#i hate disorders. it's not fun anymore.

[teensie]

when is everyone gonna stop pretending they got DID?

[the-adas]

yearning

[featherymainffins]

Binge-reading Dungeon Meshi because it's the only thing standing between me and suicide ngl.

[evvlogetarian]

Today has been one of those days I guess t_t so much for doing homework i might as well just draw huh...

[gingersxng]

Who’s Afraid Of The Big Bad Wolf

Pairing: f!reader x Mingi

Genre: smut 18+, angst

WARNING: this contains abusive and inappropriate stuff that may be triggering or disturbing for some people. if you decide to read further then you’ve been warned!!

Notes: sub!reader, mean rough dom!Mingi, big dick Mingi, Mingi is violent, abusive relationship, possessiveness, almost getting caught, breeding kink, bulge kink, slight size kink, perverted actions, blood, bruises, hickeys, scratching, biting, unprotected sex (don’t), choking, manhandling, Mingi calls reader little lamb, whore & doll, slapping, dacryphilia, somnophilia, kissing, mentions of fainting, anxiety, depression, self harm, eating disorders, cum cum cum, oral (f receiving), handjob. may have forgot something!

Words: 1.8k

you had been having a rough childhood and developed a few illnesses as you grew older as eating disorders of different kinds, cutting, depression, anxiety, self hate etc. you met Mingi a few months ago at a party, your friends had invited you cause they thought you needed to have a little fun since you’d been through so much. a few hours later the anxiety hit and you went to the hallway to be alone for a while, then he appeared. a tall man with black short hair and he was insanely handsome, he saw you sitting in a corner all by yourself and went to you asking if you were alright. you gave him a nod and he helped you up on your feet, you were so small compared to his big frame and you were dressed in a short skirt with a top cut low that showed your cleavage.

he played it cool at first, he didn’t want to show you his real side right away. he caressed your arm and lowered himself to your ear “maybe I can make you feel better” the low whisper sent chills down your body and your body responded like it never done before. Mingi grabbed your hand and guided you inside the bathroom, and before you knew it you were hovering over the sink with your skirt up and panties to the side as Mingi fucked you from behind. it was an insane feeling, you knew it was so wrong but you liked it and it was yet another way of self harm, to feel loved and so it began.

almost everyone knew who he was, your friends always told you that he wasn’t good for you, your mom were always worried when you spent the nights at his place. they called him the big bad wolf, that’s what he looked like and most of all behaved like. bruises on your neck, arms and legs didn’t go unnoticed but you didn’t give it too much time explaining the situation either. sure maybe you deserved better or whatever they told you but you loved him, he made you feel loved and seen.

he ate you out hungrily with your legs spread wide apart holding them open in his tight grip, lust and desire wasn’t on his list.. lust maybe but you were his toy, his nasty sex doll that he could do anything to. the kissing and biting he did on your inner thighs made you almost cum quicker than a speeding bullet.

he’d been overstimulating you for half an hour and you weren’t capable of being quiet anymore, you whined, almost screaming his name from the top of your lungs. the idea of being caught like this always scared you especially when he for once did end up railing you at your place. a sudden knock on your bedroom door froze you in place, the panic shot through your body afraid of your mom entering seeing you with him treating you like a rag doll. “are you alright sweetie, you were screaming” you quickly pushed Mingi away from your pussy with your feet trying to run to the door and give your mom a reasonable answer but he beat you to it, before your could reach the door he ran after you and grabbed you from behind dragging you back to bed with him. you kicked your feet in the air telling him to let go of you but he covered your mouth with his hand. he pinned you down onto your bed with one hand still on your mouth and the other one on your lower belly “you’re mine and mine only, don’t think you’ll get away from me that easily little lamb”

Mingis big hand let go of your mouth and wandered slowly down your neck to the valley of your breasts, he ripped your top open and discovered the lack of a bra. he gave you a questioning look, a look that gave you the shivers, what was he up to now. “Mingi I-“ you tried but he bit your nipple so hard you let out a gasp, with all the attention on your nipples you didn’t notice Mingi unbuckling his belt and guiding his cock to your entrance, you snapped out of it when the tip entered your tight hole.

he shoved it all the way in reaching up your cervix as he continued devouring your tits, thrust after thrust he destroyed your insides and your gummy walls sucked him in even further.

the thought of your mom maybe being able to hear was long gone, all you could think of was to keep yourself quiet and sane. Mingi sat himself up on his knees still thrusting in and out of you with full force, he pressed one hand on your lower stomach feeling his cock moving under your skin. “fuck I’m so deep inside you, I’m gonna fuck you full and get you pregnant, let everyone know who you’ve been fucking for months” he slapped your tits and pinched your nipple and you let out a high squeak. “I-I can’t get pregnant Mingi aah” you grabbed his shoulders as he only fastened his pace “fucking without a condom will get you pregnant sooner or later, maybe I should take away your pills too to make it even easier hmm”

you knew it wasn’t any good discussing with him, he’d always get his ways with you, but if everyone in your family would get to know you were pregnant with Mingis baby they would kick you out, you would be a disappointment to them and not to talk about the kids having a (sex)abuser as a father.

a slap on your thigh snapped you out of your awful thoughts “eyes on me when I fuck you!”

—

you were arching your back on the bed with both your hands tight together over your head by Mingis big hand. he was fucking you hard and rough without any mercy, his chains dangled in your face as he worked his hips into yours. your mouth hung open as big whines rolled of your tongue, your pubic bone was beginning to bruise and your wrists were hurting like hell.

Mingi attacked your neck giving it small bites and hickeys marking you, some parts was hurting more since he gave new hickeys on old ones. “for fucking sake stop whining so much and be quiet!” Mingi snapped giving your thigh a stinging slap again. you put your bottom lip between your teeth doing your best to be quiet, you gave him the big puppy eyes but earned another slap instead. “don’t think you can get away with things by playing cute” he let go of your hands and placed his own onto your hips, his nails dug deep into your flesh almost drawing blood, Mingi thrusted into you faster and harder until your eyes rolled in your head. Mingi looked down at you with a smirk, like a wolf looking at its prey.

you squirmed under him and cried, your hands found their way to his broad bare back were you dug your nails into his skin scratching him hard. a deep groan came from Mingi as he felt your nails draw blood from his back but he liked it, his whole back was scarred because of you.

you were at your breaking point and you felt the knot in your stomach almost snap, your pleads and moans got higher and your mind got foggy, you grabbed Mingis chains and pulled him down to your face “Mingi p-plea“ you begged him but midway you felt his lips crash onto yours. he forced his tongue inside your mouth and placed a hand around your neck, he pressed lightly to cut off your airways almost enough to make you faint and it made you a bit dizzy, you had too much experience in that already.

Mingi slowed down his thrusts and as he did he also let go of your neck and let go of your lips, he rubbed your clit a few times and you finally came all over his cock. he fucked you slow a couple times until he painted your walls with his hot seed.

“Mingi please can we stop, it hurts so bad” you whined as you dried your tears running down your cheek. he hovered over you and gave you an intimidating look, his eyes were hooded and black. “I won’t stop until I’m done with you whore” he said giving your nipple a pinch. “you can’t” you sniffled. “oh trust me doll I can and I will, now on all fours!” he quickly pulled out and flipped you over, you slowly stood up on your fours while your head hung low.

Mingi gave your ass a hard slap and separated the cheeks watching your used hole clench onto nothing as his cum dripped out and onto the bed. you felt his warm tongue all over your abused pussy, slurping up all your juices mixed with his own. you arched your back more and your poor legs began to shake of all the overstimulation going on.

Mingi places sloppy kisses on your cunt and all over your ass, you suddenly let out a loud scream when he took a bite of your ass, his teeth marks were engraved deep into your flesh. you glared back at Mingi with big eyes. “the fuck Mingi that really hurt!!” the only response you got was a amused laugh. and without any warning he slipped his thick cock inside your pussy again ramming you for dear life. his hands held a firm steady grip on your hips, the sweat ran down his neck and chest. that was also what your bedroom smelled like, sweat and nasty sex. the knot in your belly was about to snap for the second time and your whole body began to shake.

Mingi watched in amusement how his cock went in and out of your tight cunt and how white foam was coating the base of his veiny cock. a few thrusts more and he came inside you again, you came at the same time. your body said “no” and you just collapsed onto the bed, Mingi pulled out and rolled you over onto your back. you shook your head and mumbled nonsense, your entire body hurt and the tears on your cheeks started to dry. Mingi towered over you watching your fucked out face, he guided your hand to his still fully hard cock and you pumped him slow a few times, your drowsy eyes was doing their best to keep eye contact with him but failed. a few seconds later you’d fallen asleep with you hand still holding on to his dick, that wouldn’t stop him tho from finishing his work.

