#everything is so much. there are some intense and in some cases horrible things happening. iwwish we had time to pause and process them and

[andypantsx3]

READY OR KNOT | 2 | TODOROKI SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: Todoroki Shouto is so unsettlingly beautiful, you’re certain he has to be an omega. That is, until a chance encounter with a pushy alpha reveals you were incredibly mistaken—and the surprises don’t stop there. Shouto's suddenly mystifying behavior adds another layer of complexity to an already confusing inter-agency investigation. It would be so much easier to figure things out—and suppress your growing feelings—if only Shouto would stop being so strangely attentive to you... TAGS/WARNINGS: pro hero au, fem + afab reader, omegaverse, alpha shouto, beta reader, misunderstandings, courting behavior, slightly case fic-y, undertones of sexual violence (not between main pairing), aged-up characters, eventual smut, 18+ minors please dni! LENGTH: 4.9k, 2nd of 7 chapters

It turned out it was not so easy to forget what had happened with Shouto. Especially when Monday morning rolled around, and with it, some very pressing questions about the party.

Mina found you first thing in the morning, already up to your eyeballs in the case file at your desk. A frown marred her pretty mouth as she rounded the corner into the case analyst area. She neatly dodged your deskmate’s ginormous stack of paperwork, nearly as tall as she was, eyes homing in on you like dark little missiles.

“I heard about what happened with Suzuki,” she said, looking you over with uncharacteristic concern. Her eyebrows were drawn, her features pinched. It was an expression that didn’t overtake her cheerful visage all too often. “Are you okay?”

You blinked up at her, the name escaping you for a moment, until you matched it up with the support alpha from the party on Friday. Your lips downturned in reflexive distaste.

“I’m fine. You must have heard that Shouto scared him off,” you answered. “All he really managed to do was imply some stuff.”

Mina’s eyebrow twitched, like she had more questions on that, but she dutifully adhered to the matter at hand first. “I did hear that and we are going to be discussing that in a second. But that doesn’t mean you’d still be okay with everything that did happen. I’ve got a meeting with HR about Suzuki this afternoon, and I’m thinking of firing him.”

You jolted, a quick pang of guilt striking through you. Firing him. That seemed a very intense option.

You thought Suzuki was an asshole, sure, and you remembered all too well the horror that had overtaken you as he’d reached for his belt. But you also knew he had been drunk out of his mind—drunk enough that he thought you were an omega of all things, somehow perceiving things that weren’t even there.

You’d thought about it a lot this weekend, running over the events in your mind, and while the whole incident left a sour taste in your mouth, you thought Suzuki probably had been close to alcohol poisoning considering how strongly he smelled of Tetsutetsu’s horrible drink. He wasn’t exactly sound of mind, the lines a little blurry.

You’d never waylaid anyone like that while intoxicated, but you had done and said your fair share of things you regretted when you’d sobered up. You didn’t know what to think.

You looked up at Mina, finding her watching you consideringly. “No?” she asked.

You scrubbed a hand over your face, unclear what the right thing was. “I saw him and he was like, really not all there, Mina. I think he should be punished for sure, but what if you gave him a warning that if this happens at all again, he’s gone?”

One of Mina’s eyebrows arched. “Shouto said he was holding you against the wall even after you said no.”

You could feel your nostrils flare in anger at the memory, the feeling of that hand against the wet patch on your shoulder, unbudging.

“He did, but he also thought I was an omega, Mina,” you said. “I think he was close to alcohol poisoning, actually. He hasn’t caused any other trouble like this, has he?”

Mina shook that head of wild pink curls. “No, he’s been a model employee thus far. But I still don’t like it. That’s not what the Pink Riot agency is.”

A sigh filled your lungs. The support of Mina and Kirishima was enough for now. “I don’t like it either. But he was drunk, and nothing did actually happen, thanks to Shouto. Give him a warning that any other tiny slip up means firing, and I will be satisfied.”

Mina looked hesitant, dark eyes searching over your face, but eventually she sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “Fine. Once and only because you’ll need an accurate record from support in your investigation and it will be harder to get if he’s gone. But he will be fired if I hear even a whiff of a rumor again.” She paused. “And you’ll have to talk to Eiji, because he’s going to like this even less than I do.”

That wrung a smile out of you.

Kirishima was a good alpha and seemed to think of the agency almost like his pack. As easygoing as he was, he guarded his people resolutely, like a farm dog patrolling a chicken coop. You could almost imagine him standing at attention, head forward and tail pointed like an arrow.

As heartwarming as that image was, that didn’t mean you wanted to be the one to tell him though. You shook your head, throwing out your hands. “Oh no. Your alpha, your problem. The one privilege of my secondary gender is I’m not part of this shit.”

Mina clucked, sighing. “He is my problem.”

You laughed, knowing very well she’d know how to solve it. But her expression shifted, suddenly looking sly, and you realized she was about to saddle you with another problem.

“You’ll have to tell Shouto then,” she said, her voice deceptively light.

You blinked, eyebrows raising. Shouto…? “Why the heck would I need to tell Shouto?”

A grin slowly crept over Mina’s mouth, and she leaned in conspiratorially, looking altogether too pleased. Her hot pink nails settled on the edge of your desk, tapping delightedly. “Because he’s your assigned supervising hero. And you’ll be seeing him again in just a few minutes.”

A sudden flurry of butterflies erupted in your stomach, your mind flashing through the feeling of Shouto over you, tall and strong and warm, pressing you carefully to the wall. You could all but feel the whisper of those pretty eyelashes on your skin, feel his careful exhale, the brush of his mouth against your throat.

Your ears prickled with heat, and you could feel your face go slack in shock. He would be here—? In front of you again?

“He’s—what?” you garbled out, trying to dispel the phantom feeling of Shouto against you.

Mina looked downright smug. “He asked to be assigned right after I spoke to him at the party on Friday. Interesting, don’t you think?”

Heat licked at your cheeks. “Is it,” you managed tightly. “That’s… nice of him.”

“Very,” Mina agreed. “Especially since I heard about what happened after Suzuki left.”

You hated her.

“I’m a beta,” you reminded her, not liking the implication.

Mina’s dark eyes rolled. “Eiji liked me even when he thought I might present as a beta.”

“That’s different,” you told her, floored that you’d sidetracked into this so quickly. “I’m actually a beta. Also what the hell are we even talking about. This is a work case.”

Mina flapped a hand at you. “I’m sure you’ll both work it very hard, very thoroughly,” she said with no small amount of relish.

You seized the case file in question, holding it up between you like a shield, flapping it at her in turn. The manila folder flopped stiffly, the pages making a sort of wobbly sound. “Why are you like this,” you hissed.

Mina’s eyes glittered, and she opened her mouth to respond, when the soft tread of a boot in the hall made her perk up. Her grin went unholy. “Speak of the devil,” she said.

Shouto certainly did not look like the devil, as he rounded the corner. The fluorescent lighting made a sort of soft halo off the glossy strands of his distinct two-toned hair, and his features were just as angelic as you remembered—finely-wrought and almost deliberately formed, as though he were sculpture from the hands of a master. He was almost too beautiful to look at this early in the morning, and you felt your breath draw up short in your lungs.

He blinked when he saw you, those heterochromatic eyes widening nearly imperceptibly as he approached.

“Morning, Shouto-kun,” she purred. You hated her.

“Good morning,” he said, his tone low and soft. Your fingers tightened on the file folder, bracing yourself against the loveliness of the sound.

A flush rose to your cheeks as you did so, and Shouto’s eyes followed you curiously. Beneath the high collar of his hero uniform, you could just glimpse a flash of his scent patches, neatly placed as usual. You wondered absently what he would smell like if you peeled them back and leaned in close. As a beta, your nose was not as good as the other genders, but if you got in close enough, and if Shouto’s scent was strong enough, you’d probably be able to tell.

He looked like he’d smell delicious.

A cackle from Mina alerted you to the horrifying fact that you’d just been staring at Shouto as he approached, mouth open and expression vacant.

“Uh… good morning,” you managed.

The corner of Shouto’s mouth quirked up, and something beneath your skin tingled in response.

“I hope you are well,” he murmured.

You could see Mina’s eyes darting back and forth between the two of you with barely suppressed glee, and a sudden bolt of shame went through you.

Just because it was super obvious how hot you found Shouto didn’t mean he felt the same. He was a fucking pro hero for crying out loud. Rescuing people was what he did—the save on Friday did not have to mean anything.

Plus, knowing for sure that he was an alpha had closed the window on your little celebrity crush. Out of the hundreds of couples you’d met in your lifetime, you’d only ever met one alpha-beta pairing—both tradition and biology seemed to win out in almost all mated pairs, alphas and omegas unable to help their inherent attraction to one another.

And with that in mind, it was actually super disrespectful of you to even think about this impending partnership in any terms less-than-professional.

You rallied yourself, inclining your head respectfully to Shouto, gesturing with the case file in your hands.

“Yep, I’m good. I’m grateful for the save and I’m sure I’ll be even more grateful for your help on this case.” You turned to your boss, routing her back on track. “Mina, what information have you shared and what do I need to get him up to speed on?”

Mina’s pout was so defined it could be seen from space. You ignored her, raising your eyebrows.

“I only put the call out to other agency heads for a supervising out-of-agency hero. Just that it’s an omega assault case possibly involving a pro, and your name as the lead investigator.”

Your gaze returned to Shouto. He was still watching you intently.

“How much time do you have before you’re needed back at your agency?” you asked him. “Do you want to grab a conference room and I’ll get you up to speed? I’m sure Mina has a lot to do just now.”

He nodded, his hair falling into his eyes in a way that should not have wrung the oxygen out of the atmosphere, but did. “I am on patrol after lunch, but I’ve asked that my schedule be cleared until then.”

Perfect. Plenty of time. You stood, hefting the case file with you, clearly dismissing Mina, who looked put out.

“Great, I’ll show you to the conference room then,” you said. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Mina flashing you a pink finger, and you could easily guess which one. You stuck out your tongue at her as you passed Shouto so he couldn’t see, not above pettiness.

You gestured Shouto into one of the smaller rooms across the floor with especially good soundproofing, holding the door open for him. You sucked in a breath as he brushed past you, trying not to admire how tall and broad he was, the way those shoulders spanned the breadth of the doorway.

Shouto took a seat and you spread the case file out before him, trying not to look down at him as he glanced up at you. His fingers twitched on the conference table, like he was holding them in place. You carefully retreated to a safer distance, hoping you hadn’t annoyed him.

“Okay so the basic brief is as Mina said. There have been multiple reports of a suspected pro harassing omegas late at night in Bunkyo. Initially they were identified as a masked male wearing scent patches, roughly five foot ten, always wearing some dark jacket. But the suspected hero element came into play late last week when they attempted to strap quirk suppressors on their target. The omega in question had a vapor quirk so she was able to dissolve and escape before he did.”

Shouto’s eyes tracked you as you spoke, solemn and attentive.

“So far the suspect has not shown any signs of a quirk himself, and without any scent ID it’s hard to know what secondary gender to look for. Our best option is to work the possible-pro-hero angle and rule out who we can, since that’s all the identifiable detail we have on this guy at this time.”

Shouto nodded, propping an elbow on the table. You tried to ignore how even that small gesture made him look like a center spread in Heroes Illustrated.

“I’d like to read the individual reports and hear your plan once I have,” Shouto said.

You perked up, pleased with the terms he was speaking in. A good case analyst always had at least a sketch of a plan—what order to speak to specific people in, which angles had highest priority of investigation, and how the labor could be divided and work double-checked.

Most heroes were people of action and hated having to be corralled into approaching cases like some sort of assignment, instead of busting in and blowing things apart. But it was the best way to make sure all avenues were investigated thoroughly and that work was peer-reviewed in case someone missed something.

Shouto’s phraseology told you he was familiar with approaching cases like this, meaning he probably listened to the Todoroki agency analysts. You’d never worked closely enough with him before to know, only trading high-level information back and forth on a couple of joint cases, presenting findings in a meeting room stuffed full of Pink Riot and Todoroki agency heroes.

You found yourself smiling faintly.

“I’ll get you some coffee while you read. Everything is in chronological order in the file and I’ve tabulated some notes,” you said. “How do you take yours?”

Shouto’s gaze slid over you, careful and assessing. He paused. “I’ve been told I should not share that information.”

Your eyebrows went up. “Your… coffee order?”

Shouto nodded seriously. “Bakugou says it’s disgusting and embarrassing.”

Bakugou—pro hero Dynamight, that was—was Kirishima’s best friend, a loud alpha of an explosive manner and incendiary opinions who often showed up unprompted at the agency to stomp around and mean mug, all the while hiding that he was attempting to press leftovers on Kiri and Mina. You laughed, curious what Bakugou had browbeaten another pro over.

“Your secret will be safe with me,” you said coaxingly.

Shouto blinked, mouth quirking slightly again. He looked like he genuinely liked the idea of that, and your stomach fluttered in response.

Of course then he opened his mouth and provided a rundown of the inhumanly numerous sugars and syrups he liked, such that it constituted more of a soft drink than a coffee order. You tried to keep your eyebrows from creeping up into your hairline, smothering a laugh.

