#i like to sort random stuff into small piles and then put them in their place

[objuct]

my patreon suggestion thread

Since I'm gonna closeout my patreon, I wanted to take my suggestions thread and make it public for other CC creators to look over and consider for stuff to make! Some of this stuff has already been made by now but it would definitely be cool to see the rest. (i'm copy pasting each of these comments, thus weird wording possibly and repetition)

there's a lot of good ideas here and i'd hate for them to just be thanos snapped out of existence

I would be happy about proper gaiters or different types of bridles. the same about ultra long manes.

Dressage poses would be lovely!

Idk if that's possible, but maybe try to override the barrels with orange cones to make it a little less western?

Riding boots and spurs! Bridles, boots/bandages for horses, breastplates

Saddle-shaped numnahs (and just more numnahs in general)

Bridle racks with/without bridles

Halters (hung up, as acessories, different colours, with/without wool covers etc etc)

Saddle wall racks

Equine first aid box?

Feed and water buckets (large and small - the flexible tub ones that are mostly used nowadays)

Black feed bins

Wall salt licks

Filled hay nets (floor and wall option)

Turnout rugs and stable rugs, but hung up (I've currently just upsized the dressing gowns lol)

High-vis accessories

Hung-up high vis sim jackets?

Sim ankle riding boots

Feed supplement tubs (turmeric, garlic, etc) as decor and in simlish

I think barn clutter would be great, we got like three barn clutter items in the pack haha. I'm hoping to see other mane and tail styles and more CAS items showing up soon too!

Could you make an Australian Stock Saddle

maybe more saddle textures, and hitching posts

rugs/turnout blankets

helmet that doesn't remove hair

different style jumps

decor objects for goats like the platforms they would play on irl and low watering troughs. They gave us nothing for them :/

English riding clothes for show and practice

better polo wraps and sport boots

salt lick in a feed tub on the ground for out in the pasture

different functional horse ball toys

saddle and pad racks for the wall of a few different saddle styles

more standing saddle racks of different saddle styles

bridle rack

functional hay and water troughs in more modern styles

stacks of buckets

manure pile

items you'd find in a wash stall

more styles for mane and tail (a proper running braid for show would be nice)

more horse-obsessed BB and CAS for toddlers and children

Hairstyles, new English saddles (nice dressage and jumping saddles), saddle pads, track points, a slider to adjust the size of the horse would be cool too

random coat colors for foals and not looking exactly like their parents. I have no idea how you would fix this but it is my biggest annoyance in this game!

dressage saddles! new saddle pads!

realistic manes or turnout stuff

I love everything Western! I would love a few free-hanging western saddles/ bridles and also a saddle pad rack with only western pads! Maybe a few sponges/flyspray/shampoo bottles.

Perhaps leg wraps and english saddle pads that are matching? Like Lemieux and the sorts. Hanging horse blankets / horse racks that hold blankets. Vet objects, like syringes, creams, vetwraps and little objects for a first aid kit :)

please make a stable rug/ turn out rug/ riding rug :D

I though of something while i was sitting here building a jumping course. A little pile with poles neatly put together to place outside the arena on the ground for some esthetic purposes

I would love another short tail! :)

Ah and maybe those silly little horse mustaches lolol? :,D

Girth holders on walls, hanging rugs, bridle holders. Saddle soap / spray, conditioner :)

Maybe a halter for foals?

i know ive said this before but bridle hangers and saddle holders & maybe maxis match hay stacks so we don't have to pile it up ourselves with the debug hay bale and maybe more different swatches for the hay rug from the ranch pack? bc thats only 2 in 2 different colors

Stall doors please!

Western / Red Dead Redemption inspired tack and saddles

bell boots would be amazing!, and barn clutter, like helmets, gloves, english tall riding boots.

I'd love to see some foal accseries if you could figure that out, other then that rop halters are sorely lacking

I'd love to see a breastplate for the saddle and a double reined bridle

[accidentalkilljoys]

Pill-taking poll followup

#is this outrage bait #are we having a 'it never occurred to me someone would take 12 pills in one gulp because I can't do that' moment #or a 'I'm perfectly aware people take 10+ pills at once I just want attention and I don't care how I get it' moment

It’s not outrage bait, I swear! It honestly did not occur to me that, faced with a handful of small things of various sizes, shapes, and colors, tumblr users would NOT immediately sort them. (I personally take five in the morning, which I put in a little pile next to my cereal bowl, and then sneak them into my mouth between bites, largest first, like I’m tricking a dog.) 

I was not expecting over 50,000 responses to this poll. I have fewer than 100 followers, and that’s including the pornbots. But the notes are fascinating to read! 

“All at once,” or as one person called it, “the cursed jello shot,” was by far the most popular response, despite my forgetting to put it as a poll option. [The following quotes are all by different people.] 

Didn't realize there were other methods besides chaos #SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS #i slam them all back at once to take advantage of my powerful throat #i take pills with the same energy ppl in movies put their broken bone back in place #I will just shove them all in my mouth at the same time and hope I don’t die #<- YOU GOTTA SHOT GUN THEM BACK LIKE A CHEEP BEER #those mfs get gulped as a team #Genuinely I just chuck them all at once down my throat hole #i take my pills like a fucking whale shark ok!? #i gobble them up all at once like im a starving horse eating delicious gruel from the palm of a cowboy's (my own) hand. #all at once and I look like an owl eating a rat I unhinge my jaw, stuff them all in my mouth at once, then slam a big glass of water #all at once bby #all in one go baby #ALL AT ONCE BAYBE #ALL AT ONCE BABEY #Three at once baybee i am unstoppable #all at once babeeee

(There were also some people who were very judgy about people who can’t do the cursed jello shot, whose thoughts I am choosing not to reproduce here.) 

I am amazed at how many pills you all are taking at once. 

YES I usual to take 7 pills at once just to save time like a fucking animal #all at once #even if I have like 8 and they're huge #i take 9 pills at once about twice a day I take about 10 pills. I take them all at once. #i take 11 in the morning all at once including two large ones #i take 12 pills every morning and 7 at night and my family hates it but i just knock em back #i take them all at once #granted i take like 13 pills at once every night sometimes more #i take 15 pills every morning and i just swallow them all at once #i learned to take all 17 at once #i can swallow upwards of twenty pills at a time #i can easily swallow like 20-30 pills at a time

There were also a couple of notes from people who USED TO do the cursed jello shot but don’t anymore because they choked or, in one case, misfired and spent the day with a Claritin in their cleavage. 

Other things that didn’t occur to me: pills that dissolve under your tongue; people who use feeding tubes; the options of “in order from least tasty to most tasty;” random order; texture order; order in which they were prescribed; “whatever I grab first;” “all at once except the fish oil which is unreasonably large;’ order of how easy it is to swallow; in order of buoyancy because some pills float; by shape; “I only take one pill at once;” “top to bottom of my body so head pills first birth control last.” 

#i dont take any pills reglarly but secret 5th option had me think of someone fucking plinko-ing their pills

In conclusion: I’m glad we’re all doing what we need to do to survive and thrive. I’ll be over here with my cereal bowl. Thank you for participating in the poll. 

[sabo-has-my-heart]

IMW Ch. 11 You Make Me Happy

The next chapter in the Isekai'd to the Modern World Series that I've been meaning to get out for months! Seriously, since like April/May. For those of who have been enjoying the series, or at least looking forward to the next chapter, I hope you enjoy this one as well.

Warnings: light angst,

Word Count: 1160

     Unpacking the last box, Ace quickly tore the cardboard box apart and tossed it into a pile of destroyed cardboard. You’d told him to break the boxes down once he unpacked them. Okay, this probably wasn’t what you had meant, but they were broken, they could be ‘recycled’ and the stuff was unpacked, what did it matter how he did it? He hadn’t had a whole lot of fights since he’d absolutely destroyed those three guys in one night, meaning that he had a lot of free time while the underground fights tried to figure out what to pit him up against next. Though it honestly made him chuckle. Nothing this world could throw at him would compare to going up against Pops. The strongest man alive and he’d gotten the man to take him seriously. He highly doubted these guys he was fighting could throw him through a solid wood wall. Meaning that he really wasn’t concerned. Besides, he was making them good money so far. 

     People here kept underestimating him, though he’d started using that to his advantage. These last couple of fights, he’d been making small ‘mistakes’ here and there, letting himself get ‘hit’. Just enough that people would bet against him, meaning that when he ‘miraculously won’, the people running the fights got the money they wanted. With each fight he ‘improved’ just enough to make things look realistic. In reality, it was all just a facade. The ‘hits’ that he sustained barely even bruised, the young man pulling back just enough to not take the full brunt of the hit while still making it look like he’d taken a punch. The ‘mistakes’ he’d made, purposefully left him open to an attack, allowing his opponent to attempt a swing at him. He was still keeping up his end of the bargain with you. He wasn’t throwing fights, he wasn’t taking bribes, and he hadn’t sustained any serious injuries. Technically he didn’t even count the light bruising as a real injury, but you still fretted over him. 

     In his free time between studying, fights, learning about your world, and, in the last 2 weeks, unpacking, he kept up on his fighting skills. Heading to the gym in the underground fighting building to make sure he wasn’t getting rusty. Was a punching bag a great training tool? Not really, but nobody could really match him in a fight so he didn’t have anybody he could spar with. Fuck, he missed the crew. Fighting against Thatch and Marco, training his abilities on random islands; Marco wouldn’t let him train his devil fruit powers on the Moby Dick after he’d started a rather large fire. Laughing as he helped train new recruits to learn haki. He was a logia type, they couldn’t hit him without it, so while their punches might still be weak, if they managed to land a blow, it meant they were improving. Vaguely he wondered if Luffy had learned any haki yet. The boy had shown some conquerors haki at Marineford, had he learned anything about using it yet? Even the slightest thing would give his little brother the edge. 

     Picking up some of the things he’d unpacked, he started putting them where you’d directed him earlier, smirking when he set the last book on the shelf. He hadn’t touched your room, but this meant that the rest of the apartment was now unpacked. Hopefully it would make your life easier. You were still doing so much for him, studying hard to keep the apartment while helping him save up money. He’d suggested putting it towards schooling like you were doing, afterall, you did say he’d need some sort of education, but you’d just shaken your head. Apparently he needed documentation for college too. Was there anything in this damned world that he didn’t need documentation for?! Legal jobs, college, a bank account, a ‘drivers license’, out of country travel, renting an apartment on his own, owning property, marriage, ‘insurance’, fucking everything! 