Mingi rolled you onto your side and placed himself behind you with his warm chest pressed against your back, he lifted one of your legs over his and entered you from behind. fucking you in your sleep slowly until he was completely done with you.

[antiendovents]

“Put this pro endo flag to let people know you are safe!” WHAT.

Why are endos acting like they are “discriminated against.” Having a system isn’t fun. I wish I wasn’t a system because it genuinely affects my life. It’s a DISORDER. Being an endo is the same thing as saying “I have PTSD without the trauma.” THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE.

This makes me so upset. My memories are getting worse and worse, and yet these endo “systems” are just “making up” alters for fun. Why are there pro endo people. Am I actually missing something??

I hate endo systems. I’m convinced that a small percentage are actual systems that forgot their trauma, and the rest are just making ocs while hiding behind the term system (its not fun btw!!)

— 🪱🪲

yeah, I really don't know why endos always act as if they're an oppressed class; you're not. You are the oppressors. They literally come from a movement that attempted to demedicalise DID completely, which would make many many systems suffer as they likely wouldn't have anymore accommodations or have access to the things their diagnosis gives them (which probably isn't a lot, but still). The only "discrimination" they experience (that's related to them being endogenic) is when people tell them facts, which, by the way, isn't discrimination. When someone tells you 'hey, what you're doing is hurting hundreds of not thousands of people (directly and indirectly) and you're spreading tons and tons of misinformation' that isn't discrimination. Your hatred for endos is valid and even if a small percentage of them are genuinely confused that doesn't excuse the misinformation and harm they spread / cause.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for getting a friend banned from Tumblr ? I(19nb) met a group of people through fandom (6 of us, adults) and we started talking on discord. It was fun and everyone was cool. We (privately) would send Fandom Takes on the discord and kind of make fun of how bad they were sometimes. It was pretty harmless, until one friend Summer(26f) (fake names) decided to fixate on a particular person named Brian in the fandom.

Brian was, I believe, about 13 or 14 years old at the time. They were a system blog (sorry I don't understand systems very well) and Brian was (or identified as?) a bunch of characters in this fandom from a lineage of ancestors that Summer liked. So I think Summer took it personally or something that this person mischaracterized them cuz they were her favorite characters?

Like I said, it started as harmless, privately posting some stuff that Brian had said and saying stuff like "me when I'm 13 years old" etc etc but Summer started to get an unhealthy fixation with this person and would start posting DAILY about Brian. I mean paragraph-long rants about this kid. It was getting out of hand so I started defending Brian even though I don't even know him cuz it started to sound really mean. But Summer would just kind of laugh it off and say "well its not like I'm saying this in public"

Summer also started to attack Brian personally about the whole 'system' thing, i don't really know anything about systems, and again, this kid is a total stranger, so idgaf, but Summer said that tiktok has totally bastardized what systems are and she's sick of kids thinking its an identity thing and stuff like that, since she works as a PSW in a psych ward and deals with people who have that disorder, I think this is also a big reason why Brian made her so mad, but again... Summer and Brian don't even know each other so it was getting uncomfortable, like it became so that nobody even posted in the Bad-Takes channel anymore bc Summer was just constantly posting personal stuff about Brian and it made us all feel weird about the channel altogether.

So this is where it starts to suck: Summer makes a sideblog, burnbook style, called something like We-Hate-Brian or Brian-Fucking-Sucks (cant remember the name) and starts literally copying Brian's text posts and parodying them and editing stuff into his icon photo and his art. She posts about this in our discord thinking its absolutely hilarious and I immediately start DMing everyone to mass report the blog (and her main) cuz I'm ashamed we even let it get this far.

So Summer gets banned from Tumblr, gets upset about it in the discord, and nobody really replies to her insane rant about it, she's totally convinced that somehow it was Brian himself. We all move to another discord to quietly ghost her and she messages us once in a while but I think what happened really soured everyone on her. Nobody has ever told Summer that it was us that got her banned, or why we did it. I feel kind of weird about it since we never told her and just collectively agreed to ghost her to avoid the inevitable drama. so AITA??

What are these acronyms?

[many-but-one]

I used to think I was endogenic and got hate for it. Then I became exactly like the people that bullied me. Thankfully, I’m not anymore.

So I’m gonna get on here and do one of my rare syscourse posts because I have been seeing an undeniable increase of hatred on my timeline simply because I follow the did/osdd tags.

Those of you that have been around a while and have seen our posts talking about this might recall this, but we used to be very firmly anti-endo. We consider ourselves endo neutral these days mainly because we just don’t care what other people do with their lives and it’s not up to me to fake claim them or tell them how to live their life. People like to be angry at endos for spreading misinfo, when I’ve seen anti-endos do the exact same thing. Quite often, actually.

One of the biggest reasons I was anti-endo was because I was angry. I was angry at the fact that people would claim they created their system for fun when my existence as a system was full of misery and pain. Fun fact, I’m still full of misery and pain, but I was taking it out on people I didn’t even know. I was angry that I didn’t get to choose this and they did. I was angry that they got to “have fun” with it while I suffered. I hated my disorder, I hated my system. I was so angry all the time. I went on rants. I was mean. I was full of hate.

Then as I went through the therapeutic process and learned to not only tolerate but actually love my system despite all of their faults and despite all of the ways the disorder made me miserable, I realized I cared a lot less about endos. It felt less like a slap in the face that they existed. I realized that me being angry was the root of why I disliked them so much. I realized that me being angry and hateful wasn’t actually helping anyone.

However, there’s something else I want to talk about. I’ve mentioned this vaguely from time to time, but I’ve never spoken that deeply about it.

I used to think I was endo. I joined system spaces online for the first time when I was about 16-17 years old. I was the host at that time (Jules, though they have fused with like a bazillion parts since then due to therapy so now I go by Delphine) and I was having experiences of a dissociative disorder. I was dissociative, I was having amnesia gaps, I was hearing voices in my head, and it was the first time I ever had a flashback (though I didn’t really understand that’s what it was at the time.) I met the first parts I ever spoke to directly back then, parts that don’t exist the same way today thanks to healing. S, A, and “The Bad Man” (father introject) were the first three parts that spoke to me. I knew by then I had DID. But I didn’t know my trauma. All I knew was that I may have witnessed some DV when I was really young (couldn’t remember it though, I just knew my mother was severely abused by my father) and that my dad was abusive to me as a teen. I didn’t even consider the fact that I couldn’t remember most of my childhood before the age of 10-11, and everything else in my life was spotty at best. I remembered a lot of my childhood! Or so I thought. I thought my childhood was completely fine except for my dad being a bit of a dick to me when I was a teenager.

So I thought I was endogenic. I knew that I hadn’t created these parts on purpose (though A stole her name from a fanfic I had read a few years prior so I thought that maybe I did make her up) so I thought maybe birth trauma had to do with it (I was born 9 weeks premature) or maybe I had formed my parts way later in life than normal since I’d always been a “late bloomer.” I tried making friends in the system community, to try and understand what was happening to me. I had genuine traumagenic DID, but I didn’t know it. As soon as I said I was endo to anyone I would be met with such extreme vitriol that I was chased away VERY quickly. I was told I was crazy, I was told I was faking a severe disorder for attention, I was told to kill myself, I was told that I am a terrible person and stealing resources from other systems, etc. It was really bad. I never spoke about it again. I deleted my entire system-related online presence. I believed I was a horrible faker, I was crazy, everything.

Meanwhile I was actively having nightmares of witnessing extreme child torture, I was having huge gaps in my memory, I was having random bouts of extreme suicidality and was self harming almost every day. I was dissociating off my ass, I barely even got through my junior year of high school. I missed so much school due to my mental health that the public school system almost took me to court to court-order me to go to school. I didn’t even try to talk about any of this to a therapist or counselor because I was certain that I had been faking the DID and that I was actually just crazy and I didn’t want to steal resources from “actual systems.” I had multiple suicide attempts. I didn’t get help until my school ordered me to go to the mental ward and then was assigned a therapist shortly after. Then I jumped from therapist to therapist, one of which said that I must be bipolar due to my mood swings. I was misdiagnosed as bipolar I for years. Years.

Years that I could have been trying to heal from DID taken from me because I was so heavily bullied for thinking I was endogenic. I was completely convinced I had bipolar and I must have just been having a psychotic episode every time I was hearing voices or acting strangely.

I was diagnosed with DID at age 22, just a month or so shy from my 23rd birthday. I went 6 years thinking I was crazy and delusional because of the system community. The worst part? I let my anger get to me and I became exactly like them. A little less intense, definitely didn’t tell people to kts or call them names or anything, but I was angry. Angry at the fact that I’d been a system all this time, angry that it had affected my life for so long, angry that endos “made a mockery” of what the disorder actually was. Then as mentioned previously, I was able to get over that anger. It makes me incredibly sad that I used to be so vitriolic and bitter and that could have seriously impacted a system who was in the same situation I was.