That was so unexpectedly cute. Especially for an alpha.

“One coma-inducing order of sugar with a splash of coffee, coming right up,” you saluted him.

He did something with his face that was a cross between a tiny smile and a pout, and you threw yourself out the door before you dissolved into a puddle of goop.

You went down to the cafe that operated out of the ground floor of the Pink Riot building, a favorite lunch spot of most of the heroes for how enormous their sandwiches were. The order took a fair few minutes, as it took the barista a good while to pump in the zillions of requested syrups, his eyebrows raised nearly to the moon as you recited them.

When you returned to the conference room, Shouto was already well into the case file. He glanced up as you entered, those heterochromatic eyes pinning you with an unexpected intensity. You started, wondering if you’d done something wrong.

But then his mouth slid into another tiny smile, and he looked so genuinely pleased to see you—or the coffee cup—you found yourself helplessly smiling back.

After depositing his cup next to him, you fetched your laptop and emailed Shouto’s agency the case files while he read. You wrote up the preliminary notes you’d been able to pull together on the case—a list of three agency heroes whose exact whereabouts had been accounted for during one or more of the incidents, who were therefore not on your list of possibilities.

Shouto was staring at you when you shook yourself out of work mode an hour later, quiet and intent. You startled, jumping in your seat.

“Oh my god—I’m sorry—did you say something? I didn’t mean to ignore you,” you said.

Shouto shook his head, another smile quirking that perfect mouth. That expression was growing familiar. “I have just finished,” he said.

A sense of relief washed over you. “Okay great. Did anything stick out to you that you think I’ve missed so far?”

“No,” he murmured. “Your work is very thorough. I would like to hear your plan.”

His tone was low, almost appreciative, and you tried not to let it go to your head.

“Okay, then we’ll begin with the active duty and equipment logs,” you told him. “I’m already through all of the duty logs available, but I still need the one from Thursday when the last incident happened—it’s supposed to be ready this afternoon. That will rule out a few heroes, and the equipment logs can tell us more about who had what out during the time of the attacks—I think we start with the heroes who had suppressors on them then.”

Shouto nodded, looking like he was following along. “You want to narrow the pool before you speak to anyone in case you arouse suspicion.”

You nodded, pleased he understood. “Yes.”

That blue and gray gaze nearly pinned you to your seat. “That is smart.”

A sudden wash of heat licked up your spine, pooling in your limbs. You struggled to keep your face neutral, your ears burning. “Th—thanks.”

“Who have you ruled out so far?” he asked.

You turned your screen to him, showing the notes you’d drawn up. “Kiri’s clear—no shock there—Tetsutetsu, and Tetsu’s sidekick who was with him on a cleanup during the first incident. I’m hoping Thursday’s log will clear at least one or two more.”

Shouto inclined his head in agreement. “And your interview plan?”

You smiled, and scrolled down to your notes on that, pleased at how he was letting you lead the investigation. He listened intently as you walked him through an outline, double-checking that everything worked with his schedule.

As you talked, he offered a few suggestions of his own, but he mostly seemed content to follow your outline—completely unlike even the most agreeable of the Pink Riot agency alphas. In fact it was so contradictory to everything you’d experienced thus far that you found your gaze darting to his scent patches over and over again, as if assessing whether they were really covering up an alpha scent.

But no—you had felt the pull of his Order under your skin on Friday. You, a beta, naturally resistant to Orders in the way omegas weren’t. And you’d gone so boneless against him, too, affected by his proximity in the most embarrassing way. Shouto was definitely an alpha, with that kind of pull—and probably a preternaturally strong one at that.

But he was also just—your eyes drifted to his coma-inducing coffee cup—kind of a strange one, too.

The two of you discussed the case for a few more minutes—until your stomach growled, loud enough to interrupt your planning, and the corner of Shouto’s lips lifted again.

“Would you like to finish up over lunch?” he asked, saving you the embarrassment of excusing yourself.

You grinned. “I think my stomach already answered for me,” you agreed.

Shouto helped you reorganize the paper files and lingered over you as you locked them into your desk cabinet, waiting for you patiently. Then he let you lead him downstairs to the cafe. You were conscientious of not standing too close to him in the elevator, all too aware of him in that tiny, enclosed space.

When you made it down to the ground floor, Shouto surprised you by steering you over to one of the tables, bidding you to sit.

“What do you enjoy here?” he asked, looking down at you expectantly. “I would like to get it for you.”

You shook your head. “Actually, I’m pretty sure I should be treating you for the save. How about you tell me what you want?”

Those heterochromatic eyes blinked down at you, and a tiny crease appeared between Shouto’s eyebrows. His mouth turned down. Against the subtlety of his expressions thus far, the look appeared almost distressed. “I insist,” he said, something strange in his tone.

“Shouto, really, I—-”

“I insist,” Shouto said, a little more firmly. There was the flicker of something strange under your skin again, like the tiny molecules of your body shifting in response to him.

You froze, startled, and your mouth opened for you before you realized what you were doing. “I—a pesto sandwich—”

You clamped your mouth shut, mystified.

But Shouto looked pleased. He smiled, wider than you had seen so far, a devastatingly handsome quarter-moon sliver that sent your pulse pounding in your ears. You watched him turn and walk off, something you might have said was almost smug in his step, had you known him better.

You sank into one of the seats, befuddled by what had just happened.

Shouto returned a few minutes later with water and an order number, placing the bottle in front of you like an offering. You regrouped, thanking him, then raised your eyebrows as he leaned forward, looking serious.

“I have been wanting to ask. Where does the alpha who harassed you work?” he asked, his tone dropping low. A strip of afternoon sunlight caught in his hair, dancing like flickering flames in the strands of scarlet, liming them in an orange glow.

He was beautiful in the sun, and it took you a minute to reroute your brain from his face to his question.

“Suzuki’s in support,” you said. “But Mina’s disciplining him, and I don’t have to see him often. I do expect he’ll behave after this. But why do you ask?”

Shouto frowned, leaning in closer. “Support maintains the equipment logs.”

It was the same at the Pink Riot agency too. “I—well, yes, but—”

“I should like to be there when you go to support,” Shouto said, catching your eye. His expression shifted into something solemn, his mouth a flat line.

You waved your hand dismissively. “I appreciate it, but don’t worry. He’s not gonna do anything, it’s literally just logs—”

“I must insist,” Shouto said again, his tone soft but unmistakably firm. His fingers flexed tightly where they rested on the edge of the table, the knuckle of his index turning white.

Despite yourself, his concern warmed you, that hot, tingly feeling heating your ears again.

“I really would be okay,” you said. “But if it means something—I’ll wait until tomorrow when you get here?”

Shouto nodded. “I would like that very much.”

A smile teased at your mouth. Now that was stereotypical alpha behavior, much as you appreciated his concern. Suzuki wasn’t going to jump you over a log file in a workplace—especially not after Mina had taken him to task. Shouto’s concern was unnecessary, but so very typical of an alpha. It felt familiar, like Kirishima’s brand of protectiveness over his tight knit agency, you thought. Harmless and well-intentioned.

A tray being placed on your table cut off any response you might have given, and your eyes blew wide as you registered the amount of food on it. Your mouth dropped open when a second tray was placed alongside the first one, the cafe worker smiling down at Shouto before she left, clearly recognizing him.

Shouto looked down at the food, his features arranged in minute shock.

“I do not remember ordering this…” he said, glancing at his receipt slip. You watched as his eyebrows furrowed slightly, that crease appearing between them again as his eyes flickered over the order. Then he cut himself off, those long eyelashes fluttering. “I… apologize.”

Apologize? Meaning, he had ordered this?

“You bought all this?” you asked, floored.

Shouto gave a tight nod. “It… would seem so.”

Your gaze picked over the trays again. They were piled high with at least six sandwiches, several pastries, a takeout container of soup, four different kinds of cookies, two fruit cups, and a handful of the granola bars they kept by the register. It was a literal mountain of food, and you sort of doubted even a pro hero could put that much away in one sitting.

“If you were so hungry we could have come down so much earlier,” you insisted, but Shouto’s embarrassed expression only deepened.

“It is… not for me,” he said slowly. It looked like it pained him to admit it.

You blinked, drawing back in your seat. “It’s…..me?”

Shouto nodded seriously.

A shocked laugh leapt out of you, bright and pleased. “Shouto, I was hungry but this is like, eleven meals!”

“You will have leftovers, then,” Shouto replied, sounding embarrassed. The tips of his ears were red where they peeked through his mop of multicolored hair.

You were so suddenly, utterly charmed by him, a splash of warmth pooling in your stomach, flooding through your limbs. You had absolutely no idea what had possessed him to do this, but it was undeniably sweet. Coupled with the easy way he’d let you take the lead on the investigation, and the way he’d moved to protect you on Friday night—it all painted a portrait of a very good, very kind sort of person.

You’d really lucked into a good partnership. You were grateful.

“Thank you, Shouto,” you said sincerely. A hint of a flush colored his high cheekbones, and he nodded.

You decided not to press him anymore, setting aside your speculation for when he’d gone. Instead, you unearthed your requested sandwich from the mound of food, and selecting a pastry at random. Shouto watched you as you bit into your food, a strange sort of intensity in his gaze.

Eventually, however, he took his own food, and the two of you chatted as you ate, moving on from the case to discuss his patrol, your shared friends, and a slew of other silly topics. You found him just as easy to talk to outside of case work—he had the same straightforward way of approaching life as he did his casework, his outlook consummately honest and thoughtful.

You regretted it when Shouto eventually had to excuse himself for patrol, but not before disappearing and reappearing with a takeout containers and a bag for all the things he’d ordered you, which he carefully but insistently packed away, before putting in front of you with a meaningful look.

You laughed again, taking the bag from him as you got up to make your way back upstairs as well.

“Thank you for lunch,” you told him, trying to convey how sincerely grateful you were. “I’m looking forward to our partnership.” You stuck out your hand to him, smiling up at him.

Shouto’s expression didn’t change much, but his mismatched gaze grew warmer where it rested on you. “As am I,” he said, tone soft.

Long fingers curled around yours, and for a moment you felt that same, weak-kneed desire to collapse against him as you had on Friday. It took an inordinate amount of focus to pump his hand in a handshake, and even more willpower to let him go.

You waved him off, and watched him go, feeling a strange sense of emptiness as that broad back disappeared through the door. In just a few short hours, it seemed, Todoroki Shouto had dug himself a comfortable little spot in your heart—far deeper than a case partner should have.

You ruminated on this as you made your way back upstairs, mind running over the events of the last few days. You couldn’t figure out why Shouto was having a weirder effect on you than any other alpha, even accounting for his unearthly good looks, nor why he seemed to be equally lost today—ordering a zillion things without even realizing he’d done so.

As you made your way back to your desk and cracked open the case file again, you resolved to solve this mystery as well. You were good at getting to the bottom of things—and Todoroki Shouto would be no exception.

[mclacedes]

The Idea of You (LN4)

2. The Idea of Worthiness

summary: in which lando decides to make it up for ghostin you

previous ••• next

WARNINGS: it's pretty much all angst. in-depth described anxiety attack, anxious behaviour/mannerisms, description of depression and suicidal ideation, loneliness

wc: 3k

“but what if i can't do it?”

A/N: before anything else, i want to make it clear that my intention is NOT to trigger any kind of trauma in anyone with this. the reader has been warned of potential triggers. if you are going through some kind of psychological hardship, know that there are people who care and who worry <3 you are never 100% alone!

january 1st, 2024 — 3:30pm

you came home with a knot in your chest that seemed to tighten with every breath. the morning had been a blur, an awkward dance around lando’s mother as you searched for a polite excuse to leave.

of course you'd chosen the most simple and non-negotiable of lies: i need to spend some time with my relatives.

despite it being faintly true, you knew you'd spend the whole day with lando's family if the circumstances were different.

the night's words lingered in your mind as you walked out, wishing it could cover the truth: you couldn’t bear the thought of facing lando after what had happened—or rather, after what didn’t happen.

now, the silence in your own home was suffocating. you slumped onto the couch, your mind replaying the scene on a loop: lando's words, lando's reassurance, the way his lips had bruised yours, the heat of his breath so close, his hands on you, his hands in you, his fingers’ magic, and then... you wake up alone.

now, you knew lando felt the same, you knew that things could work out, you knew just the intensity of your feelings for him. but you also knew he hadn't texted you back all day and, seemingly, nobody knew where he was.

as his closest friend, you knew that he'd only have left that way if something really bad had happened.

what you didn't know though, was how bad it felt for him.

it had been a long time since lando had received the diagnosis. after years of wondering what was wrong with him and why he felt such a void within himself, he'd been told he had depression.

what they say is that treatment is easier when you have the right diagnosis, but that doesn't erase the fact that some days were infinitely more difficult than others—harder to get out of bed, harder to leave the house, to work, and singularly hard to live, specially because the latter is the last thing you want during a depressive episode.

he started going to therapy regularly when he was a minor, forced by his parents, but when he became an adult he left—said that talking about how horrible he felt wouldn't help, it would only make him feel worse.

and then the episodes gradually became worse as his life improve. for example, before arriving in F1, he oftentimes found himself fighting against the urge to simply end it all: the pain, the suffering, the disruption, the constant failed attempt at a better day, his very life.

even though he never attempted it, lando was caught contemplating the possibility of the end; he used to wonder how people would react when they heard "lando norris died, suicide", what it would be like if he wasn't here anymore.