     Grabbing some of the boxes, he stomped out of the apartment to get rid of the boxes. Things were unnecessarily complicated in your world and it irritated the fuck out of him. He needed to get back to his world so he wouldn’t have to deal with this shit anymore! That thought suddenly brought him back to the real world. Back to his world… back to Pops, Marco, and the others; back to Luffy, back to a world that hated him on principle. Back to a world without you. There were so many things he loved about his home, so many things he missed, so why did the thought of leaving hurt so much? Why did his heart clench so badly? Running a hand through his hair, he leaned against the door as soon as he’d closed it. The longer he was here, the more the idea of leaving seemed to hurt, he didn’t understand it. 

     Slowly heading to his room, he looked at the pile of books. He wasn’t in the mood to study right now; he wasn’t in the mood to do anything right now. Pulling his knees close, he wrapped his arms around his legs. Something in his chest ached, something inside of him hurt so badly. He hadn’t cried since he’d lost Sabo, yet right now, it’s all he wanted to do. Torn between the two worlds, his heart stabbed over and over, and a feeling of hopelessness filling every cell in his body, he let himself cry. In the privacy of his own room, he let the silent tears soak into his shorts. No matter what happened, whether he was able to return or not, whether he chose to return or not, his heart would ache as he lost somebody close to him. 

     It had only been a few months, yet he already cared for you, he didn’t want to lose you, but you had family and responsibilities here. His brother and the crew would understand if he stayed, they’d smile and wish him luck, they’d want nothing more than his happiness and maybe, just maybe, a letter if he found a way to send one. Luffy had understood when he’d left to become a pirate, the crew knew that people came and went as life took them in various directions, all any of them ever wanted was his happiness; but the thought of never seeing them again tore at his very being. He didn’t know how long he sat there and cried, only that he’d run out of tears by the time he heard the front door open. You were home and while his heart still ached at the prospect of choosing, knowing you were back brought a comforting warmth to him. Wiping away his tears, he stood up, he could really use to talk to you right now, to be around you right now, for no other reason than because you made him happy.

[neonponders]

Eddie knew the exact moment that things were officially too far with Chrissy Cunningham.

Because beforehand, minor exchanges (drug deals, call ‘em what they are) lasted five minutes. Often his clients didn’t even need to come inside the double-wide trailer. In fact, he preferred they didn’t. It was a good practice, keeping work out of the house. The only people he had over were the rare friend and hookups, and even the latter were only an hour tops.

So Eddie never bothered cleaning up the place.

The first exchange with Chrissy Freaking Cunningham was bizarre for both of them. She wanted something strong enough to warrant a silly euphemism like Special K, and she trembled in his living room while he had to find the damn stuff. Like a first tattoo, he expected her to bail any second, and might’ve taken longer than necessary to find it because he expected to walk out of his room to find the place empty.

To her credit, Cunningham had some spine. Not enough for Eddie to actually sell her Special K - no one but real dealers knew the difference between powdered sugar and hard drugs. If she somehow managed to find the bravery to snort it, the blast of sugar would scare her enough without hurting her -

Chrissy returned it.

Eddie couldn’t believe it.

“I-I-Um,” she fumbled, holding the little baggie out to him when he found her again at the picnic table in the woods. She took a gathering breath and said firmly, “I wanted to give this back to you. I figured...Special K is kind of a high diving board.”

“Yeah,” he smiled softly. Honestly impressed. Chrissy had a unique sort of bravery that the rest of the Hawkins sheep wouldn’t appreciate. “Listen, I don’t have your cash on me at the moment. But if you want to consider it a deposit, I can be your revolving door for some good, old fashioned kush. Whenever you need.”

Her narrow shoulders hitched up, shy and bashful. “Like right now?”

Eddie’s rings tapped a melody on his black lunchbox. “It would be my pleasure, Mistress Cunningham.”

“Oh my gosh,” she laughed. “Just don’t laugh at me.”

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t really get the chance to. Cunningham held her smoke well. She took a little hit from the joint he sealed for her, held onto it with small, rocking motions of her head. Like she was counting to ten. And then exhaled in a rush, “Woah.”

He inhaled a bigger hit and smiled dreamily. “Comfy diving board?”

For a moment, she just stared at him. Like she had forgotten he was there, or it was finally landing that she was getting high with Eddie the Freak Munson.

Then her eyes practically shut with how big her smile consumed her face. “Yeah. I can do this much.”

And then she became a regular...something. Client. Friend.

No, not friend. He didn’t even clean up for friends, so why the shit was he sneaking things into drawers when Chrissy wasn’t looking? He was halfway through vacuuming the living room before he realized what he was doing.

Chrissy isn’t a fool. She notices when Eddie throws dirty dishes into the freezer as if she won’t hear the commotion. She begins doing little things to help clean up the place.

But not too much. She learned that lesson with her little brother. Jason was an anomaly in how his military veteran father ingrained cleanliness in him; so much so that he didn’t like Chrissy to clean anything at all. It sometimes felt like she wasn’t allowed in his space. Or...that he didn’t have space to begin with. Space that meant lived in. His car still smelled new after years of basketball away games.

Eddie’s spaces were very lived in. His old van might not drive smoothly, but Eddie drove well, and it was filled with spare clothes, musical stuff, and even snacks.

His bedroom was admittedly a travesty. But it was his, and it was bursting with personality. When they finally...progressed into it somehow making sense that she would sit in his room instead of the living room, he had to throw a pile of clothes and random things onto the bed for her to access the futon couch.

At least that put the bed out of commission. Literally out of sight and out of mind with everything he had to put on it to make room.

But he made room. And soon he figured out organization and storage. Eventually Chrissy felt confident to tease him, “Oh my gosh, you actually put away your condoms and hand cuffs.”

Eddie laughed a bit too loudly as he played with his hair. She smiled because she loved that nervous habit. “Oh, those! You noticed?”

She nodded gently. “I wasn’t sure if you were trying to scare me off, but then I began to wonder if you just forget about them. Do you know that condoms expire?”

Eddie sputtered, “That’s not an issue,” and then realized, “I mean. Yikes. That sounded incredibly douchy.”

“I’m a cheerleader, remember? Our parents might’ve forgotten that teenagers sleep together, but it’s only douchy when you’re a douche about it.”

He absorbed all that with a gape on his face but he recovered with a rocking of his body. Eddie did that a lot; move his whole body with whatever he was feeling. It was nice. Honest. “Duly noted, highness.”

“God, I told you to stop that!” she grinned.

“And I told you, that your golden knight is going to totally blow his lid if and when he finally gets wise to you hanging out with me instead of his...what do you even do together? What him condition his hair?”

“I thought that’s what I was here tonight for,” she tossed back.

He flicked his hair off his shoulders. “I have curly hair. We’re not the same. I have needs.”

She laughed and followed him into the small bathroom. “And you’re still okay with me trimming your hair?”

He rotated in front of the vanity, double over enough to be more level with her. “I guarantee that any mistakes will be our little secret...so long as they stay little. My hair contains multitudes of secrets.”

She didn’t feel the need to respond while he found the scissors, a comb, and a lobster hair clip. That was nice too. Eddie made noise but quiet had its own place with him as he continued, “But at a certain point, even I can’t hide the brambles in this lion’s mane. A trim will soften me up again. Now, you said you’ve done this before?”

“I cut mine and my brother’s hair all the time,” she promised. “And the girls’ on the cheer squad. Half of them pay to have hair like yours.”

“And don’t you forget it,” he smirked, handing her the handles of the scissors.

Without further ado, she said, “You’re gonna want to put a towel around your shoulders.”

He did, flipping his hair out from underneath -

Chrissy used the lobster clip to hold the towel in place. Eddie peered down at it and wondered, “Doesn’t that go in my - ”

“Nope.”

The air audibly caught in his throat before he shut his mouth and let her do her thing. She smiled to herself and used the comb to carefully section his hair. As she moved with tiny steps around him sitting on the toilet, he apologized, “Sorry it’s not exactly a salon.”

“Neither is a girls’ locker room. Or the bus. Or the carpool vans.”

“Oh, so this is a step up,” he chimed.

She smiled. “Yeah, definitely.”

He chuckled, moving his tongue inside his cheek. Her smile faded into something soft. She liked his sound when it was deep in his chest.

“It doesn’t happen often. Me, being a step up, I mean.”

Chrissy inhaled before she knew what to say. She didn’t want him to think lowly of himself, but also didn’t quite feel like she had the right to...to...she wasn’t even sure of how to finish that sentence.

So she replied, “There’s nothing quite like having to cover up the damage made from a speed bump - Careful!”

Eddie laughed and laughed. “Is that why Mary Connelly suddenly had a hair chop?”

“Yeah! Thankfully she liked the bob because nothing else was fixing it.”

He gasped theatrically and tapped his fingertips together. “What delicious gossip. Give me more. What can I use?”

But it was a bubble that had to burst some time.

Chrissy didn’t come over for a week. Eddie was slow on gossip, seeing as his sources were limited, but the sheep loved to bahhh...

Chrissy Cunningham broke up with Jason Carver.

Eddie felt torn between the overall news, as well as Jason’s openness about who broke up with who.

He found her at their picnic table. She slouched over the wooden panels, chin resting on her stacked fists. Her eyes moved to the noise of his lunchbox, but drift back to neutral. “Hi, Eddie.”

He sighed. There was no point in talking about it. That’s all Hawkins High was doing at the moment, talking about it.

“I’ve got strawberries or our usual.”

Her brows pinched together. “What are strawberries?”

His mouth curved on its own as he watched her. When his silence made her finally look up, he said, “Fruit. Just fruit.”

“Oh.” A little huff of mirth came out of her nose, and she sat up. “I’ll take strawberries.”