This is not to say that all endos are actually systems who don’t know their trauma. Some of them are genuinely endo, and I don’t really care about that. However, there is no person on the internet who can truly decipher whether or not an endo is a traumagenic system who just doesn’t know their trauma or who is non-traumagenic. I genuinely thought with my whole chest that I had no trauma and that whatever trauma I might have had was nowhere near serious enough to cause a system, so I must be endo, right?

*Loud, incorrect buzzer noise*

Turns out I have RAMCOA related traumas and my system is made up of thousands of parts. I didn’t just have trauma, I had Trauma. Years and years of extreme and extensive child torture were hidden so well that I couldn’t have even begun to guess that’s what my trauma history was, even after I was finally diagnosed. (Though I should’ve known with how intense our gatekeeper was about never telling me Anything)

Moral of the story here is this:

Please consider that the endos you speak badly about could be traumagenic systems. And you would never know. Behind the screen they could be showing clear signs of a dissociative disorder, but you wouldn’t know unless they specifically described such experiences—and nobody is entitled to hearing about other people’s personal experiences or struggles. I didn’t get the help nor the community I desperately needed back then, a teen who felt like their life was turned upside down and shaken about at all times.

Be kind. Stop hating other people for stuff like this. It matters so, so little in the grand scheme of things. These internet dramas are so chronically online that nobody in the irl world would even begin to comprehend it. It doesn’t matter as much as you think it does. But what does matter is how you treat others, because that sticks with people forever.

That’s all I’ve got. Thank you, everyone.

[linked-maze]

Hey! I'm sending this not because I want to direct hate at you, but because I'm very concerned with how one of your characters is depicted. As someone who deals with psychosis and severe delusions, LM Spirit can be seen as making fun of those delusions. Spirit's gag is that he "thinks he's a train" and as a result "eats coal" because he believes that he is a train. That's really all there is to his character. It does not help that this is excused away as him being "stupid". That's not stupidity, that's delusional behaviour coupled with an eating disorder (Pica) 😭😭

Again, I don't mean for this to come off mean, or hateful, nor do I mean this in bad faith. I just mean this as someone who battles with psychosis and delusions. We're constantly the butt of the joke--and if we aren't, we're being demonised. I know you mean well and I cannot imagine that you came from a place of genuinely wanting to make fun of severe illness; but it is making fun of severe mental illness. I think the lack of intent doesn't take away from the fact that it's still hurtful. I understand that he isn't actually in the main story, but he's still included in your AU and you still have jokes that make fun of his delusions. Even if you didn't intend for it, the effect is definitely still there and it's worth changing so it's a little more sensitive towards mental illness in the future.

Please don't construe this as hate, because it isn't and please don't be demotivated by this either. Everyone makes mistakes, and sometimes they can be hurtful, but at the end of the day; just as everyone is capable of making mistakes, they're equally capable of fixing them too.

Oh, I'm so truly sorry that I hurt any of you guys! and that it made you feel like the butt of the joke. that was totally on me! Spirit doesn’t actually think he is a train, he is mostly just imagining for the fun of it- just like you do when you want to fly or breathe underwater. There is a lot more to his character that I have sadly not shared yet. Spirit does not have psychosis and severe delusions or an eating disorder (Pica) plz do not put mental illnesses on my characters. I did not intend to write that at all for him. His coal-eating obsession is ofc very harmful- but he is a fictional character. just like Wild eating rocks, right? coal is just a fancy rock XD I will of course take this seriously and not make the joke anymore. Thanks for telling me so I can change my actions and do better! and have a very good day/night!

[thegoldencontracts]

Okay weirdly tragic idea but I have to share, trigger warnings for fatphobia and bullying, eating disorder mentions

So, imagine: Azul is still chubby in Night Raven. Except, he isn't healing, or he hasn't managed to avoid the dreaded pull of self-loathing. He hates himself more than ever.

He's so pathetic he can't even lose the weight no matter how he tries. He's been able to do everything, except for this one simple thing.

And, of course, people mock him for it. Students constantly point out his weight. Most defiant students always go for his size before anything else.

(They never see the tears he begins to weep after a while, once even his own built-up resistance to insults stops sufficing.)

Even the Ramshackle Prefect insults his weight. Saying how he's just as greedy for food as he is for power, clearly. How they can't lose their friends to some land whale who thinks he's hot shit.

And then he overblots. The Prefect realizes how insecure he is about his weight. There is a moment in the museum where they attempt to comfort him about it, but it's to no avail. He knows their true feelings. These lies do nothing.

But then he loses weight. His overblot has completely drained him, after all. He can't eat for a good while. He feels horrible, really, but he's thin now. He's done it. People don't make fun of him anymore.

Jade and Floyd start to grow concerned when they notice his irritable state. But what's wrong? He's finally beautiful now! People take him seriously. He's worthy. He should be happier than ever!

Except he isn't. He's miserable, and desolate, and constantly empty. It's never thin enough. He's always too fat for himself.

And he knows the moment he slips even a bit, the moment he gains a bit of weight, they'll go back to their ridicule. Why wouldn't they? They've made it all too clear they only respect him when he's thin, pretty. His feelings don't matter. His efforts don't matter.

Azul Ashengrotto will only ever be treated well when he's skinny, when he's worthy. And he's learned that lesson all too well.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Yo man, I like reading your posts and your thoughts. It inspires me.

There were a few questions that I asked anonymously, but reading everything you wrote, and thanks to you, I changed my attitude towards Killer as a character (to be honest, I hated him before, as well as his duo with Color). And also, like one anon person, I love Delta.

How do you do it, inspire and change opinions about characters?

I become obsessed about them and learn everything I can and then yap about it on the internet. /hj

Also a lot of killers story requires even a base level understanding in psychology and abuse and trauma, I feel. Especially things like prolonged intense coercion, and dissociative disorders, paired with severe CPTSD. And I love psychology so he quickly became a favorite of mine.

A lot of my fixation towards killer actually came from the fact that—no one could seem to understand or agree on things about killer’s canon story (which in large part is because a lot of killer’s canon was unfortunately deleted, including an entire ask blog.)

So i went looking myself, found what i could, shared it around everywhere i could reach—and then started doing research and analysis, and sharing those too.

But also from what I can see, the UTMV fandom back then was all really young—focusing more on black and white, “good” and “bad” morality. Creepypasta-esque. Instead of acknowledging Something New for the tragedy and psychological horror it is.

It was never as simple as “sans goes crazy and kills everyone” or “evil Chara possesses sans to kill everyone” or “sans gets bored and kills for fun.” It was all deliberate, pointed towards a goal—and sans completely lost himself until he became something so completely foreign and unrecognizable. which was all intentional.

and another thing I love about killer is that he’s definitely not a “perfect victim.” He was a victim sure, and he was made and taught to be this way, but it doesn’t change the fact that this victim has victims and he’s still an awful, shitty person. there are completely valid reasons to despise that bitch, and everyone is well within their rights to do so (Delta and Delta lovers deserve to punch killer and humble him ong) even as he attempts to work on himself and actually process his trauma that had been going for an unknown amount of time.

(which still fascinates me. there is a period of time in Chara and killer’s partnership that we are unlikely to ever see. we have no clue just how long they were together. killer himself probably isn’t sure—maybe they were always together.)

and color is an interesting piece of psychology too. I completely understand why he inspires hope in killer—hope that change is possible, that safety is possible, that something better out there can exist. that not everyone with power seeks to harm and control, that not everything is control or be controlled or kill or be killed, that some things do matter. that what he wants matters. that someone out there still cares about him, and unlike papyrus or the rest of the underground—is willing to fight for him, too.

(of course, papyrus was willing to die if it made sans happy. but he was never willing to fight to make sans happy, as far as killer can see.)

color has really lost everything and everyone in his attempts to save them. he fought and fought and fought—until as a last ditch effort, he makes a desperate choice. and it works, but it dooms him. only, it didn’t actually work, because the feeling of the Genocide route is coming back—and it’s happening again.

We can see this same exact thing with killer, too. Nightmare replaces Killers when they are killed or no longer useful. Color can see right through Killer—he knows he doesn’t actually want this life. He just doesn’t know anything different anymore.

And so Color spends so long trying to get Killer to admit to what he actually wants—and when he does, when Killer finally just admits he wants his old life back—his brother, his family, he wants to be Sans again. Color doesn’t tell him it’s likely impossible—instead he offers to help.

And when Killer asks Color to save him, Color takes to it loyally. It’s not hard to imagine that Color tried and failed to help save and protect many, many, many Killers.