“such a kind soul”

“such a beautiful boy”

“smart, funny”

“talented guy”

that's what people would say, in the best of cases.

in the worse of cases people wouldn't even notice he was gone.

well, following next to depression was anxiety.

lando’s anxiety was a constant undercurrent to his depression, feeding off it, amplifying it, tangling him further in a web of self-doubt. it was always there, an invisible weight pressing down, but some days it grew loud enough to silence every other part of him, like a swarm of thoughts buzzing incessantly, trapping him in a looping worry about everything and nothing all at once.

it started with racing—the very thing he loved was also the source of his most unrelenting fears. despite his undeniable talent and the acclaim he’d earned, the worry always crept in: what if i mess up? what if i’m not good enough? what if it’s all just a fluke, and one day everyone realizes i’m a fraud?

he dreaded that moment when the lights turned green, not because of the physical danger but because of the psychological toll—that split-second when any mistake, any misstep, could spiral out into a visible, unforgivable failure.

even beyond racing, the anxiety spilled into every facet of his life. he overthought every message he sent, every interaction, analyzing them for any hint of rejection, any confirmation of his worst fears. if he didn’t receive a response right away, his mind spun stories, convincing him he’d somehow upset the person or made a fool of himself.

and now, with you, it was worse. his feelings were tangled with worry and doubt; he feared you’d eventually see through his flaws, his bad days, his cracks, and walk away. the closeness you’d shared the night before terrified him. he wanted you desperately, yet that desire to let you in also exposed him to his greatest fear: that he would scare you away merely by the fact that he existed.

this anxiety could sometimes send him into a state of paralysis, leaving him unable to reach out, unable to bridge the gap even when he wanted nothing more than to feel your presence, to hear your voice. today was one of those days—the aftermath of a moment so perfect, so vulnerable, that his mind filled with a thousand worries. he couldn’t bring himself to message you, to even show you the rawness of his internal struggle. instead, he withdrew, waiting for the fog to clear enough for him to reach for you again.

but you had tried.

you: lando hey

you: i'm worried abt u

you: text me whenever u get the chance pls

you: i'm right here if you wanna talk”

there were another 20 texts of kindred nature from you in his phone—you spent the afternoon rewinding what had happened, wondering if there were any signs that he would do something to himself or… the devil god knows what.

you had barely moved or done anything at all since you had gotten home because lando still hadn’t texted back, and the worry in your chest was growing impossible to ignore.

you’d known him for years—long enough to see the shadows he kept hidden behind his easy smile. he had always brushed off the subject, deflecting it with humor or quick changes in conversation. but today, his silence was colder, sharper, more unsettling than usual.

hours had passed since you last saw him, and finally, you gave in and sent him a message, trying not to let the desperation seep through.

you: lando, i hope you’re alright. let me know when you’re home safe, ok?

the message delivered, but no ‘read’ receipt appeared. your heart sank, and as you stared at the screen, scenarios spun wildly in your mind.

lando was good at hiding. he knew how to pour himself into everything and everyone else, keeping busy, laughing, entertaining—until he couldn’t. when the episodes came, he retreated so far into himself that it was like trying to find someone in a pitch-black room.

you tried calling him. the line rang and rang, finally going to voicemail. your voice was barely a whisper as you left a message.

“lando… if you see this, please just… come home. or let me know you’re okay. i’m here, alright? no matter what, i’m here.”

when the call ended, the silence in your apartment felt just as cold as his void.

—

unbeknownst to you, he was okay.

at least that's what he said to max when he called saying cisca was worried about him. and thats what he said when he called his mom.

“i’m okay.”

but he knew there was nothing okay with him right now.

far away, in his silent retreat, a wave of coldness washed over him, and his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. that feeling in his chest was known: he was panicking.

it felt like the walls were closing in, a vice squeezing his chest tighter with every passing second. his hands trembled, fingers twitching as if searching for something to anchor him, to ground him in reality. he fought to keep his breathing steady, but the more he tried, the more elusive calm became. memories of your kiss haunted him—both a balm and a wound. how could something so beautiful leave him feeling so lost?

what if i’m not enough for her? he thought

a tight knot of fear formed in his stomach, mingling with the ache of longing. was he really ready for this? for you? for love? the questions spiraled, colliding with the weight of his own expectations and the pressure of his career. he couldn’t shake the sense that he was on the brink of something monumental, yet all he felt was the crushing weight of uncertainty.

the doubt crept in, fueled by echoes of his past, whispers of inadequacy that had followed him through the years. he recalled the stinging memories of being told he wasn’t good enough, of moments when his efforts felt like they never quite measured up. every trophy he’d won and every incredible milestone he had achieved done little to silence those voices. instead, they morphed into an insidious belief that no matter how hard he tried, he would always be a step behind, always falling short.

what if she hates me?

with you, the stakes felt impossibly high. what if he couldn’t be the partner you deserved? what if the pressure of the spotlight overwhelmed him and drove you away? those thoughts twisted in his gut, feeding the anxiety that swelled within him. he imagined you in a world where he wasn’t there, finding someone who could offer you the stability and unwavering support he feared he lacked. the very thought crushed him, deepening the ache in his chest, as it reminded him of all the times he had to fight for validation, only to come up empty-handed.

he was scared of what loving you meant, terrified of failing you, terrified of failing himself. the weight of it all felt unbearable, a heavy blanket of dread that threatened to suffocate him.

what if i fail her?

lando was too scared, too anxious. with every breath, his lungs ached, and with every tear that gathered in his eyes, he felt weaker. it was as if he were standing on the edge of a precipice, the ground crumbling beneath him, and the vast unknown loomed below—a place filled with possibilities but also with the risk of falling into darkness. he clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms, trying to ground himself as the rising tide of emotions threatened to pull him under.

every heartbeat felt like a reminder of his vulnerability, a painful pulse that echoed the uncertainty gnawing at his core. he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was teetering on the edge of something profound, yet all he could focus on was the suffocating fear of not being enough. the love he felt for you, so pure and intoxicating, was also a heavy burden, weighed down by his past failures and fears. the thought of letting you down, of not living up to the promise of what could be, sent chills racing down his spine.

she's too perfect, i'm a mess

as tears spilled over and streamed down his cheeks, he felt a mix of shame and desperation. lando had always prided himself on being strong, on facing challenges head-on, yet here he was—vulnerable and exposed, battling an internal storm that felt relentless. the very act of loving you felt like a gamble, one that he wasn't sure he was ready to take. would he be brave enough to step forward, to embrace the chaos of his heart, or would he retreat back into the safety of his own fears?

with every sob that escaped him, the overwhelming tide of emotion pulled him deeper, and he struggled to keep his head above water. the thought of calling you, of reaching out for the connection he craved, felt both necessary and terrifying. what if you saw him like this—raw, broken, and afraid? what if he could never find the words to explain what he felt, or worse, what if you saw him as nothing more than a disappointment?

what if she saw me for who i truly am?

taking a shaky breath, he reached for his phone thrown on the couch, sitting on it. his hands were still trembling as he dialed the only person, besides you, who he knew wouldn't judge, but understand him.

“hey, mate, how you doing?” max fewtrell greeted him with his usual easy grin, only for the smile to falter the second he took in lando’s state: tears streaked his face, his eyes swollen and red, his nose and cheeks raw from wiping at them. his lips, split and bloodied, told the story of how he’d been biting them all day. lando’s breath hitched in his throat, his words barely making it out.

“hey… mate, i—” he tried, but the lump in his throat choked him. lando couldn’t even speak.

“lando, what happened?” max said, his voice low and steady, concern etched across his face.

“i think i… i fucked things up with Y/N,” lando's voice cracked, desperation pouring from him as if his world was unraveling right there in front of max.

the sight in front of max sent a chill through his spine. lando's looks, disheveled, like he’d been pulling at it in frustration all day. his bright green eyes were dulled, sunken and rimmed with red. the bags beneath them were dark, a stark contrast against his pale skin. his hands trembled on his knees, unable to steady themselves. his chest heaved, like the panic was consuming him from the inside, leaving only a fragile shell of the person max had known for years.

lando wiped at his face, the back of his hand coming away wet. he shook his head, sinking deeper into the couch.

“we kissed, we slept together and i pushed her away, max. i—i could’ve stayed. i could’ve—” his breath caught again, ragged and uneven. “but i left with no explanation. i went up and left her there, max… i’m so stupid.” he cried out.

lando’s breath hitched, and he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to stop the tears, but it was no use. his shoulders shook, and a sob escaped him, raw and unfiltered. he hadn’t felt this way in a long time—like he was too broken to be loved.

"max, i’m a mess," he whispered, his voice cracking. "i couldn’t stay, i couldn’t even look at her this morning because… because she deserves better. i mean, look at me," he gestured to himself, his hands trembling. “i’m fucked up, max. i couldn’t even say the words, couldn’t even be honest. how can i be with her when i don’t even know what’s going on in my own head?”

max’s brows furrowed, his face softening as he listened. lando looked like he was spiraling, and it hurt max to see his best friend like this—feeling like he didn’t deserve something good because he was caught in his own storm.

“lando, mate,” max started, carefully choosing his words, “you’re not as messed up as you think you are. yeah, you’ve got stuff going on, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve her, or that you don’t deserve to be happy. and running away from her because you think you’re too broken for her… that’s not the answer.”

lando shook his head, wiping at his eyes, his voice trembling as he spoke. “but i am broken, max. i don’t even know how to deal with my own shit, let alone someone else’s. she’s this… this amazing person, and i’m just… i’m just me. she deserves someone who has it all figured out, not someone who’s going to bolt the second things get real.”

max let out a breath, leaning forward a bit. “no one has it all figured out, lando. not me, not her, not anyone. she’s not expecting you to be perfect, she’s expecting you to be real with her. that’s all. and yeah, maybe you’re not in the best place right now, but you can’t let that be the reason you push her away.”

lando let the words sink in, but it didn’t ease the heaviness inside him. “i left because i thought… i thought i’d hurt her more by staying. i didn’t want her to see me like this. i didn’t want her to see how much of a mess i am.”

“but by leaving, you hurt her anyway,” max said gently. “because she cares about you. and if you care about her too, you’ve got to let her in, even if it’s messy, even if you don’t have all the answers. it’s okay to not have everything together, lando. it’s okay to be scared. but you can’t run from this.”

lando swallowed hard, staring at the floor, his fingers gripping the edge of the couch until his knuckles turned white. max was right. he had run—run because he didn’t think he was good enough, run because the idea of her seeing all his cracks terrified him.

“but what if i can’t do it? what if i let her down again?” lando’s voice was barely audible now, thick with doubt.

max’s expression softened even more. “then you figure it out, together. but you’ve got to give her the chance to make that choice. don’t decide for her that you’re not good enough. let her in. let her see you, even the parts you’re scared to show. that’s how you build something real.”

lando’s breath came in short, shallow bursts, his heart pounding in his chest. the thought of opening up like that—to be fully seen, in all his messiness, all his vulnerability—scared him more than any race ever had. but the thought of losing Y/N, of pushing her away because of his own fear… that scared him even more.

“yeah, sure,” lando whispered, his voice hoarse. “i need to talk to her. i need to fix this.”

max smiled softly, relief flickering in his eyes. “yeah, mate. you do.”

after bidding his best friend farewell, lando sat and tried to calm himself down by pressing his fingers with exposed raw flesh due to the fact he had gnawed at his own hands out of anxiety. he had to come up with something to make it up to you. he needed to.

TAGGINGS: @meglouise00 @rawr-123s-stuff

[milli-moi]

I’ve replied to comments about this multiple times now but it’s too much info to share in reply to a comment each time I see it so I thought I’d share it in full. I might have even shared some of it before but I can’t remember and tbh everyone seems to be interested now even though I’ve had these things headcanoned from when Nicky’s story was first shown.

So here, this is my version of how Nicky was made!

I have a similar take on this which I’ve had from when we first met Nicky in the show. In fact my first fanfic for this world involves it. I honestly struggle to see any other version now lol.

I think there are a few things that there is only one answer to and I’ll go through them a bit.

Point 1 - no one has told us who Agatha is running from on the day Nicky was born. Even as a reasonably young witch she was strong so if she were to be chased out by villagers or other witches etc she wouldn’t be running. She would have dealt with them in her usual style. Then it falls to Rio. But even then, I think she knows she couldn’t outrun or hide from Rio. I look at this two ways.

Either it was a case of maternal instinct, the need to at least try and protect her son making her run. (Which is far from nothing when you consider she is clearly in labour at that point and she would likely find walking at a decent pace hard let alone running). Or, she was trying to escape the scenario because she knew there might be a chance she would die instead of Nicky. She knew Rio wouldn’t let her take that chance, especially if it would make everything worse for all involved and if it wasn’t the primary outcome.