[rrcenic]

okay so rant time. there are so many moments filled with shame as an adhd person. i often lose energy or motivation, especially when cleaning, so i tend to take advantage of the manic bursts i get to clean as much of my room as possible. this leaves clean open areas, but also piles of random trinkets, clothes, boxes, and empty bags in the corners and crevices of my room.

and i mean. of COURSE i haven’t been cleaning enough. on top of the ADHD, ive had a summer with lots of amazing traveling and lots of awful short mental health scares. i’ve been pretty damn tired.

i try so so hard to keep it neat and open but i do fail. a lot. and i rarely get recognition for when i do succeed (we hadn’t changed the sheets on my bed for over a month. my parents usually remind me to change them or do it for me. i assumed they wanted me to do it myself. so i changed them all yesterday and brought them down and all i got was my mom stripping the new blankets off my bed because that’s my aunts blanket that she keeps here and what was i thinking to not just ask for help changing the sheets. i’m 14. i thought the point was that i should be doing it myself.)

my family has like 4 house phones. not super fancy, no screen or anything, but before i got my cell phone, they were what i used to call my cousin or my friends.

two of them were missing. my dad, who had a LOT of control issues (he banned paint from our house for several years because of small spills, he gets angry and aggressive when we put the silverware on the wrong side of the plates, he likes legos and for years wouldn’t let us touch them or play with them because we’d “destroy them”, etc.) and yet has never gone to any therapy (my mother, sister, and i all do, he has the resources to do so, he himself is a doctor and is an advocate for mental health, but he gets triggered and defensive when we ask him to seek any help of his own), came upstairs to shout at my sister and i to find them

now, here’s the thing. i was pretty sure they were in my room, so i started digging through my corners. however, im currently in awful pain from my period cramps, and was quickly distracted by pain and some things i found while cleaning. eventually, i looked through and didn’t see them.

i tell my dad. he says to keep looking. i ask him for help.

he comes upstairs and immediately pushes my bed away from the wall, rips my blankets up, digs through the cracks, and throws wrappers and paper and tissues at me. the floor id just managed to clean yesterday was a mess again. it’s stuffy and overstimulating. he makes me dig through every pile, even after he finds the phones and chides me for missing them.

it’s now a total mess. my floor is covered in random shit and my desk has been swept to the ground. and my dad leaves.

i’ve been spending the last 45 minutes panicking and sorting way too much stuff for my brain to handle.

rooms pretty clean now. it’s kinda nice. but it would have been so much better with help and kindness instead of shame for my inability to keep things clean. i already get so mad at myself for it and it’s so awful when others make it worse.

anyways i’m so sorry for the rant just not feeling great and needed to get it out.

[audiovisualrecall]

So my 3 drawer dresser kind of works - the top 2 drawers I actively use, I almost always fold and put away anything that belongs in those drawers. The bottom most drawer is sort of a mix? It's got bathing suits, rash guards, some sweaters, and some random stuff like older socks I don't love but want to hold onto in case I need them (has happened before!) Sweaters have 3 or 4 different 'homes' in my room and hardly ever get put back particularly if they're something I'm using frequently or might use. This includes inside and on top of a fabric storage bin, over the top of multiple chairs in the dining room, as well as inside the drawer, inside on a shelf in my closet, and inside a fabric storage bag at the foot of my bed. Multiple types of sweaters. Oh plus I have a top drawer in my 2nd dresser for the pullovers, which has been 90% empty since October. Instead all of the pullovers are on top of my smaller dresser. Which also houses my undershirts/tanktops, jeans, and any and all clothing that needs to be hung up that I haven't had the energy or time to hang up and out away and/or that I've been actively likely to use in the next few days so hasn't made sense in terms of using energy I don't have to put some of it away but also the mess is driving me nuts. Also two shortsleeve polo shirts that I'm not sure where to store bc they won't fit in the short-sleeve shirts drawer in the 2nd dresser and I don't want to hang them up. Uh, the jeans and tanks are also stuff I wear basically every day outside of my days off, so putting them away hasn't made sense. When it gets warmer out consistently I usually put away some of them and the capris (and later shorts) join them (and/or replace the full length jeans later on) on top of the dresser.

Anyway.... I'm wondering if maybe instead of the 2nd dresser I should get like the ikea cube storage unit? And then just fold stuff I use frequently and stick it on one of the cube shelves. And stuff I use less often can get put into fabric bins and then put into the cube shelves.

I also have like some clothing I dont wantnto get rid of bc it's sentimental and/or useful for something specific (ie the breast cancer walk we go on in the fall, steph made shirts for it and I have both designs and am keeping them!) Or the type of shirt or pants that I don't love but I have needed to wear before when I didn't have a better option. So ig I'd get containers or something for some of that....? Also the bathing suits and rash guards could go in a fabric bin or 2 of their own in the cube shelving unit! And then I'd do something else in that bottom drawer. Maybe that could be tee shirts - at least one type, I could do favorites or patterned ones or non-work shirts in the cube shelving and the rest of my short-sleeved shirts could live in the bottom drawer of the smaller dresser.

Still haven't figured out a real workable solution for the sweaters/sweatshirts or for the closet situation but that may not be solvable.

Also once the heavy comforter gets washed and put away (have to find the bag it goes in or use the one the sweaters are in for it.....) I can use the fabric hamper for clothing that I only wore for a little while or half a day or a couple hours so it can be worn again (I like changing after work into comfier clothing when I get home and I could wear the same lounge pants and shirt for 3 hrs each across 2 days tbh) and that will prevent the sweater pile on the bin from becoming a 'sweater and half worn/not quite dirty clothes' pile instead.

And I did add two hooks, one on the outside of my closet door and one on the back (inside) of my bedroom door, which I have been using but I need to put stuff away more often anyway so that one of those hooks is just for the buttondowns and such that I don't want to put into the closet bc I'm gonna wear it the next day or whatever. That should help the clutter on the top of my small dresser. I'm just not sure I want to get rid of my 2nd dresser bc sentimental attachment. It was part of the og set, it was my sister's and then mine. Maybe it could go into the guest room, that might work yeah...

[rogueshadeaux]

 Chapter Eleven — Limitations

I hadn’t tried this with regular water even, yet. The entire thing was still a theory, a hypothesis that wasn’t even fully thought out and yet I began the experiment process. My other hand came out too, gauntlets of wet slowly rising from my skin as if sensing my own hesitation and being put off by the idea. 

5K Words | 16 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: look it's gonna be body horror from here on out lol my fav series as a kid was Animorphs. I might have issues.

We only got about three of the boxes out of Dad’s old bedroom before Betty demanded a pause; the living room was full, too full, of boxes, all still waiting to be unpacked. “Pick a package, kids! We’ll make three piles: home, donation, and trash.” Betty declared, pointing to spaces she managed to clear up on the floors. “We sort these quick, you all can run off and play with your powers after.” 

 “Betty, I am a grown man,” Dad mumbled, “I’m not going to go play with anything.” 

Betty just chuckled, shaking her head in the way a mother did when she knew her kid was lying. 

 Betty wasn’t lying when she said the boxes were full of old home supplies; every box was chock full of random house things, nearly all of them outdated. Brent barked out a laugh at some point, leaning the box over to show me a collection of VHS tapes and a player, saying, “Jesus, look at these relics,” and I could physically see Betty and Dad both age an extra ten years. 

 I was in the midst of pulling out a bunch of ceramic, brightly-colored and slightly-chipped bowls and pots when Dad was the next to burst out laughing, pulling out a red, deflated…something. “Oh my God, Reggie kept this?” He shook his head in disbelief. 

 “What, uh…” I reached over to feel at another end; it felt like a pool floatie. “What is it?”

 “There was this fad, when we were really young, to have inflatable furniture in your room. This,” he held up the plastic like a kill, bagged and tagged, “Is a chair. Reggie’s, not mine — mine was more tape than anything.” 

 Inflatable…furniture? Inflatable furniture. 

 We seemed both lucky, and consistently striking out, finding good things for the house while also filing through stuff that, in my opinion, belonged in a museum versus the house. Small dark blue drinking glasses that were printed, HAPPY NEW MILLENIUM 2000, a cast iron that Betty said was hers when she was Dad’s age, looking no less worse for wear. There was a box full of old rags and towels and, while they were scratchy and a bit worn, they’d do the job. 

 I opened another box, this one more worn than the rest, a folded filing of bursting colors immediately threatening to spill out from the pressure of being released. Soft browns and pure whites mixed with muted blues and reds woven into soft blankets, the patterns immaculate as I pulled one out. “Woah,” I gasped out. I had no idea how old it was, but the blanket was still so soft.

“Oh, goodness.” I heard Betty across the way. I looked up to see everyone was frozen. Brent had his head cocked to the side like a puppy, Betty was smiling sadly, and Dad…I don’t know what that face was supposed to be, but it definitely held a lot of emotion. “You found Ruth’s blankets.” 

 “Ruth?” 

 “My mother.” Dad said as flatly as he could manage, face still unreadable. 

 Brent caught his tone, looking over to Dad and then back to me, that silent twin conversation happening with the slightest twinge of our eyebrows. Betty, in an effort to either stoke the fire or kill it off, began to say, “Ruth learned how to do traditional weaving from our x̌əč̓usadad — traditional teachings. Long ago, those blankets were actually made of dog hair.” 

 “Dog hair?” Brent and I chimed in at the same time. 

 “An old breed that’s extinct now. The Akomish learned the technique from the Salish, long ago during trades.” 

 Absentmindedly, I stroked the blanket. It was soft, a bit scratchy like wool. “So this is dog hair?”

 Betty chortled. “It would have been, a few hundred years ago. The dog we would harvest the hair from evolved into a shorthair. That’s just plain wool.” She reached out expectantly, and I passed over the folded blanket, Betty fluffing it out to show the intricate shape in its weaving, the blank middle stamped with a blue fish, Akomish-style. “This was handmade by Ruth. She dyed the wool, wove it on that big loom you saw in the Longhouse, and painted sʔuladxʷ — Salmon — in the middle. She used to be the one to run the traditional weaving seminars at the Longhouse.” 

 I pulled out another blanket, undoing it to look at the tightly woven blue and white sheet with a bird in the middle, some sort of eagle or hawk. Felt older than the rest. “Here, Regina, give me the box.” Betty asked, standing from her place on the couch. “You both should pick a blanket later tonight, when you get back. That one, though,” she stressed, gently pulling the blanket out of my hand, “Is your father’s — had it since he was a boy. Based his tattoo on it.”

 I spun to face Dad, who pulled out of his depression in time to roll his eyes. “You have a tattoo?” 

 “Had,” he stressed. “Had it removed after we moved to Portland.” 

 When we fled to Portland, I could hear in the emotion of his sentence. Another piece of him, stripped away. 

 That box was the last on my side, Brent going through a final one full of china while Dad fished out a box of childhood toys he was adamant no one would want when Betty began talking about donating. He held onto the box with a tight arm though, guarding the Toy Story and old anime action figures as if they were gold. 