And yet with each devastating failure, he keeps getting up and going and persevering. Because he has to, because it’s the right thing to do, because Killer asked him to, because Killer needs help, because he cares so much about Killer, because Color can’t leave him alone or forget about him the way he was forgotten. No one else is going to care enough to reach out and try with Killer—and Killer isn’t likely to trust anyone else who tries.

Even Color has to work hard to earn and maintain Killer’s trust. A single slip up could send Killer recoiling and snapping at any hand that attempts to touch him. So despite how desperately Color wants to save him, keep him safe, take care of him—he knows he needs to go at Killer’s pace.

He needs to be patient, and he needs to be consistent, and he needs to be open and as honest as possible—even if it’s hard, and he needs to be careful around Killer, too.

He can’t allow his emotions to drive him completely, to make him blind to Killer’s violence and apathy and manipulation and controlling behaviors—not only because for his own well being, but because Killer would definitely lose any respect he has for him if he thinks Color can’t see him for what he is. He can’t allow Killer to think that he is weak—someone easily trusting, or naive, or easily led and used and taken advantage of.

He has to maintain a balance between that, and just being himself—practicing what he preaches, because killer will notice; he is watching. Color’s goal isn’t to fix him, that’s something killer has to want for himself, he’s just here because he wants to help and Killer asked for the help he needs—even if Killer’s SOUL Stages make him have conflicting viewpoints and desires, if any at all. He has to show up for Killer consistently, show he isn’t trying to use or control him, and be true to himself.

Of course, the journey to actually getting there would likely be a struggle for them both, but they’re both determined enough to try, I think.

Anyway rant over. So that’s basically what I do; get curious, go digging and researching and get obsessed and then make my thoughts and interpretations everyone else’s problem.

{ @ferociousperson }

[themosleyreview]

The Mosley Review: Bad Boys: Ride or Die

There is an important lesson being taught here to filmmakers that step into a franchise they are fans of. Fans of a franchise can be the most devoted and best choice to continue on the franchise, but if they are not in service of the story, the characters or the identity of the franchise, then they aren't the right one to take it on. You cannot come in with your own biases, agendas or what your idea of what the franchise is. True fans of a franchise know this and take that lesson to heart and deliver an outstanding entry and that's what this directing duo has done yet again. The Bad Boys franchise has always been about the classic buddy cop relationship that keeps you engaged in between the amazing action. This franchise has a strong beating heart of love and fun at its core and this film keeps that heart pumping at a hardy pace. The previous film was a welcomed return that had its moments of flare, stylistic action and comedy, but it focused on the story and the humanity of the characters first. That same elegance of storytelling continues in this new entry and it may be a bit more kinetic, sometimes overwhelming, but it still lands strongly in the category of greatness.

Will Smith and Martin Lawrence return as our favorite dynamic duo Detective Lieutenant Mike Lowry and Detective Lieutenant Marcus Burnett and they haven't skipped a beat. The magnetic chemistry between them is what keeps you engaged and I loved that this film once again drives home that brotherly love they have for one another. Like the last film, they both deal with their mortality in a unique way as they are older now. Mike has an unexpected growth in personality and I loved that he isn't as perfect anymore. You see him deal with a personal disorder that he must overcome and it is pretty inspiring the way Will portrays it. Marcus gets a new lease on life and lets go of the whiney tone and actually has more pep in his step. In a sense, Mike and Marcus switched perspectives and role types as Marcus has become the more reckless and Mike has become the more cautious. I loved his spirituality which made for some great moments of comedy where Martin truly shined the brightest. Vanessa Hudgens and Alexander Ludwig return as AMMO teammates Kelly and Dorn and they were both fantastic yet again. They weren't an after thought and they both were a powerhouse in the action and held their own when on screen with Mike and Marcus. Paola Núñez was awesome yet again and now as Captain of the Miami PD, Rita Secada. I loved her strength in the film and her chemistry with Mike and Marcus is still strong. Its a mild spoiler, but I hated the fact that her and Mike didn't end up together. Ioan Gruffudd was good as Adam Lockwood and its always great to see him on screen. Joe Pantoliano is always a welcomed face and seeing him as Captain Howard one last time was heartwarming. Jacob Scipio returns as Mike's son, Armando Aretas and he was just as badass and deadly. I liked the strained avenue that Mike and Armando go down as their father and son relationship is slowly being built. Eric Dane enters the franchise as the new threat and I liked him as James McGrath. He was cunning, quick and brutal and wasn't about world domination. I liked the history behind the character even if his motivation was a bit boring. Dennis Greene returns as Reggie McDonald and he has always been the butt of the joke in the past films since his iconic entrance. I loved that in this film, he finally earns respect and he becomes the MVP of the film in an amazing scene.

Composer Lorne Balfe returns with an absolute knockout of a score. Not only does he have his unique touch of intensity, but he continued to incorporate, modulate and evolve the iconic Bad Boys score and themes by original composer Mark Mancina. It drives me up the wall when composers don't use the iconic themes of a franchise and I loved that Lorne kept it alive and flowing throughout the film in multiple variations. The action in this film was top of the line and felt classical in its practical execution. It was gritty, bloody fun that had me smiling from ear to ear. There is a bridge sequence that leads to the iconic Bad Boys shot, but that scene felt a little disjointed and dizzying in the placement of characters. There is a feeling of finality to the franchise as it sort of gives a loving look back at the past films with fun parallels and role reversals. Directing duo Adil & Bilall truly love Bad Boys and it shows in every inch of the screen from the action, the character development and comedy. They have done a magnificent job in delivering an even better entry than the last and I can't wait to own the 4K Bluray. This is definitely the best action film of the year so far! Let me know what you thought of the film or my review in the comments below. Thanks for reading!

[redysetdare]

No you're so right I fucking hate the "aces have it so much better than aros" part of the community. Just because more people know the word asexual than aromantic doesn't mean aces are treated better than aros by the society?? More people know the word asexual yes, but they don't really understand what it means to be on the asexual spectrum, and they try to paint us in the worst light possible. That's like saying binary trans people have it much better than nonbinary people, or trans women have it much better than trans men due to more visibility. Some people in the aro community want there to be a hierarchy of non-aro aces > aroaces > non-ace aros so bad because they just want to be acephobic and get away with it. And they're barely even hiding that anymore nowadays.

Sorry for this angry rant, sometimes it just feels like everyone, even other aspec people absolutely despise aroaces.

I really need people to acknowledge that a group being more visible does not make them more accepted or better treated than a group that is invisible. You think we'd learn this after this argument has been used against so many identities but noooope. I guess not. The thing is that visibility can still be bad because being visible to your oppressors just makes you an easier target. the words homosexual, gay, and lesbian were all known way before asexual and you know what that visibility did? it mostly got them targeted and attacked - especially by laws and the medical field. Autism is a label that's been known for decades and people STILL treat Autism like a bad word and a terrible thing to be labeled.

People are just starting to figure out the word asexual and they are using that to actively target asexuals. The Ace discourse era around 2016 was AWFUL and it was because people learned the term asexual and decided we were just "Straight people trying to be special" or "incel freaks" or "Just sad virgins" It was considered cool and fun to mock and harass asexuals. it was common for people to create fake ace blogs to make us look bad. There are still dog whistles being posted around that mock and belittle asexuals that people treat as silly jokes. People still tell aces to shut up and not complain. People who harassed aces of tumblr act like their part in the ace discourse era was just a quirky little thing they did and not a genuine issue that they refuse to acknowledge and any ace who brings it up gets told to get the fuck over it.

It ignored the fact that asexuals have the highest stat in conversion therapy. it ignores the stat that corrective rape happens majority to asexuals. it ignored the fact that many asexuals end up getting broken up with or divorced for being asexual because so many people are unwilling to compromise in a relationship that isn't sexual. Many Aces feel forced to have sex with their partners because not doing so gets them labeled as abusive. Asexuality is still considered by most doctors to be a disorder that needs to be fixed and so it can be dangerous to bring it up lest your doctor actively try to focus on it as a main issue. Therapists assume your asexuality is a trauma response and may aces have to keep their asexuality under wraps lest their therapists start to focus only on that instead of their other issues. Yes, people know the term asexual. But that does not mean they Accept asexuals. some people use the knowledge of that term to target and attack asexuals.

No one has it better. we all just face different issues and to claim one group is some how more accepted than another is naive at best and outright malicious at worst and genuinely some of these people are getting way to close to repeating ace discourse era arguments and it's really getting to me because the call SHOULD NOT be coming from INSIDE THE FUCKING HOUSE.