I always felt that Rio had only known he was dying maybe an hour before we see Agatha in the forest. I presume he was going to die due to the umbilical cord strangling him (most other options would have caused Agatha significant harm too and she likely would also have died) or something similar. I feel that she let Agatha go, gave her some time because Agatha has Huge issues with emotions.

Basically all this to say that I don’t think there was ever any risk to carrying the child of Death or that the children of Death would die etc. I also don’t think Rio hid it, I think it was a horrible turn of events.

Also when it comes to his eventual death age 6, I think Nicky had TB. TB can be latent meaning it’s inactive in the body for years without symptoms. It isn’t often passed from mother to child but it does happen if there is blood mixed during birth. The symptoms Nicky seems to have match with this, his deterioration over time, the cough, paleness etc and that it was very very common in the population at the time.

(Maybe it’s ultra sadistic in a way but I do kind of love the poetic irony of it actually being Agatha in a way that ended his life)

Point 2- Nicky was made ‘from scratch’ he was not made using magick. Perhaps there is a world in which Rio can alter her anatomy - (and where Agatha accepted the whole idea - she’s too gay for that in my personal headcanon! 🤣) - but I think what this meant was that he wasn’t created by a planned, deliberate spell. He was the creation of love, and of that deeper magick that Rio possesses as a cosmic entity.

I don’t imagine they planned for him to happen because they didn’t use a spell. I don’t think they imagined it was possible, and if they had through it possible they wouldn’t have waited possibly 50 or more years to have him. Even for witches I imagine being pregnant is easier in your twenties than your seventies.

I see it that Nicky should have been impossible in the same way it should have been impossible for Death to fall in love. So, I guess, the impossible and incredible love that Rio had (has) for Agatha is what made that spark happen.

Rio (in my own writing lol) realised four months after it had happened that there had been a time where during the intensity of their love making she had released some sort of cloud of magic. They had both noticed it, a brief second of green surrounding them. Agatha had turned it into a joke, bragging about her skillful hands. It was only after they had known about their child that Rio believed her magic had created the necessary components, making its own version of a sperm cell that was created directly into the position it needed to be in, that it had happened to be at the right point, during ovulation and somehow they had made Nicky.

She had never intended it fully - yes maybe it was something she wanted but not something likely - but her deeper less human side had likely been able to smell the changes, to know this was the perfect time to conceive even if she had no idea she could.

To summarise; - Nicky wasn’t planned because he wasn’t possible - not in that fashion anyway. - Rio wasn’t capable of getting Agatha pregnant in the same way she wasn’t capable of falling in love. Both were beyond the reach of normal truths. Make sense?

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

Hello!

This is a humongous ask with a lot of context please please feel free to ignore😵‍💫

So I hold the hc that Ford is absolutely NPD, that Stanley has CPTSD and perhaps even BPD (we see him obsess over his FP throughout his entire life and while he represses as much as he can, it is still very clear that he feels DEEPLY either negative or positive emotions.)

I am in the middle of writing a fic where both men fall into the portal. If you are interested in understanding the premise, basically Bill fucks up by showing Ford exactly what happens during the some lowest moments of Stan's drifter years. Bill wants to destroy Ford's self worth and show him that he is a monster "just like Me"

The result being that Ford is wracked by Narcissistic injury. He contacts Stan, Stan comes, fight happens near the portal, Stan gets burned, but before Stan can push Ford into the portal, Ford rapid-fires some panic apologies and begs for forgiveness about .. everything. They are both physically fucked and by sheer bad luck end up falling through the portal just as they begin to communicate.

My AU is called Trust Falls

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/59665708)

At the moment in my writing I am working on the delayed reaction of Ford's narcissistic injury paired with the somewhat foreign to Ford idea that he has to not just rely on Stanley for both of them to survive but in fact Stan has skills and knowledge that Ford simply doesn't.

I am personally a BPD autistic person (with NPD people in my life that I love and I know love me) and I am struggling to properly represent Ford's internal struggle with this. I am also struggling to work in other NPD traits such as his manipulation of circumstances.

Another aspect to my story is that Ford is going to go through some pretty intense psychological trauma (think the Lamp story from reddit) and I want him to struggle to feel connected to his humanity, for some later healing when they get back to their home.

As an NPD person, do you have any recommendations on ways you would approach his injury and perhaps ways his ego would get them into trouble with locals around the multiverse?

I am trying really hard to not just simply ignore his NPD qualities in favor of "yay the boys can hug it out" bullshit narratives that I groan at.

I’ll try and do my best in wording all this, and will mostly be going off my own experience, so naturally I don’t speak for every narcissist, but I hope this can be of help anyway!

When it comes to writing and understanding Narcissistic Injuries, one of the most important thing to keep in mind is the root of it, as those will inform the character’s behaviours and reaction. The most common feelings related to Narcissistic Injury are things shame, humiliation, insecurity etc, and because we are usually unable of coping with that, and our view of ourself has just been challenged or even damaged, we turn those feelings elsewhere as a defence mechanism: anger is the most common response I find.

In Ford’s case, I imagine it’s only further worsened by the fact he has to rely on Stan. Honestly, that would probably piss me off if I was in his position. His self-worth has just been damaged beyond repair, which is already going to cause an array of negative emotions, and now, he’s been made even more vulnerable, with someone who simply put, knows more than him in this situation. It would be a blow to his pride.

I can see him doing things like refusing Stan’s help or going against what Stan tells him to do, believing he can handle a situation or do it better, lashing out and trying to prove his worth again, but he’ll likely only make himself feel worse in the process. It’s a horrible cycle to be stuck in.

You have to remember when writing that Ford’s response is only a shield, protecting himself from others but also his own feelings. He doesn’t want to acknowledge his own weakness. That’s just not an option. Every little disagreement in this state is going to be more than that to Ford — it’s going to be an insult. He may interpret Stan’s words as telling him he isn’t capable, or that he isn’t smart enough, when Stan is really just trying to help them both survive.

Hell, he’ll probably respond like this to most forms of assistance or locals trying to correct him, becoming snappy or defensive, insisting he knew that, or that they don’t need help, because he has it under control. I know for a fact I, even with how much I’ve improved my coping, still snap back with how I don’t need help, or that I was managing just fine, or that I actually intended to do that all along. It’s easier than just admitting you’re struggling.

I can see Ford pissing off a few people with that mindset.

It probably does help that a lot of this also stems from guilt, which means he likely feels responsible for Stan, and only grows more frustrated with himself when he can’t protect him.

Also Manipulation! I think I can word this one a bit easier I’m way more self-aware about that sort of thing.

The thing about manipulation with narcissism, is it isn’t always the obvious things. When manipulating a situation, it can be as simple as very intentional comments designed to garner attention or sympathy, although, intentional as it is, in my own experience, this tends to run on auto pilot. It just… is. You just do it. It’s also sometimes about speaking confidently enough that you convince people your idea is the better one, and thereby securing your own preferred outcome. Most times, it’s habit. Also, for me, and I think for Ford in this situation, manipulation is a way to regain control, if it helps to think of it like that?

Ford has to be in control, he has to be perfect, he has to be the smartest in the room, he has to be worth something, he has to make it up to Stan, otherwise, what has his life even been for?

Apologies if this is messy or doesn’t clear up certain things. It’s nearly 12am as I write this so I’m just balling it. I really appreciate you putting in the effort to write this kind of dynamic though!

[ryuichirou]

Replies

Some replies! A lot of AzuIde and AzuJami today huh

Anonymous asked:

How does Idia even flirt? (If he has the capacity, that is…)

He doesn’t … but sometimes he provokes and teases, this is probably the closest thing lol But then again, a lot of times it ends up in either the provoked person getting irritated or in the provoked person getting PROVOKED and Idia getting freaked out because he didn’t expect the reaction to be this intense.

Anonymous asked:

Who do you think Idia would be the happiest with? Just curious…

Ortho! Ortho understands him, Ortho knows everything about him, Ortho is familiar, Ortho is comfortable, he is pretty much Idia’s soulmate. He is also an enabler, but he still pushes Idia out of his comfort zone.

The second one would probably be Azul; realistically, they would have a lot of issues because both of them are stubborn and have a lot of baggage, but I don’t think it’s completely impossible for them to actually be happy together.

And the rest of the boys in Idia’s harem aren’t even interested in all this stuff, they just want to have fun lol

Anonymous asked:

Would Azul ever cheat on Idia? If he did, how would Idia react?

Their relationship status is kind of weird, like they’re together but not quite, because accepting the fact that they are attracted to each other and want to be together is more difficult than having a marriage of convenience. So even if Azul does cheat, it would be due to this misunderstanding and things being complicated between them in general + him being honestly very horny for Jamil lol And if that happens, Idia would be salty and upset, because even if they weren’t technically “together”, it would still feel like a betrayal.

THAT BEING SAID. Azul values his connection to Idia way too much, so I don’t think he would do anything further than flirting. No NTR for these two I guess lol

Anonymous asked:

What is it about Azul that Jamil doesn’t like? They’re both shady af…

BUT HE IS SO ANNOYING!! And the fact that he is shady is just another thing to not like about him I think lol Jamil really doesn’t trust Azul: he knows that he uses people, and while he might be a useful ally, he is way too dangerous and backstabbing to trust him in any way.

He is also clingy, pretentious, flamboyant/dramatic, overbearing, and slimy.

He is also obnoxiously stubborn and a control freak; remember that vignette in which Jamil was asked to help Azul during the flying lessons? When Azul didn’t want him to help and was super against it and insisted on doing everything himself because he didn’t want to be indebted to Jamil and thought that Jamil had an ulterior motive.

So yeah. Azul is an annoying twitchy clingy obsessive pompous freak… I guess he is just way too high-maintenance for Jamil lol Specifically because they’re so similar, Jamil knows how dangerous and cunning Azul is. You just can’t trust this guy at all, so why would he? Azul would just use him for his purposes to get what he wants and then discard Jamil when he’s not needed anymore or something like that.

Anonymous asked:

Imagine Jamil having to deal with Kalim AND Azul AND Nagito

God… this poor poor guy…

I laughed at “AND Nagito” like tf you doing there fucker.

Making Jamil’s life more miserable of course!

Anonymous asked:

Miu: Hey, I-dick-a, I know you’re a pathetic otaku virgin so I invented something for you to practice with just in case you get lucky! Or…if ya never get laid at least you’ll have my invention! Ain’t I the sweetest? You should bow down and lick my boots!

I-dick-a Idia: *Passes away*

This is horrible (and canon) on so many levels, and wait until Ortho reveals that Idia already has a machine he’s built for that exact reason…

[wrathofrats]

AAAAHHH THE MUSHY MAY DAY 10!!!!! HOLY SHITT!!!! SO GOOD!!!

I LOVE Delta being okay but just... Off putting™. maybe the elemental change didnt so much fuck with his body but his magic. so, where traditionally quints are good with healing, Delta is better with Death, maybe he has some kind of clearvoyance or maybe he can kind of blend into the shadows.

Maybe he is able to help souls go to rest, helping fulfill their last wishes or telling a loved one, one last thing. He works in the Morgue not just by preparing their bodies for burial, but their spirits too.

Maybe he is able to sense death and thus Can help in for example the more intensive cases, where he is able to catch a heart attack early, so they can intervine quicker and actually save the person.

All just some Thoughts™ I had. It would be an interesting reason why siblings are a bit scared of him, and why he isnt around much. (he often joins The Tomb Buddies, Special and Cowbell, for midnight tom(b)foolery)

Hi zero!

No I really wanna incorporate more casual delta into some work, not everything has to be horribly depressing LMAO. I’ve joked that this is my AU where nothing bad happened to him

I hc delta as just being … awkward. He’s not a people person to say the least LMAO. So he works in the morgue because it’s easier for him, no expectations, just do his job silently and go. He’s extremely respectful, to the point of even having small conversations with the bodies. I think he takes his work extremely seriously

I love this idea a lot!! I think he has a very off putting kind of nature, so it would definitely be good for him to be more of a friend of the dead and spirits.

[argentumcor]

A flare-up of Arkham Trilogy fandom has been triggered, and so I spent entirely too much money on the Arkham Knight Genesis comic. Art is nice, writing is pretty good. I'm not a comic person, and find most comics to have ugly art these days, but this one (and Soulfinder from Iconic Comics) impressed me.

I always liked this version of Jason coming back best since I heard of the character. A plot device like a Lazarus Pit needs to be kept to a minimum because otherwise it just breaks everything and the Arkham version where the Pits are nearly exhausted and restricted to the Ra's plots is the best way to approach them. Jason being crazy because of torture and not mystical woo-woo side effects offers more interesting directions to go in to me, problems that can't be easily solved because they are choices he made while at least somewhat in possession of his faculties.

Man, I thought the backstory I cooked up for Arkham's Jason was dark but the canon one is darker. I had it where he never knew his dad and his mom was an addict who OD'd when he was young, but in the comic both parents are meth addicts who tried to sell him to the mob to pay their debts, which didn't work because that's nuts even in Gotham, and so abused him until he was thirteen, when Jason sold them out to the mob and watched them get killed in exchange for getting a small bit of turf where he was left alone to do small time crime.