 Sure, no one would want them — except him, maybe. 

 “Alright!” Betty slapped her hands against her knees, looking at the vintage table clock Dad found now perched crooked on the mantle. “It’s lunch time. Let’s eat something, and then I’ll deal with the trash here while you go with the children, okay, Delsin?” 

 “Yeah,” Dad nodded. “Yeah, sure.” 

 Betty and I laid out makings for sandwiches, another bit of prizes she brought in the form of Walmart bags. “I have a microwave in storage somewhere in my shed I’ll bring for you,” she assured us, pulling an onion and tomato out of their produce bags before clicking her tongue, displeased. “Oh, I didn’t…we didn’t happen to find knives while unpacking, did we?” 

 We made the arbitrary move of looking for a utensil we all knew wasn’t there, conceding defeat after a moment. At least, until Brent said, “I wanna try something,” 

 We gave him a wide berth at his insistence, Dad catching my confused look with a shrug. Brent was chewing on his bottom lip hard enough to bust it, if it wasn’t already so weathered by his constant idle action, pulling his hands up to look at the palms. 

 The steel aura was returning, encasing him in their own mimic of football padding instead of simply being forearm sleeves, reflecting the sunlight pouring in from the kitchen window and casting little rays of light everywhere. I hadn’t realized it, but the skin on his arm took on a metallic shine when he used his powers, a silvery blush. 

 Brent hesitated for a moment, hands sort of caught mid-movement, like he’d been caught trying to yank a treat out of the cookie jar. He was…I wouldn’t say confused, but processing, eyes looking far past the granite countertop as he thought hard. 

 Eventually he found absolve, brows smoothing over as he brought his hands together like he was trying to warm them, a decent amount of the steel shavings traveling down his arm, wrapping around his hands in their own sort of hold. And then he forced everything apart all of a sudden, the steel around his hand bursting with the effort before pulling back in like negative gauge pressure, forming. Sharpening. 

 It was a ‘blink and you miss it’ sort of situation; in the span of half a second, the knife had already taken shape, an offset handle to keep knuckles away from the impossibly sharp-looking edge, all of it cool steel. It wasn’t anything special or intricate — but it was a weapon, an actual weapon that Brent caught midair when it began to fall, aura of steel sinking away into his skin. 

 “Show off,” I jokingly muttered, giving him a genuine smile when his head shot up to glare at me. “Think you can make a sword?” 

 The hostility melted off Brent’s face when he saw I was teasing, loosening his grip on the knife and holding it by the spine of its blade so Betty could take it. “I mean, probably?” 

 “That’s something else we should try today.” Dad decided. “See what kind of defensive tools you can make with your power. Keep making knives and shit and I’ll never worry about your safety again,” 

 “Delsin Xe’las,” Betty chastised, turning to begin cutting the onion, “Watch your language,” 

 “‘Xe’las’?” I repeated, turning to Dad. “Is that your middle name?” Delsin Xe’las. I only knew Damion Scott. 

 Come to think of it, though; Brent’s middle name was Si’ahl. “Latin,” Dad said way back when we first asked what it meant. “Your Mom and I met in a Latin class at school.”

Yeah, was definitely beginning to realize that was a load of bullshit, too. Were their names…I dunno, Akomish? Or whatever language the Akomish spoke. Chinook, maybe? I was beginning to feel left out, with the middle name Elaine. 

 Dad simply nodded. “Yeah. Named after some changeling and a white guy pretending to be Native in an old western,” 

 Was that…the ‘Delsin’ part or the ‘Xe’las’ part? 

 Betty interrupted before I could ask, the sound of her slicing onion going silent as she turned to look over her shoulder at me with watery eyes. “Regina, I just realized — I don’t know your power.” 

 Huh, she was right, wasn’t she? I wasn’t the one throwing beds into space or making convenient kitchen tools — I had no reason to show off. “Oh it’s, uh, water,” I said as if I were unsure of the fact. 

 “Oh, water!” Betty smiled, wide, like I just told her I won a prize or something. “That’s a powerful element. Source of life and all,” 

 Why was I blushing? “Yeah…” 

 “Jean, do the thing.” Brent said off on the side, now leaning against the countertop, giddy. 

 “The thing? What thing?” 

 Brent rolled his eyes, as if I was supposed to be able to access some twin telepathy bullshit and actually get what he meant. “Y’know. Evaporate.” 

 “‘Evaporate?’“ Betty repeated, now fully facing me. Oh, great, now I was trapped in the spotlight. 

 Even Dad didn’t seem like he wanted to save me, instead just electing to adopt the same lopsided smile Brent had. I rolled my eyes, demanding, “Turn on the tap,” to Brent; I didn’t know the rules of my power yet. Would I have to have a constant source of water to stay evaporated, or would I be safe until I wanted to change back? 

 But Brent dutifully turned the tap to drizzle, and I ran out of reasons not to show off.

 It was impossible to go from solid to gas without making a stop in between at liquid, turns out, something I hadn’t realized until I was standing there, still solid. Guess it made sense though — what part of me was supposed to evaporate if it was all skin? My sweat? 

 So I changed, skin and clothes fading into a blue that kept shifting in place, the water in me — that was me — seemingly never able to stay still. And as soon as the last of the cotton on my old socks turned to liquid, I burst away into the air, leaving the linoleum slightly wet under my now-evaporated feet. 

 I’d have to get used to how my senses themselves changed into something else; how my vision inverted into specks of blue that held place in the air, forming around the solids I couldn’t see anymore. My hearing was still there — it processed Betty’s gasp of surprise — but it sounded like…static? No, that wasn’t right. Like carbonation. Fizzes and pops and bursts replaced the noises, and yet I was still able to hear Betty gasp, “Oh my goodness,” 

 There wasn’t a lot of water at all in the air in here, I was surprised to realize. The closer my eyes traveled to the fireplace, the less water there was — and I even got the joy of watching more dissipate into nothing, the blue dying off as it finally got too hot to stick around. Outside the window, though, the flurries of snow were instead soft sparkles, blue with a glint to it that somehow translated with ease in me; frozen. The water pouring from the tap looked no different than it usually would, if I’m being honest. 

 At least, until it began to bend in the middle of its stream, the water particles swirling away and up to Dad as his slick silhouette absorbed it. 

 The water traveled up his arms, settled into the silhouette…but never disappeared. I watched them spread, encasing him in his own little shell and halting in place, ready to be used at his disposal. The entirety of Dad glinted now, no longer a shadow splitting apart the wet, but was the wet, a figure clear enough that I could see him look around, pause on my face, and cock his head to the side, eyebrows creased. “I can…see you?” 

 He could? 

 I opened my mouth to respond, a bit shocked to find that the words died off in my throat. I didn’t have a throat — that was the issue. No vocal cords to use. So instead I held up both hands, waiting for Dad to count off the number I was displaying. “Seven.” He deadpanned, the water somehow tracking his rolling eyes.

 I wonder if I looked the same to him as he did to me; a being of water, not a shadow. That was good, right? I mean, I wouldn’t be winning anymore games of tag anytime soon, but if he could see me at any point when I would need to evaporate, it’d probably make communication a lot easier. 

 I wanted to ask. God, I wanted to demand answers out of him of how it looked, but I couldn’t. There was no way to speak. So instead, deciding this was probably enough showing off for now as well, I went back to water, able to garbledly ask, “What does it look like?” as I began solidifying. 

 “What, seeing you when you’re gas?” He asked, continuing when I nodded. “It’s like…y’know when it’s a hot day and the road sorta warps a ways away from where you are? That whole illusion with the puddles of water? You look like that.” 

 “Weird, that’s not what you look like at all.” I commented. 

 “Do we look different?” Brent asked, taking the paper plate Betty offered. 

 I went into a whole explanation about how the world sort of shifts when I change, something Brent and Betty balked at — but Dad just nodded. “That’s a lot like when I’m invisible with the video power,” he commented. “Kind of like, radio waves or something in the air, broken up by solid objects.” 

 Right, he did have an invisibility trick! I forgot all about that. “Yeah, exactly. But you’re different when you absorb water, too.” 

 Dad was next to take a plate, throwing a quick thank you to the side as he asked, “Oh, really?” 

 “Yeah. When you absorbed the — thanks, Betty — when you absorbed the water, you sort of…looked like me when I’m liquid.” I threw four slices on bread on my plate. “It’s like I can see the water you’ve drained wait to be used.” 

 “Huh.” Dad simply hummed. 

 We made our sandwiches, falling into a comfortable silence as we ate until Dad demanded we go get dressed. “You two are going to be my guinea pigs today,” he declared, only partially joking. “I want to test out my theories on what you can do,” 

 So we got dressed, braving for the cold with jackets and the hats that Conduit gave us only a few days ago. It was crazy how long ago that felt; I was a normal kid freaking out over exams. No powers. I honestly still was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and for my body to collapse with the effort of processing all of this. There was no way I was adjusting this easily to everything. It had to catch up eventually. 

 But for now, I went with the flow, scoring shotgun by zipping to the passenger side door as a rush of water, able to form around the body of the truck instead of having to pass the back end. “What?” Brent practically shouted from the other side as I busted out laughing, solidifying. “You can’t do that!” 

 “Can and did, bud,” I grinned as he came around the bed of the truck, annoyed. “Cry about it.” 

 We were off soon after, Dad only having to pause to wipe away the pillowy snow from the truck’s body. But we weren’t going back to the construction site. We headed towards the Longhouse, the eagle totem atop of it just clipping the horizon when Dad instead slowed down, turning right into an abandoned parking lot. 

 It was huge, and definitely was home to something at some point; there was a foundation threadbare of any actual building material, instead housing a pavilion full of picnic tables and frozen basketball hoops. Off on the edge of the woods was a man-made pond, decorative rocks and frozen waterfall all proof of a nice zen koi pond that’s been shut off for the winter. The tallest picket fence I’d ever seen ran along the edge of the cliffside, its sanded-down tops only just allowing you to see the edges of the Sound before it gave away to the gray horizon. 

 “We gonna shoot hoops or something, Dad?” Brent asked, only partially joking. He looked just as confused as I felt. 

 Dad didn’t bother responding, throwing the truck in part and pulling the e-brake. “Come on, let’s go.” 

 It had started snowing again, really snowing, the white static muting out our surroundings as Dad led us under the pavilion. “Alright, Jean,” he turned to me. “Yesterday, when you got hit with the relay — did it show you anything about snow or ice?” 

