#that counts as therapy right???

[enbydindjarin]

Therapy? No I just watch the rocky horror picture show on repeat

[hollowwish]

You guys do realize a lot of watcher fans complaining about the six dollars don't just need to "cancel their disney+ or hulu subscriptions." They're the people who ALREADY can't afford streaming services. It's not that they should be supporting independent creators over big corporations, it's that they literally cannot afford to do either.

[sarcasticsra]

Clawing my face off at the meta of the last ep

Impulse and hyper vigilance hooking up so he’s aware of the danger but not too frozen by paranoia to act

Attention standing up against confusion to reprioritize what’s important and lock away unchecked ambition

Pleasure starting to realize that doing the right thing can feel good! But still being tempted by greed

Conscience finally having some power to direct the brain!

(Hopefully culminating in Elias’ realization that each function of the brain can be both rewarding and helpful when implemented in a healthy manner and destructive and isolating when implemented in an unhealthy manner…)

Everything about this season is incredible

[aroacettorney]

we talked a lot about how the incidents in delica absolutely broke ludger, but tbh, casey didnt come out of it unscathed either.

imagine how lonely you must have been to willingly travel to such a distant land just to see someone who was potentially like/similar to you. and when you thought you finally got a best friend who could understand you in a way that no one else could, they turned out to be something you would absolutely abhor with your entire existence. they gave no explanations. they bothered not with excuses. there wasnt even enough time for you to grieve what you just lost because they forced your hands to fight them in a death battle. without a word, they just simply vanished as if your friendship in the past few months meant absolutely nothing to them and you were left alone again, trying to navigate when and what went wrong all by yourself. there was a mix of burning hatred, betrayal, and sadness inside you, but there was no longer anyone for you to talk about it — no one that could understand it. you endured all those feelings for three years with no one to share while chasing after your old-best-friend-now-turned-archenemy for answers because they never gave you the closure you deserved.

even when you finally learned the truth, you realised that they had never trusted you nor your abilities enough to even consider working together. rather, they took on the most extreme measure and didnt hesitate to make you their biggest enemy all the while keeping all their troubles and pains to themselves. best friends, friends, friendly acquaintances, private detective and their client — it turned out that your relationship was neither of them. was it truly your one-sided assumption after all? or perhaps, was it because you failed them when you could have known better and done better? still wanting to keep believing that your companionship was once real, your guilt started gnawing on your conscience. not only you couldnt save them, but your inadequateness also doomed them to their worst fate possible.

then, the opportunity came. you finally mustered up all the courage to utter an apology. even though they acknowledged it, they made no intention to accept your peace offerings. they reminded, "our alliance is temporary". they stressed, "enemies are what we are destined to be". what a fool you were, trying to save a relationship that never existed. either that, or you had never truly been forgiven. they wanted nothing to do with you. they needed not saving by you. it wasnt a closure you wanted but its still a closure you got. in the end, you were left alone once more, with the knowledge of a possibility that you also might not be able to save them again this time.

[just-an-enby-lemon]

Me: picks a favorite characther waaay to early in a podcast.

Podcast: they struggle with happiness and mental health and likely have some level of depression and they feel just like you.

[anxiously-sidequesting]

I know we as a fandom all love to shit on Duncan whenever we get the chance (see: me posting Duncan GruncanWuncan) especially since the like, two times we ever see him he's shitting on us for being ourselves then tries to kill us because of his own delusions of grandeur but I thought about it and I was like, "......man that's kinda Sad actually"

BECAUSE seeing this from Duncan's perspective; he's The Best, he always has been the best, but reality constantly shows him that isn't true (Malorn, The Wizard, anyone else)

Like imagine how painful that can be when you think something that you truly deserved and something that you've fought for, maybe for your entire life, is seemingly handed to others who aren't nearly as deserving as you

And yeah WE know that Duncan has neither worked (very hard, at least) for his perceived greatness NOR does he truly """deserve""" it (Duncan has been shown to be shirking his duties off to us and possibly others for his own gain), but DUNCAN doesn't know this. Like in his mind he truly, honestly, genuinely believes with his whole fragile heart that he is just above everyone else and puts more effort in trying to convince others of that rather than literally just trying to work towards that himself