I always liked the version of him meeting Batman by trying and semi-succeeding at stealing the wheels off the Batmobile, but the Arkham version where he saves Batman's life during a tussle with the Joker is a better fit for this universe.

There's conflict between the game City Stories version of how he got caught and the comic one. The game one is much darker, from what drove Jason after Joker (horrible murder and mutilation of children at a school in the game vs. pride I think in the comic) to the actual getting caught (Jason's hubris and sense of righteousness making him very stupid in the game vs. purely a trap the Joker laid in the comic). The game lore version of events is better, though harder to depict I think in the pages the comic had for various reasons.

One thing stands out about Arkham Jason: everyone in his life had given up on him from the moment he was born...except Bruce and the family. Bruce met him for only a few minutes at most and saw that Jason could be more than just another doomed rat in the dirty alleys of the city, wanted in some way to be more (Arkham Knight Jason disputes this in narration but it's clear from what happened that's the case). But a lifetime of being given up on doesn't just vanish in a year-ish of being really valued- and Joker brilliantly weaponized it against Jason and in doing so against Batman.

The comic is from Jason's bitter angry broken pre-Arkham Knight POV but there are hints that the darkness hasn't consumed him. I think Dick naming Tim as his brother in a fight hurt him- because I think they would have had that bond before Jason was taken and 'Tim as my replacement' is a big thing for Jason. He's ruthless, yes, and apathetic to the world around him but he sees that Bruce has a memorial to him in the Batcave and it triggers really intense emotions- anger because that's almost all he has anymore and then something else he can't and refuses to even try to process.

That's why, I think, Bruce extending a hand to Jason at the end of the boss fight destroyed the Arkham Knight. I also think that getting Gotham to evacuate civilians was Jason's idea. There's no logic to it from Scarecrow's POV; more people in the city would mean more fear to, uh, imbibe. It's not that Jason is worried about collateral damage, exactly, it's that he isn't totally gone. You can see that in the game audio logs. I wish we would have gotten an encounter with him and Dick, either as the Knight or as Red Hood. I think the rivalry there with Tim is built in as a matter of history and personality but with Dick there's a brotherhood that got broken through no fault of their own.

The Red Hood smart-assery is also present in the narration in the comic. I think it was there with the Arkham Knight, too, here and there, but he's on the furious hunt in most of what you hear from him so there isn't a lot of room for it.

[autumn-larocque]

PTSD / C-PTSD

took my life away.

Jesus lead me to 5f Church so He could

supernaturally take the PTSD away, &

give me a life I never thought possible.

Out of everything I have been healed & freed from thru 5f, I would have to say I’m the most grateful for this

⚠️Trigger Warning: mention of s*xu*l ab*se, child ab*se, & su*c*de (I will not be going into great detail about these incidences)⚠️

When I was a teenager, I had finally escaped the house I grew up in where I had suffered massive amounts of abuse and trauma my whole life. After moving out, something started to happen that I didn’t understand. I thought once I escaped, I would be free… that wasn’t fully the case. I started re-living things that had happened to me vividly in my mind. I was having heavy trauma symptoms, massive panic attacks, and occasional PTSD episodes where I would be overcome with panic, fear, flashbacks, and this feeling that I don’t know how to describe other than intense trauma. I would be screaming and sobbing and shaking and I couldn’t think strait or make much sense if I tried to speak. I would often feel (even when not having a PTSD episode) that I was trapped. Trapped in my house, my car, the building I was in, and/or just trapped in my body. Physically I had escaped, but in my mind, I couldn’t. No matter what I did.

I saw a doctor, and that’s when I received a diagnosis for PTSD for the first time.

Not being able to get these experiences of ab*se out of my head & being stuck with them every day, (no matter how little contact I had with the abusers & no matter how far I moved away) was the main factor that lead to a su*c*de attempt in spring of 2020. It had just gotten so bad, along with the other mental illnesses I had from the ab*se, and I couldn’t find treatment that worked. I was overcome with suffering, hopelessness, and panic that day.

I survived, and I kept trying everything I could find for PTSD (& other mental illness) treatment after that. Still nothing was working. Some things would temporarily help other mental illnesses I had, but nothing worked to lessen or cure the PTSD.

I had no idea the atrocious, Hell-sent, indescribable nightmare I was in for after that.

Backstory: I had suffered s*xu*l ab*se since I was a kid, & it continued into adulthood. I buried it and for the most part didn’t talk about it, even with counselors. When I was about 22 years old, I had someone very close to me, who I trusted, s*xu*lly ab*se me. The circumstances around this incident of abuse made it even more traumatic. It pushed me over the edge.

Shortly after, I started having the same PTSD symptoms as I did when I was diagnosed the first time after escaping the abusive household, but this time it was worse. I was re-living this situation in my mind on a daily basis and being tormented with it. I couldn’t get it out of my head. I had horrible nightmares. Also shortly after this incident, I started having these bouts of nausea and vomiting. I thought I had some kind of stomach bug. But then it just wasn’t going away. I told my psychiatrist about it just because they always asked if I was having physical problems at all, and he told me to go to my general practitioner to see what they could find.

I went to my general practitioner (regular doctor I saw for everything) and they tested me for everything. It all came back negative. They couldn’t find a physical cause.

I reported this (the lack of finding a physical cause) to my psychiatrist. He said something like, “that’s what I was afraid of. I know what’s causing it. You are having symptoms of PTSD.” So I received that diagnosis, and then later the more specific C-PTSD (complex post traumatic stress disorder) diagnosis.

I have had a hard life with a lot of horrible situations and a lot of trauma. I have suffered so much in my life. So when I tell you that coming down with severe C-PTSD was BY FAR the most heinous, horrifying, Hell-like experience that I don’t even really know how to put into words, I am not exaggerating.

It progressed and got worse over months. I couldn’t handle it and kept trying to bury it with the unhealthy coping mechanisms I always had used which were social events, parties, drugs & alcohol, music, & making other people laugh. I didn’t know what else to do. Mental health treatment didn’t do anything for it anyways.

As I was losing my health (in other areas too), myself, & my personality, these coping mechanisms were going away too. I couldn’t be social & funny like I could before. I ended up having to stop drinking and doing elicit drugs due to health issues. I was constantly violently nauseous (I smoked weed that I was using medically to help it) with periodic flu-symptoms (like cold sweats and muscle aches & things like that), I would randomly vomit 4-6 times a day, even with using weed medically to help with symptoms of nausea, PTSD episodes, and several other health issues. I had to smoke even when I really didn’t want to.

It was like a Rolodex: I would re-live that one situation, along with every other situation of s*x*al ab*se that had ever happened to me in my life, ON TOP of all the other incidences of abuse that happened while growing up in an abusive household, PLUS every other kind of traumatic thing I had ever gone thru. My whole life had been full of abuse and trauma, so it was a LOT to be re-living. Every. Single. Day.

Mental health treatment did nothing. TMS, counseling, CBT, DBT, Neurofeedback, meds, group therapy, naturopathy, hypnotherapy, nothing worked. Then I tried different types of “spiritual healing” (which now I know was new age). That made it better for a bit, then it was worse than before.

I would get triggered into life-threatening PTSD episodes that were so horrific I was fighting for my life every single second. They were so intense, I honestly believe that it was only by the grace of God that I didn’t die from su*c*de. I don’t know how else I could’ve survived that, honestly it was that intensely horrific. They would last exactly 3 days, or 4 days, and I would be paralyzed in bed, sometimes unable to even drink water for more than a day. I was suffering to a degree that I literally couldn’t move. It transcended from mental torment into literal physical pain, and I felt like I was getting the flu. I lived in this demonic paradox that tortured me with remembering & reliving what happened so intensely that it was as if it was happening right now, plus the torturing thought that I believed of, “this s*x*al ab*se will happen to you again, you can’t ever stop it from happening no matter what you do.” It was all of that and honestly more, all at once. Every time it happened it was the longest, worst 3 or 4 days of my life. And it happened often.

I was deemed disabled based on several illnesses, and this was one of them. I could have qualified as being disabled just off of this one illness.

I so deeply wanted to murder the people who had done these things to me; who had caused the severe C-PTSD. And at one point, I had actually come very close to having this done to one of them. I would daydream about murdering them and anyone else who was a s*x*al predator of any kind. It temporarily made me feel better to vividly imagine beating them to death. I had imagined this before thru out my life, but at this point it was pretty much a daily thing. With the spiritual knowledge I now have, imagining murdering them likely made my demonic oppression worse in the area of anger & rage.

The PTSD was worse than the original experiences of abuse. Because instead of it happening the number of times that it had happened in real life, it was like it was happening periodically every day as I couldn’t get it out of my head, and then it was as if I was re-living all of it at once for days every time I went into an actual 3 or 4 day long PTSD episode.

Again, I seriously am not sure right now how to even communicate to you the level of suffering I was undergoing. It was so much worse than what I’m even able to describe here. I had been thru so much in life that nothing really phased me too much, and I was actually surprised at how bad this experience with PTSD was. As in, it was that bad, even for me.

Before the PTSD had progressed to being this severe, I was the type of person who didn’t even flinch or panic if someone pulled a gun on me. I’m not saying that to sound tough. I’m saying it because that’s what happened. I used to think I was hard for being like that. I mean yes, I was a tough person because of what I went thru in my life, but now I see that it wasn’t normal how I had little or no reaction when I was in serious situations. Now I believe it was because I was numb from all the pain & trauma. I was in survival mode 24/7. My sympathetic nervous system was burnt out. I would have no reaction in the moment, and then sometimes have trauma responses or a PTSD episode much later, especially after certain, specific types of situations. Then I would drown that out with drugs, alcohol, & dopamine rushes.

The people who knew what I had gone thru in my life saw me as this really strong person for pressing on, despite everything that happened.

But once I came down with this severe of a level of PTSD, I wasn’t even that person anymore. The numbness was gone. The coping mechanisms were almost all gone. All that was left was raw, unimaginable agony.

I remember just constantly tripping at the fact that something like this (that severe of a level of PTSD) even existed. It was a level of torment I didn’t know was possible for a human being to even go thru. I hope that kind of communicates a little bit of how bad it was. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully be able to communicate 100% accurately in words the true severity.

My life was over. I was terrified to go outside. I was still terrified inside with all the doors locked. I was terrified of everyone and everything, even guys in my life who had NEVER done anything harmful to me, and even the friends who had actually protected me. I was terrified of existing. I had severe paranoia. I hated pretty much everyone. My personality was gone. I couldn’t make anyone laugh anymore. I was a shell of who I once was. I had the potential to quickly get extremely violent with anyone who was physically threatening to me. I always had to stand with my back up against something. I couldn’t have people walking behind me. I was extremely skittish.

I hated God for the first time. I would scream at Him that I hated Him & would curse Him out. I was losing everything I had. PTSD was also in addition to all the other health issues I was coming down with. I was coming down with so many health issues at once, but this one was the worst one I ever experienced, and a big part of why I disappeared.

I need you to know how bad it was so you understand how big of a deal it was that Jesus did what He did.

God lead me back to Him. He started leading me, as I was seeking Him, to the spiritual realities behind what was going on. Thru this journey, He ended up leading me to 5f Church (by this time I was at threat of dying from physical problems I was having; mainly the threat of organ damage & failure).

I didn’t want to go to any church to be honest, but listening to Him and going to 5f was the best decision I ever could have made. He lead me there, to the well of His anointing, because He wanted to heal me. I believe He told me that it broke His heart to see what was happening to me. His main way of healing is in line with His spiritual laws and principles, like how the Acts Church was operating. 5f Church was (and is) operating His way, so when I positioned myself under His anointing by watching 5f’s livestreams & past videos, He healed & delivered me of many things over a short time in order to take this C-PTSD away. Honestly I felt WAY better right away after the first time I received His supernatural healing, but I believe there was a lot done over time in order to really deal with a lot of the roots behind the illness. For example, after receiving healing the first time, I don’t ever remember having a 3 or 4 day life-threatening PTSD episode after that. That was immediately done with.

Jesus took it all away, including the trauma triggers. I remember it feeling so bizarre that I wasn’t triggered, I wasn’t nauseous & vomiting anymore, even without using marijuana. The fear was taken, the paranoia, everything that I described I was going thru, He just took it away. He took it away and didn’t just give me my life & personality back, He gave me a fullness of life and best version of myself that I never even knew could be possible. I am protected under the anointing as I keep seeking God & follow His commands. I don’t have to fear. Fear plagued me my whole life, and Jesus just took it away. And He commands me to do things only to help & love me, and to help & love other people thru me; not to be this weird, controlling tyrant like religion has made God out to be (by-in-large).

The enemy tried to attack me with triggers after that and I just rejected them and they left. Any attack on my mind regarding this, I just rejected and it had to go. Out of everything I have been healed & freed from, I would have to say I’m the most grateful for this. I never knew how horrific PTSD/C-PTSD could really get, but I also never knew how heavenly & loving & beautiful Jesus really is, until now. I am so thankful.

I honor Apostle Kathryn Krick for her surrender. Because she has allowed God to move how He wants to (in His ways & principles), healing & freedom like this is available to literally ANYONE. The Acts Church was never supposed to go away. Come with faith that Jesus will heal you. Even if you don’t feel that way, just speak it and come to Him. You’ll never know another love like His.