 Oh. That’s what we were doing here. “N-no?” I stuttered out, like this was a question with a right or wrong answer. “Boiling points and, uh, the triple point but not…nothing frozen.” 

 “Doesn’t the triple point involve ice, though?” Brent pointed out, shoving his hands in his pockets. We both were missing gloves, and definitely feeling the fact. 

 “I mean yeah, but like, I was the solid part of the equation. Y’know—“ I waved a hand around, motioning to myself. “This me.” 

“Well, regardless,” Dad shrugged. “I want you to try and drain some snow, and that pond.”

“But Dad, they’re frozen.” 

His eyes met mine, and he cocked an eyebrow. “They’re still water, aren’t they?” 

I didn’t have a good retort, which was frustrating, because something deep within me was just consistently repeating how this wasn’t going to work.

Nonetheless, I walked up to a snow pile, reaching my hand out and brushing it with the tips of my fingers, first. Soft, powdery. All fresh snow. 

 Pulling away, I reached out once more, with the aim to drain this time. 

 And immediately jumped back in pain.

 Instead of water rising, something stung, that white-hot bite that usually settles in your skin before the actual burn when you touch something too hot. I hissed, dragging out the f in “Fuck!” and receiving Dad’s chastising behind me before hearing Brent actually chuckle. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” 

 “Is that what it’s like?” I shook out my hand. The initial sting was gone, leaving behind a twinge in each individual joint of my fingers.

 “Yeah,” Dad confirmed, at the end of a nod when I turned to look at them. “But that’s strange. It’s water, isn’t it? Shouldn’t you be able to control it?”

 I shrugged, even if the question was rhetorical. Those visions never once touched on anything frozen. Was there really a difference? Was I restricted simply to the liquid aspect of it? 

 Even then, that didn’t make sense — I could turn into gas! I could change the water from gas to liquid in the air? What was it about the water being solid that was restricting me? But Dad did have a point. It was still water. It would even register on my weird aqua-vision when I was gas. But…come to think of it, I could only heat up water sources, too: there wasn’t anything in the visions about steam or fog or something. 

 I crouched low, looking at the snow and thinking hard. “I think it’s only water…” I eventually said, trailing off. 

 “Well, yeah, I thought we established that—“ Brent began sarcastically, but I cut him off. 

 “No, I mean: I think it’s only liquid I can deal with.” I didn’t take my eyes off the snow, each individual flake highlighted to me. Each one different. “I can warm up water, cool it off, but like…everything I saw? In those visions? None of them involve the other forms of matter. You know, as a gas, I see the water in the air. That’s not — water is always in the air, right? But it can be a different amount…” 

 Something began to crunch, Dad joining me in a crouch. “What’re you trying to say, Jean?” 

 “Dad, what can you do?” I turned to look at him. “With water?” 

 “Would you—“ he faltered, a bit taken aback by how serious I looked. “Would you like me to show you, or—“ 

 I shrugged. “Either. It doesn’t really matter; I just need to know.” 

 “Well.” Dad sat back on his heels. “I can shoot off water — at different pressures, too. There’s uh, the water stairs—“

 “‘Water stairs?’” Brent repeated, now standing directly behind us. 

 “Best name I could think of,” Dad sort of chuckled. “I can make little floating puddle of water by manipulating both the water and humidity to hold them up and like, bound up them—“

 “Humidity!” I suddenly shouted, making them both jump. That made so much sense! “That’s what it is! I don’t evaporate, I become humidity. I’m seeing humidity in the air, not gas.” 

 I looked at both of them, expecting understanding — and instead receiving bewildered looks. “Jeanie, I wasn’t a good student — I dropped out and all — so would you uh, mind explaining how those are different? Isn’t humidity gas?” Dad finally said. 

 Brent, though, took over. “I was literally just studying this for my exam. Humidity is water vapor, which is a gas, but it becomes one differently from evaporation due to the critical temperature to turn it into one. It’s below the actual boiling point of water.”

 “I still have no idea what that means.” 

 Brent chewed on his lip once more. “It’s — goddamnit how do I explain this—“

 Having already taken Chemistry — and with some newfound intimate knowledge of my own — I tried chiming in to help. “When you heat up water, the molecules move so fast they sort of break apart. That’s when they become gas; near each other, but they ripped apart, the heat being some kind of point of no return. They’ve gotta be cooled off to become liquid again. Humidity, though, is a mixture of a bunch of stuff, including water vapor. Vapor isn’t heated up to be gas and besides, it’s got the potential to easily become liquid again since it hasn’t passed that temperature, uh, threshold. It hasn’t been heated enough to actually rip apart the water bonds. They’re spread thin, sure, but it’s still moisture. That’s what I’ve been doing,” The realization settled in easily, and I said, “I’m becoming moisture in the air, not gas.” 

 Dad nodded, still seeming a bit unsure, but at least processing it as he asked, “Is that why I see you when you’re invisible? Y’think it’s the Conduit in me looking for water to drain?” 

 “Please don’t.” I chuckled.

 Dad joined in on the light humor, chuckling for only a moment before his eyebrows creased. “So, no snow or ice or anything?” 

 I shook my head. “Probably not.” 

 “So, wait,” Brent joined us fully now, crouched all the same. “You literally can only use water in its — fuck what’s it called—“

 “Brent.” 

 “Yeah yeah, sorry.” Dad’s face deadened, looking over at me in annoyance as Brent completely missed it, off in his mental notes. “…Liquid phase? I think that’s it. Would explain why you have to drain, at least. Your power doesn’t involve temperature or like, pressurizing the gas or solid into a liquid, so you can’t drain from ice.” 

 Dad shook his head. “But she said she can ‘warm up the water,’ didn’t you?” I nodded. “Isn’t that heating?” 

 Honestly, I shouldn’t have had an answer. It didn’t make much sense regardless of what way I looked at it. But it was there, glaring and obvious, as I processed the question myself. “I vibrate the molecules. I don’t heat them up,”

 “The vibrating is what makes them warm.” Dad finished, finally on the same page. “So then, in snow and stuff, do you see the water molecules?” 

 “I can see the water in everything if I look hard enough.” I shrugged, realizing how unhinged that sounded when said aloud. 

 “Can you vibrate the frozen ones?” 

 I wasn’t sure. But I got where Dad was going with this; if I vibrated them hard enough to heat, the snow would melt. I’d have water to manipulate. But would its state of matter mess with me being able to control the water molecules? 

 This was getting way too complicated. 

 But Dad wasn’t asking my opinion; he was asking me to try. And really I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? 

 So holding my hand out, I focused on the little snowflakes, my vision slowly shifting as I went from seeing it, y’know, normally, to how it looked when I was Vapor. Every single water molecule in the area lit up like a piece of glitter, its glow different frozen versus vapor. 

 My hand came out again, hesitating as I thought just how to do this. There wasn’t anything in the instructions that outlined how — I just knew I could. 

 Well, maybe.

 I hadn’t tried this with regular water even, yet. The entire thing was still a theory, a hypothesis that wasn’t even fully thought out and yet I began the experiment process. My other hand came out too, gauntlets of wet slowly rising from my skin as if sensing my own hesitation and being put off by the idea. 

 Linking the molecules from the snow to my ‘Conduit-ness’ started as a mental process. It’s something I can’t even pretend to fully understand, but it felt akin to waking someone out of a deep slumber; they sort of moved, shimmied as if trying to readjust under the comfortable blanket of snow. But when my requests became demands, and I forced them awake, they decided to fully make it my problem. 

 That sting suddenly came back, a heat that settled into the muscles on my arms and began prickling them with its stab, making me flinch. But the close knit molecules of the pile of fresh fallen snow I was concentrating on actually began to move faster. “Jean?” Dad asked cautiously beside me when I grunted. 

 I probably could have stopped. They were moving, mission accomplished, right? But I wanted to see if I could melt it, make it into something I could drain. 

 The longer I held my proverbial grip on the snow though, the more it hurt. “Jean, are you—“ Dad moved beside me, my peripheral barely catching how he moved to his knees. 

 Just then, though, my gauntlets, swirling and spinning, stopped. The ends of it on my hands and laying against my fingers began to frost over, the bite turning from a scathing heat to an absolutely unbearable cold, the needle pricks becoming full on stabs now as the frost slowly began to slip up my arms. 

 That first stab made me gasp out, strangled, concentration slipping for a moment and the molecules I was working on losing their momentum. “Jean, that’s enough.” Dad demanded, hand on my elbow. 

 “I’ve almost got it…” I gasped out. My arms began to shake under the pressure — or maybe the cold? I was freezing. The water was moving from a frost to a solid freeze now, and I couldn’t move my fingers at their first two knuckles. 

But the molecules were close to spastic now, and I just knew they were on the edge of liquifying. I’d just have to beat out whatever was making my arms freeze. So, shrugging off Dad’s hold, I pushed my arms forward, more water crawling off my back and down my arms to encapsulate every bit of my arm — including the already frozen bits — fighting back against the freeze with a cry. “Regina!” Dad chastised, shooting to his feet. He disappeared from my peripheral, hands gripping each of my shoulders and yanking me back. 

 It was right then, though, that the molecules burst away from their tight hug, snow melting away into a sad puddle no bigger than 6 inches across. I landed on my ass rather violently, knocking into Dad’s knees as the water disappeared from around my upper arms — but stayed on my forearms, layering atop the freeze and moving in violent waves in an effort to thaw them. 

 I couldn’t feel the pain anymore. I was literally beyond frostbitten, my fingers and the little bit of my palm that the ice had reached to numb of…anything. Frozen. I was frozen. I tried to move my fingers and nothing came of the action, not even that disconnected feeling after going numb. It was like they didn’t exist. “Dad,” I rushed to say, trying to flex the fingers again and again to no avail, “Dad I can’t feel them,” 

[braywashed]

plz ignore me this is holiday bravier rambling

it’s not written out well or formatted properly it started as like TWO PARAGRAPHS AND JUST ENDED UP A WHOLE THING AND I’M NOT CLEANING IT UP.