And then there's the extra added insult that even in his own class he's pretty mediocre. Duncan INSISTS that he was Malistaire's best student and that he praised Duncan maybe once and that all other Death students only wish they could be like him, but... Malorn. And I bet deep down Duncan KNOWS that in fact Malorn was Malistaire's best and most talented. And Duncan can't even really twist that in his mind because it was made solid when Malorn took over Malistaire's duties instead of him. It was proven as a hard fact that Malorn was more suited to the job than Duncan was and is widely recognized as being The Best Death student (if the YW isn't a Necromancer)

Okay so fine. Whatever it's just Death right? At least Duncan can be the best at ANYTHING ELSE, maybe he's not the most talented Necromancer but there's 6 more types of magic to excel in!!!

But then another person ruins that. The Young Wizard poofs in from another world and suddenly, Duncan is overshadowed once more because a literal child prodigy and Local Hero arrives and literally saves their world and then, the universe. Multiple times in fact

Like bro I can imagine that could be at least a little bit painful for anyone, but imagine with Duncan's already low self-esteem and his fragile, large ego, he literally and genuinely took that personally and a hit to your pride is devastating for anyone, no matter who you are. That was like, Strike Three for Duncan and it was so very personal and important to him that it left him in a deep and vulnerable state

But I think the absolute saddest part of Duncan's downfall is that near the end, he was ultimately manipulated by an adult. A grown ass adult noticed and acknowledged his insecurities and purposely struck where it hurts the most, in his weakest state. Duncan already wasn't thinking clearly from the start but when everything went to shit for him and he was clinging, Gretta DarkKettle approached him and completely broke him down to make him into something else entirely for the Schism's benefit.

Of course Duncan was a piece of shit from the start but he truly didn't have any malicious intentions until Gretta messed with his mind. Like, he went from a pretty much harmless bully to an actual criminal of the state and a threat to the literal universe. Duncan was CORRUPTED and all of his worst fears and delusions were solidified the moment Gretta """validated""" those feelings Duncan had.

Is Duncan completely blameless? Fuck no he did some fucked up shit actually and I'm glad he was held accountable for it by the narrative and the fandom!!! But I think it's something to be said that at the end of the day, Duncan was still a child that was suffering from many type of issues before being recruited and manipulated by a powerful literal cult. Wizard101 does have a theme of malicious intending and less than responsible adults using children to get what they want (Malistaire, Morganthe's brother, GF Spider, GM Raven, coughcoughAmbrose) but unlike the Young Wizard who successfully stays true to themselves despite that, Duncan had a more Morganthe-like route and ultimately succumbed to it. Of course their situations are a lot different since the YW wasn't brought in by a cult, but you can't help but feel bad for someone so young being preyed on by older people who are supposed to look out for them and protect them from something just LIKE that.

I will always shit on Duncan because it's funny and hold him accountable for his actions because he should, but I also feel bad for him and I hope he had a better ending after he was defeated

[chipistrate]

Thinking about the therapy tapes and specifically how fucked over Vanessa was with her parents-

Forced to lie about her mom in court which ended in her death and got stuck with her shit ass dad, and when she escaped her dad she ended up stuck with a virus mimicking a manipulative serial killer with a similar name and personality as her dad- like she just can NOT get a break,,,,

Makes me wonder if that had an effect on how she cares for Gregory after PQ ending- like she wants to be a good guardian/sibling to him and make sure nothing that happened to xem ever happens to him. He's already going through enough and xey want to help and be the support for him that she never got, but she's just never sure what to say or do.

[millenniummmbop]

rivalshipping is about healing to me but like in a “well-meaning yet still ill-advised codependency” way

[abyssleaves]

CW: mentions of past domestic abuse

(Not Beta'd, so forgive any typos)

~

It's the damn steaks that get you, in the end.

Not the trip, driving at definitely-not-illegal speeds all the way from Maine, the windows down, tendrils of your own dark hair whipping you in the face. Blaring the music he never let you play, singing along to the lyrics even though he always said your voice was flat. All you felt on the road was a wild kind of exultation, flying, numbness in your limbs as if this were a dream.