If you are suffering with anything even remotely close to what I’ve described here, or honestly any hardship/illness at all, please go to 5f Church. Nobody should be suffering with anything like that, and Jesus wants to free you so badly, just like He did for me. HE LOVES YOU. SO. MUCH.

Glory to God. ❤️‍🔥

God Bless <3

[limeade-l3sbian]

Earlier today I wanted to send you an ask talking about a good bi friend of mine who, the past days, decided to call herself lesbian. I got interrupted and didn't send it. So imagine my surprise when I saw the message from that other anon about her frustrations with a bi friend, which isn't exactly the same as my issue but still. I decided to send the ask anyways and I have some thoughts, also regarding that other anon. In my case, that friend has only ever dated men and only had horrible experiences with them but kept going. Even talked to me extensively about how much she was in love with a guy or how good the sex was with him. She called herself asexual, demisexual, pansexual, everything under the sun except "bisexual". I am bi myself and I made my peace with that a very long time ago. I exclusively date women and never felt like I was missing out on something. My friend kept telling me how hard it was to go 4b or to go febfem. So I was shocked when she suddenly told me that she was a lesbian all along. I threw everything at her, from "thats homophobic" to "noo please don't hate your sexuality, it's okay to be bi". But she basically came at me with "you arent a lesbian so you dont know what you are talking about. Stop talking over my experiences as a lesbian who experienced extreme comphet". Which is a bit hilarious because that woman hasn't been near pussy her entire life, while I only had relationships with women since my teens. This went on for a while until she hit me with an angry "Maybe I am asexual after all!". I told her that I think she may be extremely traumatized and is hoping that some label will somehow save her from men in the future. Again, I got told that I can't talk over lesbians like that when I am not one. There is the more lighthearted topic of bi-cycling. The thing that happens to bi people where they like one sex more for some years and then suddenly switch to the other sex. What people rarely talk about is how INTENSE that can be. Like, it can feel like you actually changed sexualities. Which is bullshit but the current self sometimes can't even comprehent HOW you could have liked the other sex these years ago. So the person might feel repulsed and even disgusted by their former bi-cycling phase. And I think that this can be heavily influenced or intensified by trauma. Which isn't an excuse. I also had plenty of trauma and I have never called myself a lesbian. But I think it makes it overall easier to understand why some bi women are like.. that. The other anons bi friend sounds like she went through something like that after that horrible relationship. She seems overall much more self-reflected than my friend lol. I completely understand the disappointment and the feeling of betrayal. And what I said earlier doesn't erase that. Just wanted to get some insight and vent a bit myself, if thats okay. I am honestly at a loss with my friend and dont know how long I can keep this friendship going

.

[whentherewerebicycles]

okay. i promised myself i would do some long reflective journaling to sort through some Big Feelings and I keep kicking the can down the road because idk sometimes you don't want to sort through the Big Feelings in case you don't like what you find there. but I have a morning of uninterrupted time and I am in a good headspace and I think I will just write through some stuff under the cut.

it sure looks like i might be having a baby next summer, which means that things are moving out of the hypothetical realm and into the realm of being Very Real. so i am experiencing the expected levels of "oh shit oh shit oh shit i am about to be responsible for a living being???" that i imagine all prospective parents experience. more than that, though, i think i am having to confront the reality of single parenthood in a more emotional way than i was expecting! and this is partly because it might be about to become real for me, but also because some people i love very much who are very close to me are pregnant now too, and i am watching them live an experience of pregnancy that is very different from the one i've had thus far and much closer to the socially "normal" path. and i think that is surfacing some unexamined and semi-unexpected feelings of grief/loss for me as well as a complicated mix of horrible bridge troll jealousy feelings. i want to write through some of that so i can get a better handle on what i'm feeling instead of letting the big emotions unexpectedly avalanche over me at random times.

let me think first about my own experience of getting pregnant.

I'm glad I am pregnant and I am extra, extra grateful that things are going well thus far after experiencing a pregnancy loss this summer that kind of turned me inside out for a while. I also know that despite how excruciatingly drawn-out this process has felt, I was able to get pregnant a lot faster/easier than many people are and I don't take that for granted. but man oh man I think getting pregnant via assisted reproduction can really fuck with your head and heart in ways I wasn't anticipating when I started this process a little over a year ago. everything is so intensely medicalized. my life has just been going to appointments and getting ultrasounds and having blood drawn and giving myself hormone shots and undergoing painful medical procedures and healing from an emergency surgery and reading medical journals and swallowing pills and recording symptoms in a tracking journal. I don't feel like I've spent this year preparing for and then actively trying to conceive a child; i feel like I've spent this year receiving intensive treatment for a medical condition (not being pregnant) that requires obsessive anxious monitoring and might be rooted in some deeper flaw or failing in my body. almost no part of this experience has felt private, intimate, precious, spontaneous, joyful, sacred, sexy, or fun in any way. it's all felt mediated by doctors and by an incredibly expensive industry that jacks up the prices knowing most people going this route don't have an alternative (because they're gay or they're single or they have medical conditions that impact their ability to conceive naturally). and the ectopic pregnancy just like intensified and heightened all of that, because all of a sudden i DID have a life-threatening medical condition and all that obsessive monitoring WAS justified and my body HAD fucked up, and everyone afterwards spent a lot of time warning me i'd need to subject myself to even closer monitoring next time because i was at increased risk of it happening again.

idk man it's just been a lot!!!!!! and i think that even though early on I was like "i'm going to try to carve out some part of this experience that can be just mine, separate from the medical aspects of assisted conception," i just kind of failed at doing that. i don't think it's my "fault" or whatever, because idk, there's a lot of cultural pressure to medicalize and pathologize and turn our bodies over to doctors or whatever, and it's hard to swim against the current, especially when you are stressed and spending a lot of money and willing to do whatever an expert tells you to do if it'll get you the thing you want so badly. so i don't blame myself but i also have to acknowledge that i haven't had a very positive experience of trying to get pregnant and i think that the single precious, sacred moment of this whole entire year was when that very kind very gruff tech let me watch the heartbeat on the ultrasound right before the surgery and then went to get warm blankets from the dryer to wrap me in. and maybe also the night that my mom and i had the little burial in the woods. that was it, those were the only sacred moments, and they were moments of deep and wrenching grief, not of joy. even finding out i was pregnant again only a few months after the loss wasn't really a moment of uncomplicated joy, because i was so immediately consumed by anxiety and so instantly sucked back into the vortex of endless medical monitoring. so idk i think i have some unresolved grief around the experience of trying to conceive/early pregnancy i got compared to the one i might've hoped for.

when i found out my SIL was pregnant, in the immediate aftermath of my own loss and on the same timeline i would've been on, i just spent a long time feeling like the most horrible bridge troll version of myself i could possibly imagine. i was just eaten up inside with jealousy and it wasn't just that she was having a joyful, healthy, uncomplicated experience of pregnancy while i was healing from a very raw and painful loss. it was also this feeling that like, she was supposed to be pregnant, she was expected to be pregnant, and the whole world was smiling joyfully upon her pregnancy, and everything was unfolding smoothly for her in ways that it hadn't for me. they're young, they're married, they own a house, they have two good incomes and will easily be able to support a family, she's thin and blond and very pretty, and (while i don't know this for sure) it seemed like they got pregnant for free on almost the first attempt, on the exact schedule they'd decided they wanted to have their first baby. and idk just watching my parents excitedly prepare for their first grandkid and make all these plans for how they'd be involved and coming out to tour fancy daycares with them just sucked! you can be so happy and excited for someone you love and also you can feel like the bitterest, ugliest, most horrid little bridge troll inside. i just felt like, i'm going it alone, i'm older and i have fertility issues that might make it impossible for me to do this, i make less money, i'll never own a house, i don't have a partner, blah blah blah, and even though most of those things are choices i've made about the type of life i want to live, it just felt like... idk. i was just eaten up inside by jealousy!!!! like i know nothing about their experience of trying to conceive or what her experience of pregnancy has been like so far, but my ugly inner troll voice was like, why was it so easy for them and hard for me, why did i have to pour $15,000+ into this process, why did they get to have fun joyful let's-create-a-future-together sex while i had to go to a doctor every other week to get stuck with needles and prodded with ultrasound wands and have an insanely painful cramp-inducing dye injected into my fallopian tubes, and why, WHY did our babies conceived at almost exactly the same time have such different fates.

i mean the answer is just like, this is the world we live in! this is the reality of being a queer person and an unpartnered person who wants a family! these are the life choices we make! this is the randomness of conception outcomes and a healthy dose of plain bad luck! but it was hard (and is hard) to not internalize the differences as like, something is Wrong With Me and something is Right With Them. and i think on the most basic level i was just jealous of their shared joy, and was feeling the ache of, i'm in this by myself, i have to weather this loss by myself, i am the only person who cares about this as deeply as i do. and of course that wasn't wholly true, of course i had my mom and my sister and my closest friends who grieved with me and took such good care of me, but idk. i think it stirred up some feelings about being unpartnered for me that i hadn't really examined all that closely before.

and i think... like... i think that is probably the other big piece that i am going to have to spend time grappling with, maybe for a long time, maybe for the rest of my life! with my students, we often talk about the idea of animating questions, like the big preoccupations you find yourself wrestling with again and again, these questions that won't ever be resolved because they don't have a simple or straightforward answer. they are questions you don't ever answer once and for all, but wrestling with them over the years is what gives shape and meaning to your life as a person on a quest for purpose, for clarity, for deeper understanding. i am carving out a life path for myself that looks different from most of the people around me and i think that sometimes i really really wrestle with the question of, like, does this path represent a failure or a choice? and if i have chosen this path have i made that choice out of cowardice or from a place of strength?

i still have to untangle what i mean here or what i feel around this, but i think like... i don't know... i don't really crave partnership, i don't feel its absence in my adult life, i have cared deeply about past romantic partners as people but i have always felt immensely relieved when relationships end because i get my own space & life back, and i feel like almost all of my human emotional needs for connection are met through my friendships and my work. i like sex and i like the idea of a live-in best friend but i also feel pretty sure that modern dating on the apps is not the avenue through which i would find that person and i don't really know of other ways to go about building relationships like that at this stage in my life. but idk man the cultural PRESSURE you feel to do the expected life path thing is immense!!!! and i think that while most of the time i'm able to set that pressure aside and just live my life, the decision to have a child on my own suddenly reignites all of those uncertainties and some of that shame around like, why isn't this a thing i want, does it mean i am emotionally stunted in some way, will it impact my ability to parent well, blah blah blah.

i suspect i will spend a LOT of time in this next chapter of my life trying to untangle those feelings, so i am not going to put too much pressure on it now!! i just want to begin naming them so they aren't just like, swirling around in the back of my mind seeping into everything. i think what i can say definitively right now is this:

i have never felt a strong impulse towards or yearning for romantic partnership, and thinking about dating mostly just makes me feel tired and like i would be doing it for other people, not for myself. if i really think about it, i can imagine myself in a shared partnership with someone who shares my interests and values and sense of humor, but i truly can't imagine getting there through hinge or bumble or whatever. maybe that is where the sense of tiredness comes from when i think about dating, lol.

that said... i HAVE, for a very long time, felt a very strong impulse towards becoming a parent. i feel nervous about this (money! time! blowing up your life! being responsible for a small person!) but i feel no ambivalence towards it, you know? i want to be a parent and i think i'll be good at being a parent (i mean i am sure i will also feel like i am a Very Bad Parent for much of the time as that seems to be a feature of parenting, but on the whole i feel confident in my ability to provide the love and stability and structure necessary to raise a reasonably happy, well-adjusted kid). i have never been able to imagine a life where i do not become a parent by some route and i feel a deep, wrenching sadness when i imagine a life where i don't raise a family.

i think the sense of total clarity and joy i feel around the choice to parent vs. the profound ambivalence i feel around the idea of dating signals something important! but it is just challenging, you know, to carve out a life for yourself that goes a little or a lot against the grain of what other people's lives look like and what people think would make you happy. i know i am very VERY lucky that over the past five-ish years my parents have gone from being extremely skeptical or worried about my life path to 10000000% supportive and on board and ready to help me make it work. but i also just think i gotta wrestle with the cultural demons in my own head/heart you know!! i am going to have to work hard to get to the point where i feel really secure in my choices!! i know that the horrid bridge troll feelings about other people conceiving easily in the context of happy marriages are normal and okay to feel - it's just human to wish that your own journey was easier, simpler, cheaper, less painful. but i also think that, as liz says all the time, security (in yourself and in your choices) is a gift you give to yourself and everyone around you. i might not be there yet, but i want to work hard to get to a point where i am so secure in the choices i have made that i can experience other people's experiences and choices as simply theirs, not as a reflection or a shaming judgment on mine. i want to be able to say, i am so happy for you, and i am also so happy for me, because we have both worked hard to create the lives we needed and wanted for ourselves, and now we get to live in them. I want to know with total certainty that I, not other people, get to decide what my life means.

but also.... i want to think of this journey not just in terms of Struggling to Make Peace With My Choices but also in terms of like... sometimes taking a different path can produce unexpected joys that people on the regular path won't get to experience. for instance, i can already tell that my mom and my sister are going to be incredibly involved in raising my kid, and that my parents are going to feel an extra sense of responsibility to provide my child with a life that is incredibly rich and full of love. so i am going to have a life that is rich in family relationships, maybe richer than it would've been if i was part of a traditional nuclear family unit. i am going to have to learn to depend on and lean on other people in wholly new ways, which will challenge me (a person who tends towards insularity and independence) to really stretch and grow. i am also going to get to have a different experience of parenting in the home! i am going to have to learn to work things out with my kid without another adult there to help mediate conflicts. we are going to have to figure out how to be a good, functioning team because we are going to have to share responsibility differently than in a two-parent household. and i hope that through this experience i also get to meet and talk with other single parents (something tumblr has already allowed me to start doing!), and i get to develop a deeper, richer understanding of alternative family structures and life paths that don't look like other people's.

i want to be honest: there is some real grief there! i have chosen a life that is different than the one i hazily imagined for myself as a younger person... and already that has meant that i've had a very different experience of trying to conceive/being pregnant than the people closest to me, which has sometimes felt very painful and lonely. and i imagine that as i navigate parenting i will have to keep grappling with the grief of like, living in a culture where it's not "normal" to parent alone, where other people will judge the choices i make, and where i will be missing out on some of the joys of shared childraising i see other people around me experiencing. but i don't know i guess i just have faith in my ability to make meaning out of my life, and i think that the grief will be counterbalanced by joys i'm not able to anticipate from this vantage point because i haven't lived them yet.

and also if i stop for a second and think: would i rather not go down this path at all? the answer comes back to me so clearly and so immediately. of course not. i want you so badly, little seahorse. i'm so ready for you to come into my life. i'm ready to shed my old self, my old life, and become somebody wholly new, in a wholly new relationship with a wholly new human being. hey! i love you! come here and be my baby!