*flips a table*

-

they do their yearly gift exchange. but it’s more stilted than ever before. real, real awkward in fact. in a ‘they just sort of meet half way in the living room, standing there, face to face, holding boxes and shoving them forward’ kind of way. with a buzz in the air that screamed big ‘neither of us know what the hell this is right now, but we’re supposed to be doing this, maybe’ vibes.

x gives b a decent sized box. it’s wrapped in obnoxious gold paper with multicolored poinsettias and a mish mash of three bows. a gift card holder was taped almost hidden beneath them.

the card itself is to some online body jewelry shop he’d found. he was just gonna get him a septum ring, but he had a couple already, and he wasn’t sure what else he was in the market for. shoved in behind it was a folded coupon for buy-one-get-one half gallons of ice cream. so he could, again, just... pick out whatever he wanted. (it was going to be salted caramel fudge bourbon and vanilla cookie dough/m&m non copyright mcflurry whatever they called it... or just two of the latter. b was predictable, in some ways.) not exactly exciting stuff, but it was the thought that counted... right?

in the box itself, under the mountain of crinkled black tissue paper, there’s a pile of laminated comics and a beat up graphic novel. all stuff he explains, sure, might not really be his thing, but apparently they’re all random one shots that revolve around either obscure religious plots. or, just REALLY REALLY brutally offensive takes on christianity. the most poorly written edgelordery of crusades. stuff that’s probably been banned from half the shops in a half dozen countries. because he needs a laugh, or twelve.

he used to get him old bibles, but couldn’t find one this year. it felt grossly symbolic in ways he didn’t want to think about.

b gives x two small boxes stacked together. the top is no bigger than his palm. the paper looks hand pressed and old, and stained faintly with tea, with a ribbon made of stems. the bottom is a little bigger, and just a cheap white box without even a piece of tape.

he opens the top, and he’s not sure what hits him first. it smells, very distinctly, like him. but him at the compound. when it was sundown and sweaty and the flowers were sweet and blooming and they maybe got a little too frisky by the river. and then there was the.... the uh.... well. it was his hair. it was undoubtedly a chopped off piece of white dread. half bleached. spiraled up. he almost gags.

“is this.... erm. is this your hair?”

“yeah! yeah... yeah. no, sorry, that was a weird gift. i’m sorry. i can get you something, like an actual...”

“no. no. it’s cool. it’s.............. why?”

“well... you know, sometimes.... i’m not always here, and sometimes you might want me... here. for some reason. and i don’t always pick up on stuff like i used to these days so i just thought you know, maybe, like, to channel... or somethin’...................... i got no idea. i’m sorry.”

he’s sure there’s probably something actually to that, and that makes it weirdly thoughtful, in a what the fuck kind of way. so he smiles and reaches for the second one. b is already gesturing and trying to form an excuse that’s not quite making it out of mouth.

it’s a cat collar tag. a little silver heart with a rhinestone in it that says “Bonks.”

the world must be ending if the “beast” got a nicer gift than him. well. sorta.

“i was gonna wrap it but then i just.... decided i didn’t want to anymore.”

x laughs, because it’s funny how that works.

he tells him he should’ve given it to her himself, but he says he didn’t want to get frustrated trying to put it on and end up throwing her out a window or kicking her across the room. so x says he’ll help, just in case.

he keeps not so subtly peeking to see which dread got chopped short while they wrangle her, and b mumbles he did it awhile ago, when he wasn’t sure if he was staying. or if x would want him to stay. just never had the balls to go through with it.

x isn’t entirely sure if he should have. stayed, that is. for his own sake.

but he’s glad he didn’t leave, he tells him. even if it wasn’t the same. 

for whatever that was worth.

[littleprincessfawn]

Okay despite my brain going a mile a minute I'm gonna talk to myself here and use Tumblr as my executive function boardroom meeting to take proper care of my ill ADHD self.

(looooong test post under cut. Likely boring but maybe useful to other people struggling with functioning and self care?)

I'm recovering from a tummy bug, nausea, diarrhea. Today I took all my meds at the one time, including my ADHD meds at full dosage, despite that I've been skipping them a bit lately. This has caused me to feel like maybe hypomanic, side effects too much meds, thoughts rushing, wrote too much to people. Ruining friendships with my social awkwardness of oversharing and being 'too much'. The ADHD meds are wearing off now. I am home alone. Today I have eaten rice crackers. I have had 600ml water. It's 5pm. I had 3 or 4 hours sleep last night because I was so ill. I am dirty and haven't had a bath or shower or brushed my teeth for 2 days. My house is messy in some places, the kitchen isn't so bad, and neither is my TV nook. I have a kitty to feed and look after.

Things I must do:

Feed kitty breakfast and dinner

Scoop kitty litter once per day

Put on dishwasher once per day and put away clean dry dishes

Sort out the laundry situation because right now it's insane. I have clean clothes and linens but they are in random piles around the house.

Take out rubbish to rubbish bins (maybe once per day as my house is messy and if I clean I will find rubbish)

Drink 3L of water each day

Eat healthy nutrition each day, spaced out regular meals, avoid spikes in blood sugar

Sleep!! Get sleep. Make a bed that is cosy, comfy, clean.

Shower or bath once per day

Brush teeth morning and night, or just night if struggling

Skin care morning and night, or just night if struggling

Comb my hair and wear it in 2 comfy cute braids

Spend more time on tumblr and being introverted and thoughtful, less time messaging people until my hypomanic symptoms have eased and I'm in control of myself

Figure out when to take which meds and at what dosage

Always take my leukemia medicine dasatinib at 12pm.

Do things that help me feel balanced and grounded

Slowly do things that will make my situation better e.g. tidying, throwing out junk, working through emails, making appointment phone calls, life admin stuff

Stay safe, don't do risky or harmful behaviours.

Make one room my dedicated SAFE SPACE. Make and keep it: clean, cosy, tidy, neat, spartan, minimalist, white sheets, soft lighting, good air flow, beautiful, relaxing, healing, comfortable, sensory good, suiting my needs. The rest of the house can be messy but if I have ONE room that is good I have a place to retreat to.

Choices for my safe room: my bedroom, my son's bedroom (he's at his dad's), my computer room, my TV nook.

My bedroom has a lot to deal with in it, but has the best mattress. I don't think I can fix my bedroom tonight.

My son's room is tidyish, wouldn't take long to fix up. His mattress isn't as good for my back. I sometimes like being in my son's room because it reminds me of him when he's away BUT I also ideally want that space to be just for him, with his things.

The computer room has the air conditioner which is nice for cooling but very loud. It has no mattress. It's a bit messy. I'd need to move furniture. It's not doable for tonight.

(Break to feed cat dinner, it's 6:17pm. Also cleaned and refilled his water.)

The dining room / library is insane. I wasn't planning on sleeping here. I just wanted to note that. Absolute chaos.

The TV nook is a small room with a couch and a single bed in it and the TV and a coffee table. I find the single bed mattress uncomfortable to sleep on. I find the couch comfy to sleep on. It's pretty easy to tidy up.

So my options are either my son's room or the TV nook, and there's a possibility of dragging my mattress from my room into either room if I can make it fit.

I am feeling very very dizzy and ill. I'll lie down now, then get water. Then I will probably need food. Protein, Complex Carbs, Veggies. Some brown rice is in the fridge. So is some tofu that I marinated I think it's still good? I might have some frozen green beans or carrots or something easy like that for veggies. I also have legumes like lentils, kidney beans, chickpeas. There's probably meat in the freezer but I don't think I can do that. I have eggs I think.

Okay, despite dizzy, now go get food and water. Then come back, eat on couch, while reading or TV, lie down, maybe sleep.

Plan more plans later.

For right now, get through the next hours. Give my body what it needs. Water. Food. Sleep. Hygiene. Maybe in that order or maybe after food and water I can do hygiene first.

Okay I have now eaten food and drank water. I think next need truly is sleep. My heart feels weird. But sometimes when I'm this level of messed up im afraid to fall asleep. I'm afraid that I won't wake up again. I'm afraid of that unknown darkness, of what waits for me behind my eyelids. But my body can do no more. I will clean my face with water and a washcloth. I will brush my teeth. I will put on my night cream. I will make the couch sleepable.

Now I have done all those. I've put a gentle lamp on. A fan blowing air. I will try and allow my body and mind to rest. I will curl up on my side and settle my racing heart. I am so nauseous and dizzy and sore and scared.

I must find my calm. And hold it close.

I wish I had someone to hold me. But I'm proud of myself for taking care of myself. It's a skill I need to master. Before I can find a Master.

[k3t4m1n3k1tty]

I had the craziest dream last night. It started with me walking around town then getting a call from my ex-boss, "Hey Kat. How are you doing?" He said, I responded with "Oh, I'm good. What's going on?"

He proceeded to explain to me he had an employee who claimed to be my cousin or something and that I was missing/couldn't get ahold of me, my ex-boss gave him my contact info then proceeded to call me to see if it was true. I asked what did the guy look like, what was his name, etc.. after some talking, the conclusion was I literally don't know this dude and my number was given to some random employee who convinced my ex-boss to give him my contact info. After some time, I started to receive texts from this random number.. then he started to stalk me. He would be hidden in plain sight, stealing things and rearranging small items in my room, following me everywhere I go, just straight up stalking me and teasing me that he knows my every step. One day I was out with friends, my bag fell on the floor of my friends car, as I was picking my stuff up I noticed there was some sort of tracking device in the pile. My other friend grabbed it and threw it out the window, we both looked at each other in a panic. We pulled over to the nearest police station in a weird attempt to report the stalking/tracking device, nothing was done. I decided to walk in the park/woods behind the police station so I could cool off from that incident, as I was walking I saw him. He was tall, lean build, tan skin and was actually pretty cute? But at the time I was scared, I started to run away and back towards my friends car, he gave chase, he didn't catch me but I jumped into the car attempting to explain what happened. After that, a couple days passed and I'm in my old childhood home (I lived there again by myself as an adult? Also was not the same location it should've been in.) with some friends, a few of them left to go get food, so it was me and another person. As we're talking, there's a knock on the door, I answer. Standing there was a guy with a face mask that looked like this:

He was wearing a police bomber jacket and a baseball cap that read "NKPD" (Newark Police Department)

He said he was there to follow up on the stalking report I made a few days prior, at that moment it clicked, this is not an actual police officer/investigator. Not only from the outfit but also not in the same district/town. I called him out immediately, he stuttered and turned away, attempting to leave. For some reason I chased after him, tackling him and dragging him back into my house. I asked my friend to grab me rope and some zip ties, I tied him up to prevent him from escaping. My friend left to go get help I think? I have no idea why she left, but it was just me and my stalker. I dragged him to a bedroom, placing him on the bed, I took off the mask thing and it was, in fact, my stalker. For some reason in my dream I knew him? I was wracking my brain on *why* I know him. He told me we grew up together and he always had a thing for me, when he found out I was an ex-employee at his current place of employment, he had to get ahold of me. Now this is where the story gets NSFW:

