps the vibrator pressed firmly against your clit as you tense up, your hands clenching into tight fists behind your back. Your orgasm is a bone-deep shiver, wracking your legs with uncontrollable chills. The pleasure throttles through the last of your coherency, prizing a desperate noise from your throat. Maybe it’s a word. It might be his name. It might just be the time. Maybe this is how you find it again.

The buzz of the vibrator goes dim and far away as he holds it against you. You’re twitching somewhere above it. Each involuntary movement you make brings with it a new hiccup of sensation. Around you, the room seems to spin—whirling into a terrific blur of green and yellow.

It can be beautiful down here, if you squint.

When he lifts the vibrator off your clit, you pitch forward, warbling out a dizzy laugh behind the gag. You wait for the sound of the wand powering off. It doesn't come. Behind you, the buzzing is a low, incessant drone. You’ve barely managed to ground yourself when you hear it kick up a notch.

Click.

The sheets smell like all the thousand versions of you, each one answering questions she shouldn’t. Four walls surround you and they feel like they’re collapsing down on all sides. They could be made of plaster or stone, but they might just be something else. Your limbs, your heart, your mind, him. Separate appendages, but all linked. All part of the same crumbling structure.

A scream builds at the back of your throat as you feel him set it back on your clit.

“We ain’t done, baby.”

Your sleep is deep. Quiet. Only one dream.

Bo’s sitting on the edge of the bed, an inky blot in the gray morning light. He makes a move to stand up and you grab onto his arm.

“Go back to bed, angel.” He murmurs.

It almost sounds real enough.

When you wake up, you're alone. You try the door and find it unlocked.

Figures.

Upstairs, the shop is empty. There’s a can of unopened Coke on the counter. You crack it open and take a sip. Lukewarm bubbles of carbonation fizz over your tongue. God, he really was shit with gifts.

Walking up the hill, you catch your reflection in the window of a sedan. You look haggard, your hair a raggedy clump around your shoulders. You try the handle and it cracks open easily. Crawling into the dirty belly of the car, you wince as you lower yourself down into the seat. You sit with one leg dangling out, absentmindedly studying the dusty speedometer.

There are cars in other towns, parked on different streets. There are places without dust. There are always other futures. Sometimes you turn down the wrong road, and sometimes you die. Sometimes you don’t.

That’s just the way these things go.

You imagine the town collapsing in on itself like a pop-up book. There’s Bo, frowning down at it. He seemed like he’d been the type of kid that wasn’t allowed to check those kinds of things out from the library. He’d bring them back with pages ripped out, scrawled with pen marks. Pilled white card stock where faces used to be.

God, you’re miserably sore. It’s impossible to narrow down the ache to a certain part of you.

Lifting your leg into the car, you pull the door shut. The dust inside tickles your nose. Unthinkingly, you reach up, your fingers brushing against the metal buckle of the seatbelt. The sting is sharp and immediate. You pull your hand away with a hiss, your hand smarting. When you reach for the seatbelt again, you’re careful to avoid the clip.

You buckle yourself in. Click. Alive again, now more than ever. Wrapping your hands around the steering wheel, you close your eyes. The leather is hot against your palms, and it hurts a bit. Just a little. That’s just the pain again, but you don’t really mind. It’s something you can keep. It’s all yours.

Nothin’ you can’t handle, girl.

That’s what he said last night. Afterwards.

You were laying with your head in his lap, the itchy crust of dried spit against your cheek. It was then that you decided that you were so ugly that you had to be beautiful. You had to be worth looking at. You’d rolled over on your back, looking up at him through swollen eyes. That’s when he said it, so low and quiet that you almost didn’t register it. There’d been a an edge of pride to his voice.

Nothin’ at all.

A lick of pleasure thrums between your legs and your eyes flash open. You unbuckle the seatbelt and scramble out of the car, ignoring the pain that sings through your limbs.

Things like that? They always came with an or else tacked at the end. You remember that, don’t you? You couldn’t have forgotten.

Looming above you, the house is a dark blot of ink against the blue sky.

There were no collars for dogs in this town—they didn’t need them. They’d always find their way back home, pawing at the door for some scraps. The only leash is the one that exists in your mind. You can almost see it, trailing off your neck and up the hill, looped messily around the front doorknob.