[bbcphile]

In Memory of Kiah

cw/tw: death, medical assistance in dying

If you’re wondering why I kind of disappeared from the Mysterious Lotus Casebook tag and stopped posted WIP Wednesday things, here’s the explanation: One of my closest friends, who has been dying progressively and increasingly painfully over the last two years, told me about 3 weeks ago that they were going to pursue medical assistance in dying because it is legal where they live. It was originally scheduled for the end of July, then moved up to the end of June, and then on Monday, they moved it to Wednesday (yesterday), because their life was agony and they couldn’t wait any longer.

I’m lucky that I had enough advanced notice that I was able to say goodbye–both by sending them a message telling them in detail how much they’ve meant to me and thanking them for everything, and then in one last phone call the night before–so I’m glad they knew how much I loved them and that I could be there for them emotionally, even though I couldn’t physically be there for the end itself, because they live too far away. We met on Tumblr through the chronic illness community because we share the same genetic connective tissue disorder and many of its comorbidities, and I will always be so, so grateful to Tumblr for bringing us together.

I wanted to post about them here because it just felt wrong to keep going like nothing had happened, and because I wanted to do something to pay tribute to how good a person they were and how much I miss them. So, some words about Kiah: 

Kiah was one of the kindest, funniest, intellectually curious, loving, and fiercely protective people I have ever met. I loved that we could talk about anything, including the terror of living in a failing body or how to come to terms with being disabled when you were always an overcommitted overachiever who defined yourself on external metrics of success, analyze media together during watch parties, and laugh together about literally anything (including during our last conversation, where we were both bawling our eyes out, but also somehow laughing about how absurd it is that you can’t really cry hard and talk at the same time and how that seems like a real design flaw). We didn’t share any fandoms, but we still had fun sharing details about our blorbos and fandom activities: I loved hearing about their cosplay adventures, and they always wanted to keep up to date on the metas I was writing. Even once they went blind and couldn’t read my metas on tumblr anymore because it wouldn’t work with their screenreader, they had me send them Google doc versions so their computer could read my posts to them because they didn’t want to miss any of my analyses. And when they were too sick to listen to the full posts, they asked for summaries because they still wanted to keep up as much as they could. 

They were always so caring and compassionate: when they first called to tell me in January that they were going to do medical assistance in dying, and after I had told them I understood and supported them and we’d talked about how they felt about it, they asked me how I was. I had told them that while I was heartbroken, I would handle it, because I didn’t want to make them feel responsible for comforting me when they had their hands full with processing everything and feeling their own grief. They said that while they appreciated my not wanting to make it harder on them, they didn’t want me to feel like I had to be ok in front of them, because they wanted to comfort me and support me even in this if they could, since they didn’t have that much time left to be there for me and they wanted to make it count. (yeah, I’m sobbing right now.)

None of those descriptions could even begin to do justice to how much they meant to me, but I hope this anecdote will:

I couldn’t be with them at the end because I’m a country and an opposite coast away, but I hated the idea of not being able to say goodbye in person or hold their hand if they were scared during the injection. So I played piano and imagined they could hear it.

Most of you probably won’t know what that means or why it would be a big deal. Here’s why:

I used to be a musician. Music was my life and my most important means of self-expression, and was absolutely going to be my career. But in high school and college, an extensive series of very traumatic things happened that made me essentially have to give up performing. For the better part of the last 18 years, literally up until I sat down to play for Kiah, even just the idea of performing for someone or a neighbor overhearing me play was triggering enough that I would have a full-blown panic attack and dissociate so badly I would literally go from concert pianist level ability to mostly forgetting how to read music and having to count ledger lines. But my desire to do something so that maybe, just maybe, I could make Kiah’s final moments better apparently trumped my trauma, because I was able to do it. I had wanted to play some Rachmaninoff, Brahms, or Chopin, but apparently those are still too closely tied to Events and I started to have skill loss issues again (fucking dissociative amnesia), so I switched to a piece I had played long ago enough that it was reliably in my mind and fingers (and that I could sight-read if I forgot it partway through). 

And I played it.

I hope, somehow, they were able to hear it.

I also recorded it.

And I’m going to share it here.

It kind of feels like serving my heart up on a platter, but that feels kind of appropriate for this tribute to them. 

I think they’d be happy, knowing that I’m “doing it scared,” as Tumblr recommends, and that my attempt to give them the biggest gift of love and support I could think of, somehow, even if just temporarily, gave music back to me.

Also, I think they’d get a kick out of the fact that you can hear me giggle a little at one point in the recording when the sheet music falls on my hands, both because it’s a great middle finger to perfectionism, but also because laughing through the tears (and yeah, I was crying while playing this) is very much a chronic illness and disability thing, and feels like a good metaphor for much of the last few months.

So. All that to say:

Kiah, I love you. I miss you so much already.

Here’s Robert D. Vandall’s “Lakeside Retreat.”

[mrstellmeafuckingsecret]

what do you think sirius’s relationship with his father was like

(i wrote a whole fucking biography, but there's a tldr at the bottom w some notes! also. i am so sorry. this ended up being orion's relationship with his eldest son instead. its pov orion forgive me please.)

sirius and orion ..... there's not much in canon about them, i think, right? he mentions him a whopping one time, when he said his father was the one who made Number Twelve unplottable and that's it, so i think orion was just. so very absent. and neglectful. especially considering how much walburga is mentioned and how big of a part she played in sirius' life.

that's all for canon, i think. now for the fun hc time !!

i imagine orion to be fairly quiet, more like regulus. i imagine he dealt with walburga's anger and mood swings (i hc her (and sirius) with bipolar ii disorder which was obv untreated her whole life bc a) fifties b) ew muggles im perfectly fine) ever since they met (with orion being younger and more complacent, too) so it wasn't a marriage where they were both equals, and orion resented walburga for it.

enter sirius black.

when sirius was born, walburga was completely focused on him. she had her son, her everything, her precious little child and orion was free. i think he loved sirius for it - for how walburga didn't notice when orion left the room or entered it, for how much walburga loved her son.

the first few years was good, sirius was charming, regulus was obedient, walburga was happy and orion was distant from the woman who'd ruined his life. plus, he liked his kids!

sure, sirius was too headstrong and aggressive and had mood swings and sure that reminded him a little bit of walburga and so he usually treasured his precious regulus, and yeah, sirius had cried more than once that dad doesnt love me! but it was all just fine, because he loved his son! he did, really! at least one of them, anyway.

by the time sirius was ten, orion was hoping his hogwarts letter would come early.

it was sirius' first big rebellion, and walburga had (after punishing sirius as she saw fit - orion didn't bother asking, the boy was more comfortable with his mother anyway) locked herself in her room for more than a week, but that was fine, he was used to it. no, the problem was that sirius also stayed in his room for a week, and orion was connecting dots.

from then to dropping sirius off at the train, orion withdrew himself. he noticed. he observed. he busied himself. sirius talked to him, and he didn't ignore him completely, he was still a good father (right?) so he played chess and taught potions and told him who to and not to talk to like he was supposed to.

(he hated the noise the mother and son caused. he hated them, too.)

he pretended to sympathize when walburga said she missed him already when they saw the bus go off.

when sirius came back for christmas, he steered clear for the first two days. walburga handled the punishments: sorting, his friendships, his misdemeanors. orion nodded along.

i am a good father. it's his fault for not being a good son.

regulus was so good, and for all the time the boys spent together, regulus never rubbed off on him.

oh god. what if sirius infects him, too? the only normal one there - what if sirius takes regulus in his madness?

so he separates regulus, too.

by then, he doesn't know what's going on with sirius. regulus told him, time to time, but orion's dislike of his son was becoming clear, so regulus steered clear of the sirius' name. sirius learnt to be away from his father's study. walburga yelled at him more for his negligence but he took it and continued his one sided resentment to his son. (was it one sided anymore? orion didn't know.)

summer vacation is spent in his study and in his bedroom. the two places sirius never was. he didn't know where sirius was, but he heard the occasional screaming and then he had the pleasure of not seeing sirius for a few days.

when, the next year, regulus has to go with sirius, he resents walburga for not saying she missed him already. but she had missed sirius. cursed mother, cursed child.

in third year, walburga signs sirius' hogsmeade permission slip. whatever. he didn't even know it had been signed till the following year, when regulus came to him and they had a few moments of small talk.

regulus mentioned sirius idolized andromeda. he couldn't imagine why, and he couldn't imagine why regulus told him.

by the summer before fourth year, sirius and orion didn't talk. orion scolded him for one thing or another ('posture!' , 'you're late' , 'you're friends with a pettrigrew?' , 'your hair is unkept'), he gave scoffed when sirius made a pronunciation error with his words (regulus wouldn't've. stupid boy, sirius didn't deserve the title of heir.), he punished sirius and then he went back to his study (*sanctuary).

walburga tells him sirius has been sneaking out to muggle london, he has indecent pictures spelled to his walls, he's changed, orion, he's different now. orion doesn't tell her that sirius had always been different, and never in a good way. (he doesn't tell her that she is the same.)

sirius didn't come back for christmas that year. he doesn't notice till walburga screamed at him. he was more focused on how walburga clung to his regulus closer that year.

by the summer before sirius' fifth year, sirius' fights were no longer contained for his mother. he yelled at anyone who would give him time of day.

bellatrix, portraits, kreacher, walurga of course, regulus even.

not his father.

if he saw his father, he would simply walk away.

sirius never walked away from anyone, but orion was grateful nonetheless. he'd hexed sirius a few times, naturally, but he didn't want it to become something regular.