After some more talking, things got sexual. I didn't untie him, but his hands were bound together and so were his ankles. (This part was consensual) I slid his pants and boxers down a bit, exposing his rock hard cock, I got on top and rode him reverse cowgirl style??? It was fucking crazy that I was having sex with the same man who stalked me for months. He managed to free his hands and place them on my hips, after some time we finished. He put his mask back on (some strands of hair was sticking out) and broke his zip-tie bound ankles, he overpowered me. Using the rope that was once on him, he tied my arms behind my back. From then on out we just fucked for what felt like hours. In the end, we were both sweaty and panting. I told him "You know what... this was fun. I want you to do it all over again", he let out a chuckle and said "Sure. We can do it again" (In reference to being stalked/hunted for sport)

That was the most crazy dream I ever had? Wet dream maybe? I don't know man but I felt some THINGS when I woke up this morning

[darthaddock]

Chapter 3: Doing What's Right

The lunchroom was much more crowded than I thought was possible. The school building wasn't that big compared to some of the other ones from other states. And I kinda like the fact that it's a bit more of a small community. Regardless though I got my food and sat at an empty table. It's funny, but my parents almost didn't let me go to this school because of the fact there were rumors that a random came here. I don't care. I'm probably the only person who would even consider standing up for them here. I've always been different, according to my parents anyway. They say I wasn't born with the right mindset and that I'll learn someday. Learn what exactly? I'm not sure. I like hanging out with the randoms. It may sound weird, but it's true. If my parents got wind of it they'd freak out. I come from a fairly rich family and I try to use my allowance to help the people around me. If my parents knew about it though, they'd cut me off.

I began to eat the cafeteria food, it wasn't the best. But I know there are people who would beg for this. So who am I to complain?

I glanced up when something red caught my eye near the door. I didn't know what it was then, but I would very soon. Then I heard the yelling: a couple of guys were just on top of this girl who had walked in. Seemingly for no reason whatsoever.

I was immediately up and over there in a flash prying these guys off of her.

“What kind of all time low is this,” I asked one of them, “that you would gang up on a defenseless girl? What happened to fighting like men and respect for women?”

They looked like they were floored that I had said this. I just looked at them and told them if I caught them doing it again there would be consequences for their actions. And they all say back down. I helped her up and put my hands on her shoulders. “You okay?” I asked her. She was beautiful. She had fire-red hair, and deep, blue-gray eyes. She was wearing a pair of black pants and a gray sweater that looked like it's seen better days. I don't know why, but there was something there. Something that people normally don't have. But I couldn't have told you what.

She gave me a look that to me came across as pure shock combined with some sort of death glare. Then with a very jerky motion she wrenched herself away from me and simply said “I'm fine, now leave me alone. You'll be better off that way.”

“Listen,” I replied, “I don't know why those guys attacked you, but whatever the reason be it was wrong of them.”

“Yeah? Well why don't you just ask them why, maybe they'll let you join the dog pile next time.”

“I'm not like that.” I paused, then continued by asking, “Do you have any friends?”

“Why does that concern you? And how is it not already blatantly obvious to your dumb ass that I don't have any?”

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry. But I never caught your name.”

“Phoenix.” Was the response I was given. She sounded pretty annoyed about me having asked, but I genuinely wanted to know who I'd just saved a few bruises.

“My name's Cole. And if you don't have any friends,” I continued cautiously, “then is it okay if I sit with you?”

She turned around to face me. “Will you take no for an answer?”

“No.”

She sighed, “Then there's no way I'm able to stop you without getting licked myself.” she replied. There was a hint of annoyance in her voice still, but I decided to ignore it. I've seen what putting walls up can do to people, and typically, when someone is excessively bullied, they act aggressive like this. It's not normally what they're actually like.

We sat at an otherwise empty table, and I tried a little small talk during the course of lunch to no avail. And as Phoenix got up to throw her trash away I noticed two things: scars on her wrists, and Sharpie drawings on her left arm. Stuff like skulls and fire.

I then made the mistake of commenting on how she was a great artist. She smacked me with her food tray and walked off.

‘Okay. Don't bring up the Sharpie tattoos. Got it.’ I made a mental note for next time.

[sours-weird-art]

shouldn't you be cleaning your room?

(A messy room.)

(Close up on unfolded laundry on the floor. It is unclear if it is clean or not.)

(Close up on a cluttered desk: piles of miscellaneous paraphernalia.)

(Medium shot chair with random stuff on it)

(Medium shot of a side table covered with random stuff as well, disilluminated by a dark curtain. Notable on this table is a scrambled Rubik’s cube. A hand lifts the Rubik’s cube off the side table and out of frame)

(Full shot of the room. Now we see the full extent of the mess. ID is sitting on the unmade bed, staring off into space, fidgeting with the Rubik’s cube. It is thoroughly scrambled. Not getting solved.)

(Medium shot of ID)

(LOGOS knocks on the door.)

(All dialogue is monotonous and matter of fact.)

Id 

Come in.

(Medium shot of the door)

(LOGOS enters.)

Logos 

Shouldn’t you be cleaning your room?

Id 

Yes. I haven’t decided what to do with it yet, though, so it’s just gonna stay like this for a while.

(Medium shot of LOGOS)

Logos 

How will you know if you don’t decide to start?

(beat.)

(Medium shot of ID)

Id 

I guess I won’t.

(Medium shot of LOGOS, who looks pensive, as though they’re about to say something.)

Id 

I mean-

(Medium shot of ID)

it doesn’t really matter.

(Close up on ID)

I’m the one who lives here; it’s the consequences of my own inaction and I’m okay with that.

(Medium shot of LOGOS)

Logos 

Don’t you owe yourself a clean space? Your clothes will not resent you if you do not fold them, surely, but you, yourself, deserve the small luxury of tidy laundry, do you not?

(Medium shot of ID)

Id

I don’t think so. Besides, it doesn’t really matter what I deserve. People don’t always get what they deserve. I have no power to change that.

(Medium shot of LOGOS)

Logos

Do you have the power to change this?

(Medium shot of ID)

Id

Yes.

(Medium shot of LOGOS)

Logos

So why don’t you?

(Medium shot of ID)

Id

Nothing to change. I’ve done nothing to earn a clean room, so I don’t have one.

(beat.)

(Medium shot of LOGOS)

Logos

Would you earn it if you put in the work?

(Medium shot of ID)

Id

Yes.

(Medium shot of LOGOS)

Logos

So what’s stopping you?

Id

Shame.

(Medium shot of ID)

(Cut to black)

(A slightly less messy room.)

(Close up on unfolded laundry on the floor. It is sorted into piles.)

(Close up on a cluttered desk: stacks of miscellaneous paraphernalia.)

(Medium shot chair with random stuff on it)

(Medium shot of a side table covered with random stuff as well. The curtain is lifted, revealing a few inches of light from the outside. Notable on this table is a partially scrambled Rubik’s cube. A hand lifts the Rubik’s cube off the side table and out of frame)

(Full shot of the room. Now we see the full extent of it. ID is sitting on the unmade bed, staring off into space, fidgeting with the Rubik’s cube. Each face has a bichromatic pattern upon it; always a few turns away from being solved.)

(Medium shot of ID)

(LOGOS knocks on the door.)

(All dialogue is monotonous and matter of fact.)

Id

Do you want to come in?

(Medium shot of the door)

Logos

Yes.

(Medium shot of ID)

Id

Do you think I’m going to stop you?

(Medium shot of the door)

Logos

No.

(They enter.)

(Medium shot of ID)

Id

Why do you think I deserve good things?

(Medium shot of LOGOS)

Logos

Because you afford that assumption to everyone else, so it’s illogical not to extend it to yourself.

(Medium shot of ID)

Id

Why do you think I care about logic? Is it not easier to accept the worst for yourself? To always drink from the chipped cup? To expect disaster, always, so you’re never disappointed?

(Medium shot of LOGOS)

Logos

Maybe. But that makes you hate yourself.

(Medium shot of ID)

(They solve their Rubik’s cube.)

(Cut to black)

(A mostly tidy room. Laundry mostly folded, clutter mostly organized. It isn’t immediately obvious if the idiosyncrasies are intentional or not. ID is sitting on the unmade bed, staring off into space, fidgeting with a Rubik’s cube. This one shifts and changes, and resists easy solutions. LOGOS knocks on the door.)

(Medium shot of ID)

(All dialogue is monotonous and matter of fact.)

Id

Do you want to come in?

(Medium shot of the door)

Logos

Are you going to stop me?

(Medium shot of ID)

Id

Do I even need to answer?

(Medium shot of the door)

(They come in.)

Logos

Shouldn’t you be cleaning your room?

(Medium shot of ID)

Id

Why do you think I deserve good things?

(Medium shot of LOGOS)

Logos

Why do you hate yourself?

(Medium shot of ID)

Id

Why don’t I have any friends?

(Medium shot of LOGOS)

Logos

Why don’t you trust anyone?

(Medium shot of ID)

Id

Why is everyone untrustworthy? 

(Close up of ID)

Or is it me?

(Medium shot of LOGOS)

Logos

What could you have done wrong?

(Medium shot of ID)

Id

Does it have to be something I did?

(Medium shot of LOGOS)

Logos

Do you think there’s something innately wrong with you?

(Medium shot of ID)

Id

Don’t you?

(Medium shot of LOGOS)

Logos

Isn’t that a bit tragic?

(Medium shot of ID)

Id

So what if it is?

(Medium shot of LOGOS)

Logos

Do you enjoy feeling like this?

(Medium shot of ID)

Id

Does that matter?

(Medium shot of LOGOS)

Logos

Who are you performing for?

(Medium shot of ID)

Id

Is there anyone watching?

(Medium shot of LOGOS)

Logos

Do I even need to answer that?

(Medium shot of ID)

(beat.)

(ID sighs, sets down the Rubik’s cube on the side table)

(Close up on the Rubik's cube, ID's hand still on it. It is solved. The hand rotates. It is not.)

(Cut to black)

End of Film.

[seaoreos]

I got a new bag at forest fair this year. It’s red and orange and shaped like a whale shark with big button eyes, ridiculously adjustable straps, and a surprising amount of space inside compared to my old bag.