(You only stopped at a motel once. Put your backpack down on the single bed, and felt the stillness press in like a vise on your temples. Ten minutes later you were slapping a hundred dollar bill down in front of the bemused check-in lady, and back on the road. You slept at rest stops the rest of the way.)

The trip was fine. Freeing.

It wasn't the reality of the house, either. You shook hands with the realtor in a daze, smiling brightly the way you were taught, barely feeling the keys in your fingers. It takes you another ten minutes to unload the car. A handful of boxes and your backpack is all you brought with you. It's all that could fit in your car.

It's heavy, and you thought maybe you should be tired, but there was nothing but a sense of floating as you carry your few things in. You told yourself it's the weight lifted, the feeling of finally being able to hear yourself think. But all you could seem to think about is practicalities like thank god they left behind furniture, and is that mattress safe to sleep on.

How long until my voicemail is full, and I have some peace?

Unable to settle, even though it's far too late to unpack, you began to wander, pulling out drawers, opening cupboards. You peeked out windows, assessed the property. It's a steal, honestly, especially in this market, and you don't even really need to worry about neighbors. You can see other houses around, bits and bobs peeking through the trees, but there's only one little bungalow visible, with an older model red truck parked outside of it.

It was clean, and there was light around the edges of the heavy blinds, but no movement or sound. Maybe an older person, or older couple, you figured, then. Nobody that should be interested in you, but a relief to have someone close enough to hear it if–...if-…

Maybe it wasn't too late to unpack after all. No time like the present.

The first box you pick was the one with all of your sentimental plushes and knicknacks. The old gameboy color that you used to let Katie play, your merch from Anime Boston, the last anniversary trip. You only got a few things unpacked before you fell asleep right there on the floor, curled up.

Its fine. You were tired.

~

And now, it's morning, and you're still fine. Really, you do genuinely feel pretty great. A little blank, but that's to be expected after such a radical move.

You should call your mom and tell her you're in Texas.

You don't.

Instead, you go to make coffee and realize there isn't any. Because you didn't pack any. But there is a place nearby, google tells you. That's fine. You can treat yourself. Who’s going to stop you?

You don't think about how much Katie loved going to coffee places. Stop. She's not your responsibility anymore.

But of course she is. That's why you're in Texas, and Ben isn't in jail.

You don't remember getting the coffee. What you remember is sitting in your driveway, sipping it, thinking, huh, that truck is gone.

That's fine. You can introduce yourself later. You should make a Hello Treat first, anyway. That's what Mom would have suggested you do.

~

Your coffee goes mostly undrank, cooling slowly on the counter, as you throw yourself into unpacking with as much gusto as you can.

That's where things start to go wrong, by your estimation. Because when your stomach rumbles, what seems like an hour or two later, you casually glance at the stove clock and break into autopiloted panic. Oh my god, it's nearly four. Ben likes dinner at five.

You saw a grocery store on the way to the coffee place. That's fine. That's fine. It's a short trip, five minutes at most. You can get something that cooks quickly. You know a handful of dinners by heart at this point, and your exhausted brain busies itself with calculations on sides and cook times, and before you can blink you’re headed down the aisles with a basket on your arm. You pick up enough for simple sides, some spices, some paper plates because whoever furnished your place took all the plates but left a mysteriously insane number of forks.

Steaks. Ben likes red meat. He'll want something special after a move.

When you approach the red meat shelves, there's a man already standing there. He looks lost in thought, and he's standing right in front of the steaks. You wait patiently, the polite way you were taught, but when he finally looks up, he jumps back about a foot. You feel terrible immediately.

“Oh! I'm sorry, um, I was just…” You gesture helplessly to the rows of meat.

“It's fine. Can I grab something for you?” His affect is so flat, you're sure you've annoyed him, and you can’t say you blame him. But playing the “no, really” game would take longer and probably only irritate him more than simply getting what you need and getting out of his hair.

“Yeah.” You drop your eyes to the case, instinctively. “Uh, I was just gonna grab a couple steaks."

Silence.