(he was grateful for the days sirius spent holed up into his room.)

by the end of summer, sirius and him had barely exchanged a word that wasn't orion chastising him and sirius replying with a curt yes father.

(it felt like an insult. father. no, orion wasn't a father to that vile thing. sirius was his mother's son. orion had nothing to do with him. and he knew sirius didn't feel differently - he heard sirius refer to him by name when he conversed with regulus.)

when that year ended, and summer began, sirius didn't grant his father the gift of silence. he yelled at him too. every word orion spoke, sirius gave three in return, every hex orion performed sirius laughed at ('is that it? i've been done worse by kids my year.'). he hates him, now. he doesn't hate walburga as much, walburga stayed in her room more, she came out to scream for a few hours and went back.

he blocks that whole summer out. he hates yelling. he hates being yelled at. sirius was walburga, but worse. infinitely worse. he's so relieved when he wakes up to find sirius gone that he can barely hear walburga's shrieks, or bother trying to undo the careful expression regulus wears.

sirius visits him through walburga regardless. (how funny, at first it had been the other way around). sirius had never been one for letting go of things. he haunts orion's dreams and when he hears certain phrases he thinks of his fallen star.

tldr : orion is reminded of walburga (abuser?) when he looks at sirius and distances himself till he finds himself no longer seeing himself as a father for sirius

stuff i didn't mention : walburga uses regulus as sirius' replacement when he runs away and orion hates her for it even though he does the same , he does 100% despise sirius' muggle/gryfindor/blood traitors esque etc stand points, i just feel like that's a given though soo i didnt include it (sorry!!). he just lets walburga handle it, for the most part.

tysm for the ask @albi-bumblebee <3

[her-power]

Last Chance to Dance (Rockstar! e.m. x fem reader)

🚨🛑🔞18+++ MINORS DNI - YOU WILL BLOCKED🚨🛑🔞 TRIGGER/CONTENT WARNING (For entire series): Rockstar! Addict! Sweet! Mean! Eddie, smut, unprotected p+v, fluff, fingering (f receiving), masturbation, oral (m+f receiving), heavy drug use, descriptions of IV drug use, swearing, talks of anxiety, panic disorder, mental illness, talks of suicide

Summary: Modern Eddie + reader are early 30s. Eddie is the famous lead singer/guitarist of Corroded Coffin, who has gotten himself into legal trouble due to his antics and drug use. Eddie broke your heart many years ago and he receives a letter from you asking to meet to talk about what happened between you two so long ago. Secrets are talked about, mental walls are built and broken down. Most of this series will be in Eddie's POV. (I will also be putting song inspirations on each part 🤍)

Word Count: 5k

A/N: There will be a LOT of mentions of heavy drug use in this series. This series DOES NOT glorify the use of drugs. It is not cool, it is not fun, it is something that destroys people and everyone around them. I have loved and lost people I know to drug and alcohol use, a lot of what you read here is my own personal experience from what I have seen with my own eyes. I hope this series will spread awareness and will give anyone and everyone who reads this hope. If you or anyone you know is struggling with addiction, please know you are not alone, there is help out there.

The silence is almost deafening as I sit there in my dimly lit office, tapping my finger against the arm of the chair; the metal of my ring clinking as I stare at my therapist, Dr. Catherine Ryan, in front of me. She had a kind smile, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk today. 

“What’s bothering you?” She asks gently. 

I gaze at her, gnawing on the inside of my cheek. A stupid habit I formed when I stopped using six months ago. 

Let’s see, I’m tired of the noise inside my head that is constantly reminding me what a piece of shit I am. I’m lucky that my bandmates don’t hate my guts for the shit I put them through on tour when I was needle deep in a heroin fog and couldn’t remember the lyrics to a fucking song I wrote. My music career is only surviving because the world thinks we’re on a hiatus to write our next album when I actually did a stint in rehab and have court ordered mandatory therapy once a week. The only way I can have therapy is if she comes to my escape cabin in upstate New York and escorted in and out by a security guard. 

Oh, I also can’t stop thinking of you, the one whose heart I broke fifteen years ago back in Hawkins, Indiana because I was too scared to love or be loved. The same you who mailed me a letter that I received at my P.O. Box in Boston three days ago, that I haven’t opened yet and sits in my back pocket folded up, because I’m too much of a pussy to see what you have to say.  

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I tell her, taking a cigarette out of my pocket. I let the smoke fill my lungs and exhale the smoke away from her. 

“What do you want to talk about?” She asks, crossing her legs. I stare at her long legs, and my eyes scan up her body. She was curvy and thick, with a perfect set of tits and stunning green eyes. I almost laugh, if a beautiful woman like her was in my house six months ago, it wouldn’t take long before I’d have her bent over the back of my couch, fucking her until she couldn’t take it anymore. But I couldn’t do that anymore. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, or whatever the fuck the saying is. 

“Eddie, this is mandatory therapy. I can’t help you if you’re not willing to talk. We’ve had four sessions so far, and the only thing we have talked about is your drug habit.” She seemed annoyed, and I couldn’t blame her.

“I’m only here because of my drug habit.” 

“Is that all?” 

She was testing me, and I smile at her, leaning my elbows against my knees. “You know, I bet you are really good at helping people and are able to get your patients to sit here and cry about their shitty lives or whatever it is people tell you. But I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, you’re not gonna get it from me.” 

“You keep up a guard. Defense mechanism, it’s common in people who have been hurt before.” She says, scribbling a note down. 

I narrow my eyes. “I sense judgment in your tone, and I’m not sure I care for it.” 

“It’s not judgement, Eddie. It’s an observation. I’m observing you.” 

I sit back against my chair and scoff, lighting up another cigarette with the ember of the one I just had. I inhale deeply. “I think our session should be cut early today.” 

She closes her notebook and gives you a kind smile. “If that’s what you want.” 

“I do.” I tell her. 

I get up from my seat as she stands, walking her to the door where the security guard waited outside. I may be an asshole, but I know how to be a gentleman. Chivalry isn’t dead when your name is Eddie Munson. She nods at me as she leaves, handing me her card for the time of the next session for next week and I close the door behind her. I stub out the cigarette in the ashtray and let out a deep sigh. I plop myself on the couch, hearing the crinkle of the letter in my back pocket and I lift my hips to pull it out. I look at the neat print on the front; seeing your handwriting brought back so many memories that I had forgotten about. 

Why would you send me a letter? Is it just to tell me how happy you’ve been these last fifteen years since I’ve been gone, that you’re married with children, thriving in your thirties? 

“Well, the only way to know is if you open the letter, dipshit.” I mutter to myself. I groan, shaking my head as I rip the letter open and unfold it. It was only two pages, but you had written a lot. 

 Hey, You’re a tough guy to find, being famous and all. I didn’t think this P.O. Box was real at first, but I ended up tracking down Gareth and he told me it was real. I can’t believe he still has the phone number he’s had since high school.  I don’t know why I’m writing you a letter, I guess I could’ve just texted you, he did give me your number, but I wanted this to feel more personal. Like when I’d write you those stupid folded notes in class.  I know it’s been a long time, and you’re probably thinking I’m absolutely insane, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you lately. There are so many things that I wanna say to you. There are so many things that were left unsaid, and I guess lately it’s been bothering me. You’re probably not even going to get this, so I don’t even know why I’m continuing to write.  I don’t want you to think that I hated you or have hated you this whole time. It would be easier to hate you, believe me, I’ve tried but I physically cannot have that kind of power over me. I’m proud of you, Eddie. You worked so hard to get to where you are, and you made your dreams come true. I knew you could.  I want to tell you I’m proud of you in person; to let you know that what happened in the past stays there and we can both move forward in a way. I mean, I just told you now. I know you’re really busy and I feel stupid now. But I will be in Boston in December, the week of the 18th while my aunt is down in Florida for the week, house sitting. Gareth had mentioned you and the band were taking a hiatus to focus on the writing and doing some self reflecting. I would love to see you, especially with the holiday season. 

It’s not every day you get to see the boy you’ve known since diapers be on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine, selling out stadiums. 

Please don’t feel obligated, though. 