[truly-quirkless]

Twenty Day Challenge - Day Thirteen

Burnout, exhaustion, so on and so forth.

He has gotten so used to pushing past his limit.

Honestly, if it weren't for the forced time limit from his fight with AFO, he probably would've kept it up.

But by that time his private life (what little was left) had fallen totally apart.

Beating AFO/being injured by him actually gave Toshinori some of his life back, if that makes sense.

Still struggles with feelings of being burnt out/overused on the regular.

Will go home and disassociate for hours.

He doesn't even realize- he'll just sit down on his couch and stare.

When he starts training Midoriya, this starts to fade.

He starts actually living while at home again.

Thanks to his Hero work he didn't exactly have a lot to do at his place, so his apartment (and 'All Might's home') is spotless.

No posters, but there are some drag marks on the wall from years of leaning against it when he came home.

Then he joins U. A. and meets Fin and everything.

Just starts living more and more.

Not for work, but for himself.

Literally revives this man from an early (by his standards) grave.

If it weren't for Midoriya and going to U. A. he probably would be nothing but a literal husk still.

When exhaustion and burnout do hit he tries to power through, but it's getting harder as he gets older.

Exhaustion is so much easier to deal with than burnout.

His coworkers (and his soulmate) sometimes force him to take a day or two of personal leave.

This man's energy is random, these days. One day he'll feel like he could run a marathon, the next...cannot get up from bed.

Big case of 'gifted kid burnout' after they graduated HS/their brother was finally arrested.

Forgot what it meant to really 'live' after they were transferred to Japan.

Felt like they lost all agency in their life, what little they'd managed to get.

Just fell into a near-blind state of working.

If it weren't for the cat they adopted (Prism) when they moved, they might've lost it entirely.

Will actively work even if they feel like absolute shit.

Has shown up to work while horribly ill multiple times (only to be sent home).

The last (and final) straw for Thirteen was one of Fin's two fainting incidents- when they fainted in the bathrooms just outside one of the sites, Thirteen had them sent home (driven by one of the few coworkers who learned where they lived).

Often doesn't have the energy for their side-projects, it's not hard to tell they have abandoned projects because the sketchbooks/journals hidden under their blankets are stuffed with ideas.

Always leaves work exhausted.

Often takes on the work of their colleagues when said coworkers are tired/under the weather.

Doesn't realize how work-centric their life has become until they start talking to the kids/meet Yagi.

As time goes on life starts to feel--- more colorful??? More like living.

Confuses them so much but they just go with it.

Takes a while for them to realize that they have the energy to do things again- instead of just sliding through the motions.

How they managed to act so peppy at work while feeling empty is beyond them.

Has what they like to call 'shut downs' and 'lock ins' when they get too stressed/expend too much energy (more than they have).

Shut Downs - It feels like their brain just- shuts down. No thoughts, they just stare blankly. Don't move if prompted. Don't react. Might cry if someone makes them laugh. Quiet mumbles at best, any noise/interaction/etc. feels like knives in their head. They feel emotions a lot more intensely during a Shut Down, and can more easily be provoked to a facial reaction- but that's about it.

Lock Ins - Their mind is still going just fine, usually happens right after a Shut Down. Their body stops responding to any and all external stimuli. Can't move. Can't speak. They might get stuck making a repetitive motion or uttering the same phrase over and over until it becomes gibberish (not to be confused with one of their panic attack symptoms). All the while, their brain is fully functioning and aware- they can think, but it's like they can't get their mind to force their body to move or act. They're trapped in their own head until a Lock In breaks on its own. Similar to a Shut Down in that any amount of stimuli outside of the smallest thing feels absolutely horrible.

If they push their mental energy beyond a certain limit, Fin will enter into a Shut Down- followed by a Lock In. They cannot control this, and often will retract/hide from others if they can, when it begins.

If both are exhausted/burnt out...

They don't really do much, honestly.

Might lounge in bed, brushing each other's hair.

At best there might be LoFi music playing at Fin's request.

Might sit and watch the view outside the window together.

Literally just-- nothin'.

They're chillin', let them be.

Comfortable silence if there is no music/LoFi.

[manicpiscesdreamgorl]

The Urge

Just having made it to Rivington, Zar’riia faces her Urge again. Thankfully she doesn’t face it alone.

Tags: durgexastarion, named durge, hurt comfort.

Zar’riia tossed in her sleep, the Urge calling to her, beckoning her to kill. She needed to figure out how to get away from camp. She couldn’t bear the thought of hurting one of her companions, especially after the sleepless night she had been tied up after almost killing Astarion. She couldn’t do that to him again, and her stomach churned at the thought of killing any of the people she had come to love so dearly. She rolled quietly, untangling herself from the trancing embrace of Astarion, and stood to leave the tent. She had to clear her head; she had to control the Urge.

“Zar’riia?” Her lover’s voice was raspy. She stopped and turned to look at the pale elf, his curls a mess, his eyes bright and alert.

“Sh, love. Rest. I just need to clear my head,” she whispered, not daring to kneel or get close in case the Urge took control of her body.

“It's the Urge, isn’t it? It came back,” he said, standing up and looking her over. Her eyes were glassy, and her hands trembled violently.

“Yes. I need to walk. I need to get away from camp before it takes over,” she replied, her words soft but hurried.

“Darling, you have to tell me when this happens. We are a team, you and me. You can’t keep waiting until things get murderously bad—not just for my sake, for the others and yourself,” he said, his gaze softening at his dagger-happy lover.

“This isn't your burden, Astarion. It’s mine. I don’t want to hurt or scare you. The Urge is something I must carry the weight of alone,” her hands trembled as she anxiously fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve.

“Riia, you are not alone in this. I told you that before. You have helped me so much, shown me so much light; let me do the same for you,” he stared into her silvery-blue eyes as he talked. He could see she was still in control, but he did not know how long he had until the Urge overtook his sensitive, sweet, sometimes terrifying partner. He needed to do something soon, and letting his homicidal maniac walk around Rivington did not seem like a good idea.

“Fine,” she conceded. “I’m scared. This isn’t me. Please help.” Tears began welling in her eyes, and she blinked them away quickly.

“You’re right. This isn’t you. You can do this, darling. You can beat this. Come here; I kept some rope in our tent in case this happened again. The others do not have to see your shame if they wake up. We will ride this out together.”

She climbed back into his tent, and they had both begun to share since making their relationship official. Tears silently slipped down her pale purple cheeks. She had never cried in front of Astarion before, but everything felt so overwhelming. She was scared of herself, what her party was up against, and of losing everything she had built for herself.

Why was he being so nice to her? Didn’t he see she was a monster? Whoever she was before, the nautiloid scared her. She did not deserve the companionship and love those around her gave so freely. She tried so hard the past month to be good to change; after her murder of Alfira, she had vowed to overcome this. She promised to atone for her sins. But tonight, the burden of the Urge felt too heavy, too intense.

“Little love, what’s going on? Are you hurt?” Astarion asked, rushing to her side, oncoming homicidal tendencies be damned. Tears fell from her eyes, cascading down her cheeks like waterfalls. His heart crumbled watching his partner cry; he had never seen this side of Zar’riia. She looked terrified and more vulnerable than he had ever seen her.

“I am so scared. What if I ruin everything? I don’t even know who I was before the nautiloid. I know I was a horrible person to be cursed with this killing perversion. I am so scared of my past, and I feel like we are about to confront it head-on in the city. The Urge has been stronger since we left Reithwin,” she sobbed, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Zar’riia, you know I am the last person to judge you for anything you may have done in your past. I have done some…horrible things because Cazador used me to do his bidding. You have shown me it is possible to change and find the world's light. You have shown that you are capable of change. And whatever is waiting for you in the city, we will face it together. We are a team,” he said, wrapping her in a hug, as she had done after he met that vile drow blood merchant when he confessed his feelings and revealed more of his past. Urge be damned.

She cautiously wrapped her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder. He held her until the sobs stopped racking her body, and she pulled away. Her eyes glazed over, her hands twitching, and her lips curled into a cruel sneer. The Urge had taken over his darling’s body.

Zar’riia’s mind filled with yellow bile, and her vision was blurred. Every fiber of her being screamed, ‘Kill. Kill. Kill. And kill again.’ Astarion grabbed the rope and quickly bound her hands and ankles together, lowering her to the ground as she snapped at him and spasmed, trying to break free of her bindings.

“You will get through this, Riia. You are stronger than this. Dawn will be here before you know it.” He whispered as he watched his mad love writhe and twitch on the floor.

Zar’riia tried to show she understood and was going to make it through, but she was spasming too violently, her teeth gnashing together, her mouth filling with blood as she accidentally bit her tongue. Her Urge spit the blood at him; she swore she would see his blood bloom over his white curls as she twitched.

He watched, not daring to get too close to her. He knew this was not her, but he was terrified that the sweet half-drow, who had just been sobbing in his embrace, so quickly turned into this bloodthirsty killer.

Hours passed as he watched his partner convulse and threaten him with all sorts of very imaginative, violent imagery. He sighed, grateful to have met her, but seeing her turn into a carrion creature broke his heart. It reminded him too much of his worst self. They needed to figure out how to save her, to control her Urge. They would both break their chains in the city. He hoped that he might convince her to stay with him after this brain business. But first, they both had to kill the demons that haunted them day and night.

Dawn finally arrived; pink and oranges painted the sky outside the tent as the sun rose. Astarion looked down at Zar’riia; she had stopped convulsing, and her silver eyes were bright and alert again. She sat stock still and silent as he cut her free. Her wrists and ankles were bloody from where she had struggled against her bindings. She rubbed her wrists and looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes again.

“I am so sorry,” she sobbed, her body aching and tired. Astarion once again wrapped her in an embrace, stroking her soft spider-silk hair and breathing in her scent. She melted into the hug, tears slipping down her cheeks as she held him tightly, scared to let him go. He did not say a word. He didn’t need to. He had her back, through her darkness, through everything, just as she did for him.