You were going to die here with all that wetness between your legs, begging him to take out more of you with his teeth.

It's like he said.

You don’t need to tie up a dog if it loves you.

[buryme-makeoutcreek]

Communication Error: In art people have things to say and they are important, they pound against their chest and they cry and music swells but here, here my words slide and scrap up my throat amounting in nothing. I want to tell you everything, but I can barely open my mouth to tell you my name.

Richard Siken// Call Me By Your Name dir. Luca Guadagnino// Margaret Atwood// Lisel Mueller// // Virginia Woolf// Richard Siken// Jeanette Winterson// Georges Bataille// Inside Llewyn Davis dir. The Coen Brothers // Mikko Harvey// The Rehearsal, Nathan Fielder//Hieu Minh Nguyen

[iguessitsjustme]

Every boop I get and every boop I send is a little piece of love being sent electronically and boy did I need that today *boops you*

[possessed-pack]

Terrorpunk: Embracing the Horror Within.

For all those with identities that put others on edge. People with parts of them commonly used as horror tropes, people who act "unnatural" and put others off, people with stigmatized "scary" disorders and disabilities, people who have horror and fear intertwined with alterhuman identities, queer identities or anything else that people generally find off-putting or downright terrifying--but in spite of that, don't see any of it as a bad thing, and reclaim the horror that others see in you. This is for you--for the monsters and the freaks and the eldritch abominations.

This is about reclaiming the stigma placed upon you. Maybe you are scary to them, but maybe you don't care so much about how they react? Maybe you keep being your authentic fear-inducing self out of spite. Maybe you like being a little scary because it's become intrinsic to who you are. Being open about yourself and unapologetically doing so shouldn't be a fear inflicting thing, but if it's going to be that way, you're not going to change for them. You're you, let them be scared. It's not on you to become palatable. It's not on you to hide parts of yourself away. Maybe it's on them to not see anything unknown or new as terrifying. You see the horror within yourself as nothing bad, and you openly embrace who you are and who others with differing experiences from "the norm" are too.

You don't need to be anything in particular to use the label, this isn't a term to be gatekept. Terrorpunk is reclaiming the terror that others or even yourself might think of about any part of you. That's what it's about, being unapologetically you and scary by doing so, because if people see you as someone that fills them with terror, then maybe that's fine by you. You won't change for them.

Keep in mind that this is not a term to use to cause or justify harm, exclude others or further any stigma. No one by any means has to reclaim being feared, or being something that scares people. There's some of us that find power in it though, to take the stones they throw, pick them up and ask them what they have left to throw at us.

Those who exclude others on the basis of identity (transphobes, homophobes, TERFs, ableists, racists, anti-alterhumans, aphobes and anyone else who excludes those who act on good faith) aren't included under this term. Terrorpunk isn't a basis for your hate or actions to harm marginalised groups or anyone similar. It's not an excuse to harm people in general. It's simply about being you, and if being that is scary, then so be it.

[trrickytickle]

the whole time i did this I was thinking about the 50k hazbin hotel commission

[boredgramlin]

My catholic parents be like: I just don't want this lgbtq stuff to be forced onto my child

Also them: *proceed to force their religion on all their kids without a single question*

[azure-cherie]

PAC : Messages from Aset

Hello loves , first of all a very big thank you to Aset for helping me in conveying through my divination, this reading contains general messages so take what resonates and leave the rest , i used tarot cards , intuition and runes for this reading , likes , reblogs and feedbacks are very very appreciated , thank you for letting me read you :)

Pile 1 -3

Pile 1:

My dear pile 1 , Aset wants to convey that she is proud that you have achieved a lot of abundance in your life but you are focused to earn more when in reality you should be happy in what you already have and you should also share with others what you have made since kindness is the greatest of virtues that will help you to achieve great heights, be cautious when you serve others , help them but don't help them to the point of exploitation , when you need ask for help and always help will be provided when you are in search of a financial need . You are someone who has come a long way without any support you have been worried and fought all the odds to come to this point and she is very proud of you for doing all this but remember that a small thing can destroy a lot of things so when in times of haste take time to sit down shut the world and reflect, I think you have a habit of getting to angry at the wrong people and this is going to create a problem in the wrong runs so you are advised to work on it and stay away from people at that time so that you don't end up in problems and learn to be more grateful about your surroundings and whatever has been provided to you or else it could go away you , you're going to enter a very abundant period in your life in terms of emotional needs You are going to create new horizons and new plans for yourself marriage business deals and child birth news can be heard for you your ancestors are rooting for you , I see symbolism of marigold flowers you can do some water magic or worship with water as an element that will help you in getting clarity about yourself .