I suddenly forgot how to swallow, and I almost choke on my own saliva. You had written your phone number on the bottom of the last page. I swing my legs onto the floor, taking my phone off the coffee table. I scroll to my contact list, and add your name, along with your phone number. 

I pause, my hands begin to shake, and I inhale deeply. 

“No no no, not now, not now.” Grimacing, I sit back on couch, closing my eyes as my stomach turns to knots and my chest feels like it was going to explode. I can feel the sweat bead at the back of my neck as the panic attack feels like it’s choking me out and I groan. I go into the drawer of the coffee table, pulling out the lorazepam pill bottle, taking a minute to open the cap because my hands were so sweaty. I throw the pill in my mouth, swallowing it dry and breathe in through my nose. 

This happens more often now, especially since being off dope, I had to learn how to deal with them like a normal thirty-four-year-old man. It took a lot of convincing for my doctors to give me the lorazepam, but apparently threatening to go and take a hot shot of heroin to kill myself was convincing enough for them to give me the lowest dose of the stupid pill. 

I close my eyes. Thinking back to how I got here; how I could’ve lost everything because of my own stupidity, because of my inability to slow down, because I took sex, drugs, rock and roll too literally. All because I refuse to let love into my soul and hold on tight. 

One year earlier

The dressing room walls echo with the moans of myself and...I don’t even remember her name. Sarah? Shelly? It doesn’t even matter. I only see the back of her head anyway; she was very blonde. I hold onto her hips tightly, slamming my cock in and out of her. She was screaming like a porn star, and I’m pretty sure she was putting on a show. 

“Oooooh, just like that baby. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Oh goddd, you’re so fucking good.” She moans and I roll my eyes, slamming into her harder just to get her to shut up. I reach over to the coffee table to grab my tiny vile of cocaine, I pop open the cap, and pull out of her for a moment. She was still rolling her hips as I sprinkle the drugs onto her ass.

“Stop fucking moving.” I tell her, grabbing the plastic straw and snorting back the drugs into my airways. She moans again when she hears me snort another line off her, and I slam myself back into her. My head falls back in pleasure, the effects of the cocaine causing every single part of my body to pulsate, and I can feel my orgasm approaching. 

“Fuuuuck.” I moan, my rhythm getting sloppy, and she groans. 

“Cum inside me baby, cum inside me.” She moans and I immediately feel myself go soft. Fuck this. I stop moving and slide myself out of her, she turns to look at me, her mouth opened in a gasp. “Why did you stop?”

I take a cigarette out of my pack and light it. “Get out.” 

“What?” She snaps. 

“Get your shit and get the fuck out of my dressing room. Telling me to cum inside you, I know what you’re doing.” I take her dress off the floor and throw it at her. Her eyes narrow and she gets up from the couch, throwing the dress over her head. 

“You weren’t even that good, fucking junkie!” She yells at me, and I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lungs. She looked like a cartoon character. Her eyes wild, her hair a wild mess, her fake tits bouncing as she storms out of the room. I lean back on the couch, a little mad that I didn’t cum, but whatever, that’s what my hand is for. I don’t know why I invite these women back to my dressing room after every show. Most of the time, these women don’t even know the words to our songs, they just want to be able to tell their friends they fucked a rockstar.  I sigh, opening the vile and do another bump. I’m one hundred percent in love with heroin, but I’m an addict. Cocaine just takes the edge off when I need it to. I tie my hair back in a low bun, blowing my bangs out of my face. I stand, catching a glimpse of myself in the fluorescent lit vanity mirror. The lighting made me look terrible; I was thinner than normal. The ram skull tattoo across my abdomen looked discolored, but I know it was just the way the light was hitting it. I was losing muscle mass in both of my arms, but since tattoo sleeves covered both my arms, no one could notice. No one knew how bad it was getting with the dope; I honestly preferred to suffer in silence about it, but I knew they noticed. I would feel Gareth’s eyes burn into the back of my skull whenever I would escape to go into a bathroom, or immediately go into my hotel room to get started on my new supply. I felt terrible keeping it from him, he was my brother, my bandmate, but he didn’t need to worry. I was fine, at least that’s what I told myself. 

We had awhile before we hit the next city of the tour. The tour bus felt too crowded, too stuffy. We all decided it would make sense to hide out in a hotel for a few days before we got to Atlanta.  I requested my own room of course, the supply I just bought felt like it was burning a hole in my pocket. Isn’t that what they say about money? 

Money meant nothing to me; if I lost it all tomorrow, I wouldn’t care. That’s the beauty of this drug, you don’t have a care in the world once that shot courses through your veins. 

I lock the door to my room after saying goodnight and head into the bathroom. I pull my shirt over my head and undo the belt from my jeans. I set everything up on the table: fresh needle, the drugs, and water bottle cap.  It doesn’t take long for me to pull the dope into the syringe, at this point it’s like riding a bike for me. I sit on the floor against the bathtub, I wrap the belt around my left arm, pulling it tight with my teeth and clench my fist. I see the most perfect vein pop up in the bend of my arm; I have to be careful though, I can’t go to the same spot twice or else I’ll blow up my veins and then more people will notice.  I’ve always hated needles, isn’t that ironic? I’m thinking that as the tip of it pinches my skin and my thumb is on the trigger, slowly pushing it down.

“A spoon full of sugar makes the medicine go down…” I sing softly, feeling the sweet burn of the heroin flow like a tsunami in my veins. My eyes flutter close as the most beautiful feeling overcomes me; my head lulls back against the porcelain and I feel a smile grace my lips. 

A loud knock at my door startles me out of my high, and I’m pissed. 

“Hang on a second.” I mutter and awkwardly pull myself up, undoing the belt from my arm. I place the cap on the needle and toss it behind the doors under the sink. 

Knock knock knock knock knock

I toss my sweatshirt over my head, putting a cigarette to my lips. “Yeah, I hear you! Fuck, I’m coming.” 

I open the door to find Gareth standing there with his arms crossed, I light the cigarette and wave my hand, tilting my head at him. “Yeah?” 

“What are you doing?” He asks me. 

“What do you mean what am I doing? I’m not doing anything.” I inhale on the cigarette, and he continues to stare at me. If there was a God, I thank him for giving me brown eyes, because at least he wouldn’t be able to see how my pupils look like pinholes. “Do you wanna come in?” 

I move to the side, and he walks by me, I shut the door, locking it. 

“Do you want a beer or anything?” I ask him, going into the mini fridge, pulling out two, I could feel myself about to nod, but I quickly stand up, clearing my throat so I can at least look like I’m not fucked up. 

“No, I’m fine.” His eyes scan every inch of my room, the floor where my clothes were, Sweetheart laying on the foot of my bed. My necklace I always wore with the red guitar pick laid on the nightstand by the bed. I always take it off before I shoot up, I don’t know why, I think something is going to happen to it if I don’t, it means a lot to me. His eyes fix on my belt on the bathroom floor, he doesn’t say anything, but I know what he’s thinking. 

“Gareth, if you got something to say, man, just say it.” I tell him, leaning against the small table, I ash my cigarette into a coca cola can. 

He turns to me; he was still blessed with a baby face that I remember from school. “How bad is it getting?” He almost whispers.

“How bad is what getting?” 

“The drugs, man. Come on dude, I know you’re not stupid.” He sits across from me on the foot of the bed, gently moving Sweetheart over. 

I sigh. “Gareth, I’m fine. It’s not getting bad.”

He puts his head down, shaking his head. “Don’t fucking bull shit me, Eddie. I’ve known you for almost two decades. Have you even looked at yourself lately?”

I close my eyes, feeling a wave of anxiety hit my lower gut, and I force it to go away by not caring. “Don’t worry about me, man. I’m serious.”

“Of course, I’m gonna fucking worry!” He stands up, his face full of rage. “If you fuck up this tour, our entire music career is in the gutter! How many times have I had to bail you out when you’ve been coming down from a cocaine binge and are late to rehearsal? How many goddamn times have I had to convince cops not to arrest you when you’re inebriated beyond belief. It’s getting fucking old, man.” He towers over my 6-foot frame and again, I start laughing. 

His eyes widen. “Are you seriously laughing right now? 

“Yeah.” I chuckle. “I am, because it’s funny how you think I’m gonna be the one who’s gonna fuck up this tour. I built this band from the ground up, nothing and no one is gonna fuck that up.”

“Oh fuck you, dude!” He yells at me. “You built this? What happened to you saying this entire band was built on friendship, loyalty and fucking friends who play nerdy games? What happened to that Eddie?” 

“Dead.” I give him a sideways smile. “Dead dead dead.” 

He looks at me incredulous. “Wow. You’re an actual nightmare.” 

“You’re the one who decided to knock on my door.” I place the cigarette in the can, hearing it sizzle out. I cross my arms over my chest, already itching for another shot. “Anything else?” 