So I’ve piled a lot of things into it. Among the usual things like wallet, phone, lip balm. A small bottle of lotion, a small tin of hand cream, two different kinds of earplugs, glasses cleaner, phone battery, a notebook & pencil, and a small box of the Pride pins I make.

It only has one small pocket inside of it, so I put my most-used and smallest stuff in there. So, to keep things more organized, I put some things into a small handy little mesh bag I got from some dice or earrings or something I got. Two different sizes of pads, normal band-aids, waterproof band-aids, at least four ibuprofen, a pack of tissues… I’m sure there’s something I’m forgetting. Anyways, *everything* that’s in my bag isn’t exactly the point of this post.

Once I realized how much stuff I could put in my new bag, it made me happy to think of being the ‘has literally any random thing and god knows what else in his bag’ guy. And there’s still stuff I wanna add, like maybe a small sewing kit, glasses repair kit… gum. So on.

And recently, in an online class I’ve been in (which could be another, less positive post, at least right now) I saw someone trying to post their art on the discussion board that had done something I had almost done, until I figured out the way everyone else was doing it. So I just dropped a quick comment, telling them I’d had the same problem, and trying to help. Not required or anything, I just… wanted to.

Last night, my friend Skyler was drawing something for the first time in awhile- they were struggling with a small part of it, asked for some help- I did a quick show of how the reference they were using lines worked, the sort of shape they made, and also drew a vague shape of what it could look like over/with their lineart. It didn’t take much work, just a few minutes or so, but they were really happy. The art came out great, by the way, and it made me really happy to see them drawing again.

and tonight my partner was also drawing- something for my birthday, actually. (Tuesday. Oct 3rd. I’m turning 18.) At first he was just struggling with the cuff of a sleeve, some fabric folds, so I did a similar thing to help him out. Now I’m also drawing a quick reference of my oc Viri’s face scar for him, (which I have yet to finish. Class project. That I should be working on instead of writing this.) because he needed that too, and I don’t mind.

They were both thanking me for my help- we were all on call together- and in trying to find something to say, I just managed “I like to help.” And, you know, I really think I do, actually. I like to help. It’s nice. I don’t know where I was going with this originally, but… I like to help. I want to help. And I’ve been doing it without much of a second thought lately, which is nice. It feels good.

it’s 7am and I haven’t slept which isn’t helping my mush brain make the original point/meaning here that I’ve kinda forgotten by now. But I wanna be good and kind and help but I also wanna remember how to be mean again.

but I guess what I mean by ‘mean’ I think, is I want to.. have a backbone again? Be brave again? Be a brash little autistic kid who said ‘but why’ to everything and anything and just did what they thought was right? And it’s kind of ‘mean’ only because a lot of other people see it that way. I wanna stick up for others and myself too, instead of clamming up and not doing it. It doesn’t help that I don’t feel very intimidating. I’m almost 18, but I’m pretty short and a weird little hopefully-kinda-gnc-lookin thing and people just always seem to think that I’m 13 or something. It’s genuinely getting on my nerves. Ma’am. I am a fucking grown ass man. Please stop talking to me like that.

I’m tired I need to sleep. Basically I wanna be kind but take no shit. I guess. That’s very punk to me. And I wanna make a jacket covered in patches and pins and other customizations, maybe some spikes and some moss, paint and sharpies and god knows what else. I simultaneously wanna look like a wizard, some cottage thing, a punk ass fuck, a colorful blob, and some forest creature, which is great. Anyways remembering the nice stuff I’ve done recently w just the. I dunno, almost bewildered ‘I like to help’ that was.. instinct? Makes me feel good. I wanna have my sharp teeth back.

[castle-dominion]

6x17 audio but I won't liveblog too too much hopefully

marlowe bowman amann yay

writer upon writer upon director

good profile closeup

Yeah esposition

"package" sure

literally ran lol

self congratulatory stuff now, & finally the how to direct stuff heheh

Just piling it on, for sure

the f*ck you moment XD

as fast as possible, that was indeed good.

What does she know, what doesn't she know? how can we use that?

It's an episode of not knowing, the camera direction is good too. Where is her head level?

violation, intimidation, who do they think she is?

Yay bonus features

bowman saying it's good to hang on a shot? not fastfastfast?

delicious to write lol

that's true! it could be a call-response sort of thing! codewords!

every sentence is painful, dangerous

50k/week for my services? I am not a drug courrier

set dressing my beloved

displacement of information, ooh

Ah they had to switch the location of the phone call bc of the set

KENNY HAD HIS HAND ON THE DOORKNOB THAT ENTIRE TIME

good point, women in hoods is not typical drug stuff

"We think that she's recovering from an attempted suicide overdose when in fact... oops" he says, deadpan

Oh did they ever find that letter?

Small in a large space, always showing the guards

feature film in only eight days...

Ok I'm missing onfo on the actual show bc I'm just watching the audio commentary "I'm coping with having killed somebody" to "I'm coping with the fact I had to stage a convincing fake murder"

gothic <3

surreal images, mansion, in over your head, yeah this is so much larger than life

mythologized characters. When do you reveal them?

lmao hotel california but yeah that lady was weird & totally in a different story.

Earned her way to descend into hell...

You keep the ceo in the basement?

NO MOVIE LIGHTS THERE??

Yeah beckett's mom's murder is still a thing even tho they caught the guy-- wait this episode is before that lol

3x13? Yeah this is great

why put her badge number when she could just put in her initials? or even a random 19484 101st & that's it, espt would be like "wtf is this" & then they look into it & still learn stuff

I recall the audio commentary for this with the extended scene

she was so excited that she was going to be tortured

take it away you horrible (great) writers

indeed, great filming

"wveryone else has beaten her up why not just throw her down the hill?"

organic AND a surprise

maturity? Oh you're right!! She has tact now!

Oof that was nice!

[rainbowbarnacle]

🗣️ ❔ 📝

🗣️Talk about your favourite WIP

My favorite lately is my Shadowbringers fic with the recovered memories and the horrible snarky old man. It's been fun seeing what kind of dreams and little bleary recollections our WoL keeps having. I have some entertaining conversations lined up. It's also interesting seeing what pops out of the ether--sometimes seat-of-the-pants writing ends up going all sorts of places. 8)

❔Choose a random WIP and talk about it.

I've been working on outlining and putting together more Kagerou short stories. Lots of stuff with Heyoka and Kid and Kano. Lots of stuff with Cho and Mindi. Maaaybe one more with Dee, we'll see, heehee. I don't have a lot specifically to blather about here though, because there's things I wanna do but there's not a whole lot to work with yet. That'll change, though, I just gotta buckle down.

📝Share a snippet of an unposted WIP, with or without context.

Hmmm, here's part of a very soppy love letter from the story I'm writing for @mercurialmalcontent:

Often when I’m at toil rewriting some speech, I imagine you cozily ensconced in the room with me, reading a book or soaking in the bath or brushing your hair. Lately I’ve particularly missed the sight of your hands in motion: the way you write, the way you light candles in the evening--even the way you hold your fork and knife at dinner.

I wonder if you cherish a mental image of me in the same way, and what peculiar things he must get up to, the rascal.

I wonder if you’re eating enough, if you get enough rest. (I know, I know, what a bold and capricious pot am I, fretting about his comely kettle, but I do wonder. I promise that I remember to eat and that I try to sleep as much as I can.)

It occurred to me earlier today that the necessary evil of being away allows me to send you these small truths in a way that’s more tangible than if I were at home. You can hold them and read them again and again, which, alas, isn’t something I can offer with the words I whisper into your ears. 

(At least not until that damned speaking locket is fixed, anyway. If only I could give you that instead--but, if your musings in your last letter are correct, I would perhaps only fry the spell again anyway with my wanton whisperings and then where would we be?)   

I wish that time allowed for me to write you more letters. (And send you more speaking lockets.) I wish that I could send you an ocean of them, answer every question, pen down every sighing, adoring thought I have of you, so that you might sprawl upon a great pile of them like a dragon on her treasure trove, until I can return home to you again. 

I’m still not used to having a home to miss, you know.

[burned-out-match]

Heyyyyy, it’s me again. 😅 But as someone who struggles with mental health issues, I was curious. How would Shigaraki, Hawks, and Aizawa handle an S/O who occasionally breaks down? Like, they’re normally fine, cheerful and very loving towards them. But sometimes, things just get too overwhelming and they have a bad anxiety attack or a meltdown? Or a depressive episode?

~🌹

Hello lovely! I totally relate to you. I’ve had serious struggles with mental illness in my life so these headcanons are gonna come from a place of sincerity <3

with a troubled s/o

Shigaraki

He’s confused at first because feelings don’t fully register with him

But he remembers the trauma from his childhood and how it impacted him- the nights he spent as a child sobbing and hyperventilating and he knows

He gently tries to comfort you but his efforts are sort of.. awkward

Like he’s saying “there, there” but in the most confused voice

He doesn’t know what he’s doing but he knows what he needs to do so he’s really trying for you <3

He gets the hang of it though

He starts rocking you back and forth, humming while his fingers comb through your hair <3

He asks a lot of questions about random stuff to distract you and his word vomit is actually a great grounding technique

Aizawa

He pulls you into a cuddle pile. No questions asked.

Totally pets your hair while he whispers a story into your ear to ground you

He’s the most calm and rational out of these three so you’ll definitely have some healthy coping mechanisms after being in this relationship

Practices breathing exercises with you and holds your face or puts his hand on your chest to feel your heartbeat decrease <3

Takes you out on small walks when you get overwhelmed

He helps you out with work and schedules himself so that he’s by your side when you’re doing a task that’s known to trigger you

Speaking of triggers, almost all of them are eliminated

He does everything in his power to make it right <3

Hawks

He will wrap his wings around you, no questions asked

Just imagine how soft they are and the way the light filters through them, casting a golden and red hue over Keigo’s face, accompanied by his golden eyes <3

Yes. I am a simp.

He’ll hum to you and scratch your back, coaching you through a 54321 exercise and different breathing techniques

He traces your hands and makes you watch his fingers glide over yours to refocus you <3

He’ll calmly ask if you would like to talk about your triggers so that he can do his best to help you avoid them

If not, he gets you snacks and a blanket, encouraging you to pick an activity to sit and do with him

He’ll take you on little strolls every now and then, always ended with stargazing <3