Reluctantly, you look up. He's watching you, stonefaced. He looks like he’s waiting for something. You look at him blankly, and he seems to bite back a little sigh before he asks, if possibly even flatter, “What kind?”

Oh.

“Oh, my god, I'm so sorry.” You give a nervous chuckle that borders on manic, put a hand to your temple. It's almost four-fifteen now. You point to a few of the ones directly in front of him, where you can't reach. “Uh, those please.”

He grabs the three you point to and hands them over, waiting with each in his hand as you load your basket. Feeling a little guilty, you do your best to give him the warmest smile you can, feeling guilty at having been such a bother. “Thank you so much.”

He looks a little…surprised, maybe? In any case, his eyes are wide behind his vintage glasses, and he holds on a second too long to the last steak, so that you have to half pull it from his grip.

“Uh…no problem. Have a nice day.” His voice is a little friendlier, and he even gives you a faint lifting of his mouth. It could almost pass for a smile.

You feel forgiven, and beam back brightly. “You, too!”

You don't look back as you hurry away.

As you rush through self-checkout, some of that brightness dims as you feel the familiar dread. You hope none of Ben’s friends saw you smile at the guy like that. Especially since Ben knows well enough your weakness for green eyes.

~

Cooking passes in a blur of muscle memory, so that's not really the sticking point either. Oil in pan, steaks in, sear, add the butter and herbs, baste it. The sides both go in the oven, so that's all on the timer.

You get everything laid out as nicely as you can on three paper plates–two whole steaks for each of the adults, and a carefully trimmed set of slices for Katie. She hates all the fat.

Not that it matters.

Because she's never going to eat this steak.

Because she's in Maine. Because you had to flee her father in the dead of night while he worked a late shift. Because now all you have to your name is a couple boxes of necessary documents and cherished memorabilia. And a storage facility full of every scrap of your art equipment that you could slowly squirrel away, but couldn't afford to ship down after buying your new house. A bare mattress with your childhood blanket and no pillow because you haven't bought sheets yet. You had to leave your vintage dresses and leather jacket behind. You couldn't save the cameras, either. And Katie…

You haven't slept properly, changed clothes, or showered in days.

You’re free.

And you just wasted money on food you didn’t have to cook, for two people you'll never cook for again.

A car door slams in the silence.

Your vision is blurry when you try to look out the window, and you hurriedly wipe the shoulder of your shirt across your eyes, sniffling.

The red truck is back. You move over to the window to have a closer look, because it's better to be nosy about the neighbors right now than look at the plates of food you made for a husband that was never much of a husband, and a stepdaughter that isn't a stepdaughter anymore.

…

No.

No way.

You've got to be kidding me, is your first thought when around the hood of the truck comes the blond man from the meat department. He ducks to look into his mailbox.

Without even thinking you wrench your door open and stick your head out. “Hey!”

He jerks his head up from his mailbox, and you think in passing, twice in one day, he's going to think you're a psycho. He looks genuinely shocked to see you, as shocked as you were a few minutes ago.

Oh, well. Too late now. “Do you want some food?” You bellow across the lawns to him, and his face crinkles a little in confusion.

After a moment he calls back uncertainly, and much quieter than you, “. . . …Sure?”

Relief and a little happiness stir in your chest. It's been a long and lonely couple of days. “Just a sec!” You call back, and duck into the kitchen. Swiftly, you pile the second whole steak and as much of the sides from the extra two plates as you can fit. You end up needing to stack a couple plates to give it stability. It looks a little ludicrous, but what else are you going to do with it all? At least he'll know where my extra padding comes from.

(If you give your messy bun a couple of ineffectual pats, too, well, nobody needs to know but you.)

You're half-prepared to encounter the disappointment of an empty yard, given that a disheveled woman who scared him at the grocery store just yodeled at him out of nowhere, but he's waiting patiently by his mailbox, fidgeting a little with the envelopes. He looks up as you approach, and his eyes widen at the mountain of food you present to him with a smile.

“Oh, whoa,” he says. “I thought y’ meant like some cookies or something.”

“Oh… yeah, I was planning to do that later. That would be more normal.” You laugh a little, and both of you look down at the plate of food. “Um, sorry there's no clingfilm. I don't have any of that stuff yet.”