Runes :

Berkanan

Beware of incorrect choices, take time to contemplate, some family functions maybe cancelled due to health issues take care of your health , you might experience stagnation , heal your relationship with your mother , get yourself a visit to the gynaecologist, you might experience some menstrual issues , watch your expenditure.

Hagalaz

Change has to occur , some things are destroyed so new things can be built, unexpected meetings and realisations, destruction now will end up making something good for the future keep hoping, you could have a breakup, moving houses , someone fake in your friend circle will be unmasked.

Pile 2 :

My dear pile 2 , she really wants you to take a stand for yourself , my dear file 2 you have been relying on the guidance of a person for too long and at this point you have almost become dependent on that person but she suggests you to go for a soul searching and finding what you really like to do because the end of the day you should grow old fulfilling your passions and desires , you are already abundant and blessed because of your family hierarchy and how rich have you been You should explore forest and small places for learning about life it feels as if you have grown old but your wisdom needs to be increased, You should pay attention to your hair as it holds wisdom and ancestor knowledge right now You may have dreams crazy dreams take notes of them somebody is trying to communicate to you , your future is in your hands You don't have much time there is a big change coming in for you with the onset of the new change . There could be an extra marital Affair that could change the course of your life beware and make sure you have enough resources to make out of it I see the symbolism of red and white candles you can use them and ask your guides so that they can provide you a clear part of what you can do ahead but they can only help you when you ask for help yourself . Take the stand for yourself to do whatever you are interested in.

Runes :

Dagaz

You're are in the path of self discovery and awakening, re evaluation, talk to your children or the children in your neighborhood, invest in family planning, keep hustling it will be worth it , evolution in relationship, take your medicines regularly.get an eye checkup .

Eiwaz

You could be entering or interested in shamanism , you're going through an awakening, you may think something has ended but it's yet to be fulfilled, you could work with chaos magick , there could be some delays but don't worry about it , it will work out , are some of you consuming weed , there's a union in the spiritual plane .

Pile 3 :

Dear pile 3 , Aset wants to convey that you should be looking after things you choose to nurture , maybe you brought a plant or a pet but you are not paying attention to it she wants you to take into account your responsibilities maybe it could be about the older members in the family, you will be going out on a trip soon and you should take care of yourself physically as well as spiritually I see the vision of an amulet that will be protecting you You should search signs for protection or make a sigil for yourself that will help you for sure , all that you have dreaming will come true, but remember to put efforts for it as nothing comes without trying you are blessed in every field , you will be meeting a new partner soon that will help you realise your potential remember to not sabotage the relationship because you are not healed, try to focus on making yourself stable and creating a balance that will be very essential for you ,work on your sacral chakra , don't dwell on the past the future is brighter than you can imagine , go somewhere near a pond and feel the healing energy, in the next 3 months we will be undergoing a lot of changes and a lot of things that you like but are not good for you will go away from you but remember to know that there is always something that serves in exchange of something that doesn't serve , if there's a group project coming your way then remember to include everyone and not take too much on yourself you are divinely protected.

Runes :

Ingwaz

protect your home , work on your masculine energy, make necessary sacrifices, new births , changes , expansion, process of manifestation, look after your well being and health, reorganization.

Dagaz (came up in pile 2 as well you can check it if you want )

You're are in the path of self discovery and awakening, re evaluation, talk to your children or the children in your neighborhood, invest in family planning, keep hustling it will be worth it , evolution in relationship, take your medicines regularly.get an eye checkup .

That's all , thank you so much for reading i hope it resonates and helps you 🤍