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary477

1/16-17/24

thursday - friday

what an awful day.

not for any personal reasons, or maybe reasons super personal, what counts as personal and not. it's personal enough, david lynch has been with me for a long time, since i was a younger teen, eraserhead and then blue velvet really shocked me, and excited me and made me feel like the way i'd felt about everything, freaked out and tortured by my surroundings, was being expressed in a way, beyond weird videogames and weird stuff i'd see online, here was something else speaking that same language, seeing it in enough places, i learned it was a language, and that it was something that i could see articulated, something to approach in art and each thing would argue with the other a bit. he was an important piece of that for me, that early formative experience, and then even now, his work stuck with me, especially twin peaks... seeing it in full felt like being forced back into reckoning with those earlier feelings, not because of any juvenalia in the show or anything, just the intensity of them, that it is the case, feeling tortured now differently, in my own little way, feeling something was expressed in what he did there that i felt deeply, i don't know. it's a loss, it's a loss that the man who directed the scene where leland grabs laura's cheek, constructing what she is before her, making her voiceless in the parent-child relationship, deciding for her that she is (x) and the punishment for being so, hardly even having to be there, i don't know, that's still one of the most shocking things put to film for me. that she is there, that you feel how she feels and see with some remove the horrible architecture in place making that happen, that you might be able to relive experiences like that there. it is a lot!! it's too much maybe. i just miss him already. i'm so sad i'm so greedy and i am lamenting there isn't more from him, and i'm just so sad that he's not here. he was far from perfect, that's fine. it means a lot, it's hard for it to not mean a lot. some friends of mine don't care at all which i get, but it makes me more depressed i guess, i've cried about it a couple times today. i know he's formative for so many people... i don't know...

it's just, i dunno. it feels silly, halfway at least, a friend told me it isn't silly, if anyone told me they felt any way about this, i wouldn't find it silly, but in myself it feels silly to admit, i guess, or maybe i feel like i should find it silly, that i should find it immature, that his work really soothed me during really odd points, after getting back from a trip to japan was when i decided i had to watch all of twin peaks, i'd seen a good chunk of the first 2 seasons, but being over there, it reminded me of him, there was something dreamy about it, and then the people i'd see around, with scars all over their legs or arms, the isolation at points, the flowers and rain, the woman hating, gambling, it also felt like vegas, and vegas has always made his work feel more essential, all the old things, old signs and kitsch things, all this ugly stuff, or when we were in denver, i remember sitting in a tub, listening to julee cruise through the wall, in a super cold place, it felt like the great northern and all the people thought i was some kind of freak, the nightmarish and totally dull parts of america, various kinds of suffering... idk... it wasn't ever comforting, his work, it only soothed it in that it admits those things, that you can go touch them in some way, that you can meditate on how these run down and shitty places feel and look, the way they throw shadows and the people who stand in those shadows, all that. he was so willing to give you space to experience the strange little parts of architecture, hallways, hallways were so big for him, underlit and painful hallways, we all have memories of underlit and painful hallways, they're part of my dreams frequently. i dunno. it feels silly that this is so important to me, but it won't ever stop being important to me.

i could go on about it. really i am just sad. apparently the local artsy theater is going to play some of his movies. i would really like to see inland empire in a theater. i would also like to see the straight story. and the elephant man. i've not seen those two. how terrible of me!

god even this video. i'm so reminded of images i'd see in my grandma on my dad's side's house, or little old folks home apartment thing. or a friend raised by his grandparents, all their old things, old images stuck around casinos, these haunting and pretty images transposed into a really terrible right now, my grandma's isolation, my friend's grandparents an odd and nostalgia fueled micro-police state, listening to the scanner and keeping guns in drawers. that same friend, one day, taking me to their bedroom, to show me the .38 they had in their drawer. neither of us touching it, him saying, you've gotta respect it. i said, yeah. we played with fake guns a lot. he always wanted to play out world war 2.

i spent a lot of time today doing music stuff, getting to the place where i'm getting frustrated, i think tomorrow a friend is coming over, either that or he meant next week. hopefully tomorrow though, and i'll have an excuse to take a break. i need to take another short-ish break probably or work on my obsessiveness w/ the music, still, it turned out okay because i think one song i really like does now sound better. i think maybe i need to turn the pick attack down a little, but i'll see how big a deal that really is when i listen to the song again. i should wait at least 3 days.

wow, looking at dennis cooper's blog, he has an entry up about laura dern, including a very interesting and odd interview she did with gary indiana:

includes this little nugget in his ps section at the bottom:

"Yeah, hard to accept Lynch is dead. It seems so improbable, I don’t know why. I saw him sitting in a cafe (and a legendary cafe, Deux Magots) about two years ago, and he saw me looking at him and nodded sagely. Which was cool. Oh, good, you’re one of those people who can scrape together high quality things at the last ‘moment’. Psst, me too. That will continue to serve you very well."

very sweet.... gutted gutted gutted. this world is strange and sad. it's 4 am again, have to go to sleep,

so,

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

[timeoverload]

Today was really hard. I did my best to maintain a positive attitude. I was able to stay in a good mood even though bad stuff kept happening.

They were setting up for the first case and the techs noticed there were yellow stains all over the mats in the cataract pan that they opened so they couldn't use it. They weren't there yesterday and I don't know what happened. Most of the pans had stains on the mats and I'm not sure where it was coming from. I decided to replace the mats in all 15 trays and that was very tedious because I have to cut them to fit a certain way. The stains wouldn't come off the other ones. I looked at the load history from yesterday and the pans with the worst stains came out of the autoclave that just had a valve replaced. I think it could have been from the autoclave. I was tracking them all day so I could figure out what was going on. I didn't have any more problems after I switched the mats out so maybe they are just degraded from being sterilized so many times. I wish they would just buy me new ones. I have asked many times and they won't get them for me. They probably don't cost that much so I don't understand what the big deal is. I'm also frustrated because I have been asking for a light in decontam so I can see better and they won't get me one of those either. I think that would prevent me from missing little things because the lighting back there is horrible. My eyes aren't as good as they used to be.

I didn't get breakfast until 9 because there was so much to do. I took my time when I finally got to take a break. I am glad that there weren't any PPV's scheduled today because I wouldn't have been able to handle that on top of everything else. They added one on in the afternoon, but I didn't get upset about it. The doctor that was working in the morning started his cases at 7am and didn't get done until 2:30 so that was ridiculous. He was having a lot of issues so that didn't help. We were behind the rest of the day. I still had 11 cases left after he got done. The doctor working in the afternoon overbooked himself as usual. He didn't start his last specialty case until 5. I knew he was going to take forever to get that done. My boss asked someone to cover the last one for me so I could leave on time. I was so glad that I didn't have to wait around for him to finish.

I felt bad because I was feeling strained at the end of the day and I accidentally yelled at the new guy. He had stacked some of my pans on top of each other while they were still hot. It can cause condensation, but he wasn't aware that could happen because he wasn't taught about that. I thought it was someone else in the department that did it so I yelled and I was asking who did that in an angry tone. He admitted that he was the one who did it. I wasn't expecting that. I don't think I was thinking clearly. I felt terrible because he is already terrified of everything. He is very shy and timid. I apologized for snapping about it and I hope that I didn't scare him too much. He acts like he is afraid of me as it is. I don't get it. I don't understand why some people are intimidated by me. I guess I can be intense sometimes. I know I am a little strange. Maybe some people have bad anxiety too. I don't know. I don't think I am that scary. I have my moments, but I'm generally very nice.

I was so happy when it was time to leave because I couldn't handle being around people anymore. I was also glad that I didn't get stuck in traffic on my way home like I did yesterday. It's good to be home. I talked to my dad for a while when I got home and that was nice. He also made me pizza and I appreciated that. I haven't eaten it yet. I am planning on eating it later tonight. I'm not that hungry at the moment. I usually eat dinner late anyway.

I am trying to relax now. I don't want to move much. My right leg has been partially numb all day. My foot is tingly, but I can move my toes normally so that's good. Sometimes I can't move them at all. I am glad that my symptoms haven't been affecting my driving. I think I am just getting used to being crippled. I will be ok. I really want a back rub though. I haven't had one in years and they make me happy.

I don't know what I am going to do the rest of the night. I will probably do the same stuff I always do again. I don't feel like going to bed early, even though I should. I might change my mind later. I don't have much else to talk about. Hopefully I will enjoy my weekend.

I hope everyone else has a good weekend too. :) 💖💖💖

[zabuivayuvseivsyo]

31424

my head isn't clear but my body is empty

cycles and cycles and i'm afraid of the scariest part, i'm afraid of how much i loved dad, i'm afraid of how much he loved me, i'm afraid of so many parts of him that i loved,

it's almost easy to think about my mom. it's easy to be angry because i was upset at her for my entire life, even though i loved her and wanted her to like me. but my brain and my body stops when i start to think of my dad

i only remember the gross times

i'm horrified that i can't remember the worst of it

i'm horrified that it happened when i couldn't process or remember it

but that somehow my body and psyche did

i'm very

fucking

frightened

everything that i liked was what he liked. everything we watched together we would notice the same things. mom would get upset when we would watch movies together because they "weren't appropriate"

.

i don't remember what we watched together, i know i saw violence a lot. he showed me the matrix when i was really little. and other "mature movies" but i don't remember anything sexual or explicit. i remember my parents putting their hands over my eyes and my face whenever a sensual seen came on. and i remember getting angry and pushing their hands away because i was "old enough" and i "knew what was happening"

in my journal i wrote that i watched tenchi that day and that i couldn't watch it anymore because it wasn't appropriate. but i remember watching tenchi a lot for some reason and i don't remember anything about it but i do remember images and one was of a death scene that rattled me and feeling uncomfortable with the ecchi before i even knew what that was

hm

a few years later i was watching intensely violent gore videos and reading about horrible kidnapping cases, rape , homicide . i know why now, at least kind of

what happened to me

what happene d to me

it couldn't have just been my mom

i can't even start thinking

we would talk for hours and hours about movies but he was never interested in my personal life . i couldn't tell him anything about my personal life because he didn't care and because "he was a boy" and only mom knew about my life because she was a girl and because i was a girl and because i felt guilty if i didn't tell her every single detail and i felt guilty because of the things i did and never told her about because i knew i couldn't tell her. perpetual guilt perpetual shame

every morning when dad would drop me off to school in middle school we never said anything to each other.

this was the time he stopped giving me hugs and kisses, or so my journal says. maile still got hugs and kisses but i didn't because "i was too old". i remember him telling a friend "it's not like i'm going to put sunscreen on her back when she's like 16, because that's [weird/creepy/too much]" ???

but at some point he did start hugging and kissing me a lot again. i don't remember when. but now when we're all together as a family he touches me a lot,

his regular talk to my partners "i was the only man for most of her life so i'm very protective...."

what happened to me

what's happening even now

he doesn't have any friends his age, he was always a "teacher/mentor/friend" to the college kids at church, boys and girls,

holy FUCK ALL THE CREEPY BEHAVIOR THAT I REFUSED TO BELIEVE WAS CREEPY BUT WAS STILL CREEPY OH GOD

i can't think about this

[shiro-tora3]

Imma rant because I have no one else but Dad to talk to lol

TW: Abuse

TW: Amber Johnny defamation trial ( incase the subject itself is triggering)

Im just putting iut my feelings and opinions, not looking for input. Comments will be off. Im just spewing here.

Edit: I have no idea how to turn off comments so while I can't stop you please no flames or hate. This is my space to vent and I'm doing so.

Respectful space to avoid blasting you with my opinions lol

.

.

.

.

.

.

So.

I watched much of the trial as it came out. My opinions and knowledge of the evidence on this case come from what was presented and shown in court so I'm not like. Getting misinformation from the internet kinda thing.

Anyways.

Just watching the little documentary on Netflix reminded me of how utterly uncomfortable it was to watch Amber on the stand. Just. The way she spoke about things the way she made intense eye contact whilst speaking about the awful thing that were done to her, how she constantly looked to the jury to make sure they were taking in everything she said.

It just. Struck me as very strange.

Then watching as Johnny sooke about the things that were done to him, the way he kinda. Zoned out, didn't make a whole lot of eye contact, spoke quietly. Kinda more in tune with recounting disturbing things you are remembering.

Everyone deals with trauma differently, everyone has different mannerisms, responds to stress differently.

But. Idk. As someone who HAS been a victim of abuse of several kinds, her behaviour just feels. Wrong.

She may be bravely facing head on the people who are to decide her fate, she may be challenging people to see the face of a victim. Or. She may be putting on an act and looking to the jury for approval.

Recounting my own experiences to a professional is humiliating as it is, much less to a room of strangers and the world on live tv.

Much of what she said about Johnny when drinking and taking drugs does sound very familiar. I don't doubt for a second that he was a different person when he got like that. I have personal experience with wondering which side of someone you are going to get day in and day out.

But physical abuse is another thing altogether.

I do believe that people in an altered state of mind are much more capable of doing such things than when they are sober. I imagine they were both horrible to eachother.

But the way he was describing trying to just get away from a situation and she continually followed him to get a rise or fight out of is also familiar.

It's hard for me to say that either of them is innocent. I don't think either of them IS at least in regards to mindgames and promoting and environment of fear.

Watching someone destry furniture is indeed scary.

But taking multiple pictures of someone prone, asleep or passed out, taking video and audio recording of so eone without their kniwledge is just. Disturbing to me. It DOES show a side of Johnny I think many were unaware of. He does not dispute this fact.

But I think the evidence of Amber covering certain perspectives of her arguments (in court) and evidence that she did in fact lie about some things that happen, coupled with her just outtright bizarre behaviour leads me to believe that most of what she brought to the stand was exaggerated or falsified.

I absolutely believe that the internets treatment of her was and is abhorrent. No one's life should ever be threatened, and no one should be made to fear for their safety on a daily basis. To be exposed to such awful things as 'her baby should be put in a microwave'. That's just disgusting behavior.

My conclusion no one will ever know the while truth, life isn't black and white. I imagine both of them were terrible to the other. But if someone hurled a full size dial phone at your face with their full strength, you'd be going to emerge. With SEVERE swelling. She had NO swelling in ANY of the pictures or video of her with bruises. And bruises dont just...lie there. You try and smile with a bruise before? It HURTS. No doctor records, no medical history. The only official record, the police record, states her as being very uncooperative. While she may have been trying to keep Johnny from being arrested, it's odd that she isn't on record saying as such.

Anyways ok rant over thoughts spewed i feel better.