“Aw, that's alright.” For a moment you're too distracted by his drawl to notice that his eyes aren't on you anymore. They've drifted over your shoulder, and he squints as if looking for something. You follow his gaze, but all you see is the curtainless window showing your silent, still kitchen. “Your family not like the steaks or somethin’?”

“It's just me actually.”

The sentence is surprisingly steady at the start, but once you hear yourself say it, the end of the last word wobbles just a bit.

“Oh.” He looks back at you, eyebrows raising. “But you bought three of ‘em.”

“Yeah, um…” It takes you a minute to swallow the throat lump making all those funny shudders in your voice. He must hear them too, because his brow furrows as he peers more closely at you. He looks faintly concerned. “I guess I'm still used to cooking for more.”

There's a brief pause. He clearly has questions, but seems unable to figure out how to voice them. The green eyes you noticed at the store are boring into you like he wants to read the answers on your forehead.

You stick out your hand. “I'm Elizabeth–...Uh, Bess, to most people.” Bess is a cow’s name, Ben sneers in your head. But right now, competing with blond scruff and a slow, rolling accent, he's easy to ignore.

It takes your neighbor a second to shuffle the plate to one hand, but he gives your hand a firm shake with a callused grip. As with the steaks at the store, it seems to take him a moment to let you go. “Jacob,” he says, and gives you his first proper, if small, smile.

“Jacob,” You say, smiling happily, and watch his own smile widen to match yours. His face looks a little pink in the dark. “I guess we’re neighbors now.”

“Huh, guess so.” He glances at the house again, then back to you. “You let me know if you need anythin’, ok?”

You blink a little at this, after all the trouble you've been to him today, but you're not going to argue. It must be a southern thing. “Ok...I will. Thanks! I really appreciate…all this, today.” You gesture at the steak plate. “I better go eat my own before it gets cold.”

His smile dims slightly. “Sure,” he says, tone flat as ever. “See you around, Bess.”

You both linger a second longer. This is the most pleasant interaction you've had with a person in a long time, and you're surprised to find yourself not wanting to walk away. “Bye, Jacob.”

It takes a lot longer than you expect, as you make your way across to your own house, to hear his door shut.

In your silent kitchen, some of the bubble of happiness begins to leach away. You wish you'd thought to invite him to eat with you. But then, paradoxically, you feel a sudden intense guilt at the thought. You were living with your husband less than a week ago. And a voice that sounds a lot like Ben’s adds in a hiss, You’re a complete wreck.

You put your steak plate in the fridge and walk slowly over to the boxes, digging out your blanket.

Looking out your bedroom window, you can see the faint glow of Jacob’s lights in his windows. The hollowness of the silence refuses to go away, but you don't feel the same kind of flying numbness that you felt this morning. You're not running and alone now. You have a house, even if it's half-empty, and you have what might become at the very least a friend.

That's fine. It'll be fine.

~

( @carnivorekitty, I only saw a definite yes to fanART in your FAQ. If this isn't ok, let me know and I'll take it down!)

[heavenlydreamangelflyhigh]

moms getting competitive w her eating disorder again

[frogyz]

art block is beating my fucking ass I'm very and dearly sorry to anybody who is waiting for requests or art trade crying emoji praying emoji

[reidiot]

body counts only matter in homicide investigations

[theoldaeroplane]

I need things to stop HAPPENING

[aropride]

Will never ever forget the time i was 16 and i opened up a bmc fic bc i was making my way thru the entire boyf riends tag (unsuccessfully, but i did succeed with another ship) and it was a fic about jeremy coping with ptsd by writing absurd amounts of fanfic and i dont think id ever felt that type of deer-in-headlights mirror-held-up-in-front-of-me feeling from a fic in my fucking life . i will be thinking about that forever.

[mx-paint]

it's so funny how terfs will come up with ways to say "I'm not a terf! I don't call myself that! But I believe everything they say and agree with everything they do and also donate to specific funds that say trans people should die in a ditch that are run by terfs! But I'm sooooo not a terf!"

[gibbearish]

also does anyone know a good meal/drink tracker app