He scoffs, walking towards the door and stepping out. “No. Have a good night, Eddie.” 

“Yeah, you too!” I scream at his back as I shut the door, locking all the locks and kicking the bottom of it. Suddenly, the chair near the table gets a boot from me, followed by the lamp, the paintings on the walls. I smash the beer bottles against the windows, and when I’m finally spent, I collapse on the bathroom floor, digging out the needle. I’ll leave the hotel a couple hundred dollars to pay for whatever I damaged; I’ll hopefully remember to clean up tomorrow.

I’m pretty sure I put too much in it this time, because I’m riding something wild right now. My eyes are half lidded, my breathing is slow but it’s such a peaceful feeling.

“Makes the medicine go down…medicine go down…”

The beginning of that year was when shit started going downhill fast for me. Once I had gotten my panic attack under control, and I felt calmer, I sent you a text message, realizing that tomorrow was the 18th. I typed up, deleted, typed up, deleted, about six different times before finally sending you: Hey stranger, it’s Eddie. Pretty wild to hear from you. I’m currently up in my cabin in upstate NY, but if you are gonna be in Boston. I can make the trip. It would actually be awesome to see you. Hope you are well. 

I forgot how nervous you made me, even back then. You were such a kind, beautiful soul, who loved me and took care of me when I didn’t deserve it. I was so nervous all the time because I really loved you too, but I couldn’t…wouldn’t let myself feel it. You were the only woman in my life that knew me, and actually saw me. You were my best friend, always my partner in group activities in elementary school. It was us against the world the minute I kissed you for the first time when we were eighteen, and then it ended with me, burying my head in the sand, because I’m a fucking idiot. 

My phone dings and I see your name pop up.  Hey!!! Wow, your own cabin huh? Are you a mountain man or something this winter season? I’m sorry if my letter was all over the place, I really should’ve just texted you but, whatever. Here we are now. Yes! Let’s meet, I can give you a spot to meet for coffee? Unless you just want my aunt’s address, I don’t know how Boston is when it comes to famous people. 

I type up a message: Boston is one of those cities that is wild to play on stage in front of, but the people don’t give a fuck if you’re famous. Which is why I bought a condo there, I can live out some downtime in peace. Coffee sounds great. Just let me know a time when you are settled. 

You quickly respond: Ha! Boston is pretty rad. I’m already here, I got here a day early. I know you got a pretty long drive so we can meet the day after tomorrow if you’d like? Say around 10?

I type up that that time and date worked for me and begin packing a small suitcase to take with me on the trip. 

I honestly felt like I was dreaming all this; I get sober, you, a woman that was literally the one that got away because of my own fucking deep-rooted issues, comes back into my life and wants to see me? I feel like I’m living the Notebook. Except, the rated R version where Ryan Gosling is an ex-junkie, who doesn’t build houses, or used to blow cocaine off a woman’s asshole. 

I groan, I already know I’m gonna fuck this up again. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The coffee shop you chose was a place I’ve never been before, it seemed newer, and no one batted an eye when I walked in. I take off my sunglasses and scan the place. It was quaint, quiet, with rustic undertones but mostly modern. 

“Eddie?”

My eyes immediately fix on you, sitting in the back booth by a small window, and I feel my heart flutter down to my stomach. God, you were stunning. Your eyes still shone that sparkle in them, your smile was just as adorable as I remembered, especially the dimples in your cheeks. I whisper your name and find myself quickly walking towards you. You wrap your arms around my shoulders, and I let out a deep sigh, almost lifting you off your feet, as I hug the curves of your waist, burying my face into your shoulder. We stay like that for a while, you giggle into my chest, telling me you couldn’t believe it was me and that I was here. I didn’t want to let go, but I knew I had to. We pull away and you are still smiling, looking into my eyes, you lift your hand to gently curl your fingers into my hair and I smile at you. 

“I love that you still kept this hair.” You say, shaking your head, looking like you’re still trying to process that I’m standing in front of you. 

I gently cup your face, swallowing hard, studying you. You turn your cheek into my hand, and I slowly remove it. You nod for me to sit, and I scoot over into the booth, peeling off my leather jacket. I still stare at your face; I couldn’t believe you were real. The server comes over to take our coffee order, I get mine hot with triple espresso and a shot of caramel, and you get an iced coffee with a shot of vanilla and almond milk. I smile, you’ve kept the same order since you started drinking coffee. 

Your eyes fix on mine, and I smile at you, sipping my coffee. “You haven’t changed.” I tell you softly. 

“My back will have to disagree with you.” You laugh, spinning the straw with your finger. “You haven’t either, aside from more tattoos.” 

I smile; remembering that you were there for most of my smaller ones. I had convinced you back then to get a large tattoo that started from under your breast, all the way down to the top of your hip; that was always my favorite part of you to taste. I cross my legs, feeling a tingle in my lower belly. Fucking pervert. 

I notice a few finger tattoos on your right hand, and I nod to them. 

“I told you they were addicting.” I laugh. “How many do you have now?” 

You laugh, a sound so beautiful to my ears, I want to cry. “Sixteen? Seventeen?”

My eyes widen and I laugh. “No way! Let me see.” 

You meet my eyes, your face turning crimson. Of course, there were hidden ones, I immediately feel like I overstepped and go to apologize when you speak. “It’s a lot of random ones, all over. I added some stuff to the rib piece.” That one you show me, you lift up your sweater, and I feel my dick twitch. 

Pervert. Dirty pervert. It’s been fifteen years, put your dick away. 

The cluster of wildflowers that started from your ribs to your hip had added roses to different spots they ended up entwining into a beautiful ivy vine, before falling off towards your back. I notice the bottom of a small piece on your sternum, and you pull your sweater back down. 

“That’s beautiful.” I tell her, smiling. “What have you been doing these last fifteen years?” 

“Well, I moved out of Hawkins.” I smile at that, she always wanted to leave that place. “I moved to Maine, I bought myself my own little cabin in the woods. I’m a nurse at the local hospital there.” 

My heart practically bursts with pride, and I laugh. “See? You don’t have to be famous to have your own cabin. That’s wonderful, I know that was always a dream of yours, becoming a nurse.”

“Yeah, it’s fulfilling. Heartbreaking 99% of the time but fulfilling.” Your eyes fix on mine again, and we just share comfortable silence as we stare at one another. 

“Your eyes are sad.” You say suddenly. 

“What?” I snap myself back down to my reality; it was easy to get lost in your eyes. 

“You look like you’ve been through hell and back again. Sorry for being blunt, I’m just sorry for whatever is bothering you.” Your eyes show me that same familiar kindness, and I smile awkwardly at you.  

“I’m okay.” I tell you, only half lying. 

You place your hand over my ringed fingers, gently entwining them. I stare at our hands, and gaze back into your eyes. “What am I doing here?” I whisper to you. I can feel my heart do another back flip, and my brain screams at me to get up and run because I can still feel your love. 

Your fingers gently move over the bumps on my rings, and your eyes dart to mine. You spot the small silver chain around my neck, half tucked in my shirt, and you lift your hand to gently pull out the red guitar pick. You finger the plastic and smile. “Wow. You kept this all these years.” 

“Of course, I did. I never take it off.” Except when I used to shoot dope, but that’s beside the point. I swallow the lump in my throat. “Sweetheart, why am I here?” 

You sigh, giving me a sad smile. “Would it be weird if I said that I really fucking miss you? And for the last fifteen years, I haven’tstopped thinking about you.” 

Heart exploding. 

My breath hitches and my eyes widen slightly. “But…I hurt you…and I left—"

“I know, I know you did, but” you take my hand again. “Eddie, we were best friends. Since before we could even say those words. You were so important to me. You’re still important to me. How could we throw that away?” 

I stare at you, reading your face, gazing at the shape of your mouth, the way your hair falls in waves, the curves of your breasts. I squeeze my eyes shut, pulling my hand away from yours. “You wouldn’t think that anymore once you know what I’ve done, who I’ve become.” 

“Then tell me.” You say softly, your eyes dart from my lips, to my eyes. I stare at your lips, remembering how perfectly they fit against mine, how soft they were. How eager you would be when your tongue would slip into my mouth, deepening the kiss, your soft moans vibrating against my mouth as I carefully push myself inside you. 

I meet your eyes; you’re waiting for me to say something. I shake my head, running my hands over my hair. I sigh. “How long you got?” 

You look at your wrist at a fake watch. “About a week.” I laugh and lean back in my seat, sipping my coffee. 

Yeah, I missed you too. 

*~*~*~*~*~*

Special shout out to: @trixyvixx @originalstar1 @iggyizalien @themorticians-world

& so many of you who supported my last series.

I wouldn’t continue writing if it weren’t for you guys giving me the motivation to do it. Love you all!