#this family had more than enough money to get this girl some goddamn therapy. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

comeonpeters · 3 years

Text

i never forgot

bobby/trevor wilson-centric; mild angst fic / a conversation he’d never thought he would get to have.

Rose wouldn’t want him to come and accost her daughter with his presence, but he has to know. Rose was his friend, Rose saved his goddamn life, but the three of them, they were his- he knows the look of his- of the- of those boys. He knows what he saw. He knows. There’s a glowing light outside in the studio and he goes to it, knocks on the studio door, doesn’t let himself hesitate. Julie looks at him with tears in her eyes. He doesn’t know why. There’s no one else in the studio with her. He wishes there were.

“Mister Wilson?”

“Julie, you know you can call me- Trevor. Even if you and Carrie haven’t spoken lately, you can still call me Trevor,” he says, tripping over a name that he hasn’t been called since he was seventeen. She invites him into the studio with trepidation as if he hasn’t been there a thousand times, as if he didn’t used to own the place, as if he didn’t used to- as if it wasn’t his once. As if it wasn't theirs once. Even walking in here feels like twenty five years of grief is pressing down around him, but he walks in anyway. He doesn’t let his jaw shake, no matter how much it would like to. He does not let himself get angry, or sad, or small, no matter how much he would like to. Even thinking of- it makes him feel young. Seventeen. He misses Rose. He misses-. He can’t think.

“I saw you at the show. Thank you for coming. It was really nice of you to be there,” Julie says, trying to break the tension that has settled now between them. He doesn’t know how to broach the topic he needs to. How does he- there’s no way to accuse your dead friend’s daughter of playing in a band made up of your dead family is there?

“Of course I did. How could I not come and see you and the boys play?” is what he says, nonsensical and not what he meant, and he has been so collected since he picked himself up out of the gutter he threw himself into twenty five years ago, and he’s not handling this well. He needs to meditate. Or call his therapist. Or do any one of the thousand coping mechanisms that he’s learned over decades of therapy, but none of them come to mind, of course, because he’s looking his friend’s daughter in the eye as she flounders like a fish.

“The boys? Yeah, everyone is super impressed by the hologram band thing, right?! It’s, uh, it was really nice of you to come all this way, but it’s getting late, isn’t it?” Julie tries, and he should let her, he really should.

“Julie... are they ghosts?” he asks, again not exactly what he meant, and yet what he needs to know. She looks at him, alarmed. Then, a notebook, Luke’s fucking notebook, falls off of the piano, and the question might as well be answered for her.

“Oh, come on, guys, you couldn’t have kept it together until I got him out of here?” Julie says to someone he can’t see, and his heart shatters, just a little bit. Why can she see them? Why can’t he? Why couldn’t he ever see them? He had always- he had tried- why couldn’t he ever- his chest hurts. He wants to be sitting down, so he moves over to Luke’s couch (he remembers helping Luke carry it into the studio, they stole it off of the curb when some guy was just gonna throw it out, what a mensch) and he slumps down. They’re here. He just can’t see them.

“They’re here?” he asks, just to confirm. Julie nods. “I know they have things to say. They’ve never been the quietest bunch. What have they got?” He hasn’t done anything perfectly (save Carrie), and if anyone is gonna fight him tooth and nail on everything, it’s Luke Patterson.

“Well, a lot. Reggie’s first question, when they first found out who you were, was why you didn’t share anything with their families, and Luke wanted to know why you didn’t share the credit,” Julie says, looking at specific areas of air where he can guess the boys are. He wishes he could see them. He puts away the notion to sob, and laughs instead. He laughs because he can’t fucking imagine wanting to share anything with Luke and Reggie and Alex’s fucking families, can’t imagine wanting them to be able to look at the songs Luke wrote and think- wanting them to- fuck.

“Share with your families?” he says, speaking directly to the boys for the first time in twenty years, because he had done it a lot right after they died, and yet stopped when his therapist told him that it probably wasn’t helping. “Was I supposed to give money to Alex’s parents, who fucking kicked him out for being gay? Or Luke’s, who never believed in him, in us, in Sunset Curve, or the dream, or music? Or Reggie’s? How was I supposed to share with Reggie’s family when I knew how little he slept in that house? I was the last person left who loved every single part of all three of you, and I wasn’t going to give anything to anybody who ever made you feel- who ever- it’s been twenty five years, you’d think I would be ready for this conversation.”

“And what about the credit?” Julie asks, looking as if she wants to linger on previous parts of what he said, but Luke is definitely getting her to get him to move on. He appreciates that, snorting.

“I was 21 and my three best friends had been dead for four years. Rose... Rose convinced me to start making music again. She told me that I should pick out some of your unfinished songs, finish them up if I could, and see if I could make it big myself. I decided on Crooked Teeth because it was about Reggie, and My Name is Luke because it was about you, and Long Weekend because it was about Alex, I know it was, and Get Lost because it was about all of us. I figured... recording My Name is Luke, it was pretty obvious who it was by. Anybody could figure out who I was, that I used to be a member of Sunset Curve, that band that- yeah. You were dead, Lu. I didn’t. I didn’t expect to get you back.” He still doesn’t get to get him back, but this conversation, it’s more than he expected to have.

Julie clears her throat. He has to shake his head to return himself fully to the present. He hadn’t realized he had left it.

“Alex wants to know how you just... left them behind. It seems like after a certain point you just... moved on. You just forgot them,” Julie says, her tone reluctant. He knows her, and he knows that Alex must have insisted if she’s taking that tone; it’s the one she used to get when Carrie would convince her to do something not so straight laced and goodie two shoes. He shakes his head again.

“My daughter. Carrie. They’ve seen her, right?” he asks, wanting to get a confirmation from Julie. Julie snorts.

“They’re familiar, yes.”

“I was... spiraling. Before she was born. I wasn’t meant to be famous without the three of you. Everything was too much and not enough and there were so many people and none of them were the three of you, and you were dead. My family. All three of you stayed in my garage, and I don’t think you ever questioned why nobody ever asked questions about that. No one was around to. My parents were always gone, one business trip or another, one affair or another, and after I got on the road, it just got worse. Nothing real, nothing tangible. When I found out Carrie’s mom was pregnant, I had to beg her to keep the baby, and pay her through the nose besides. Carrie and Rose, after Carrie was born and I didn’t know how to take care of a baby, saved my life. And Julie. Do you know what Carrie’s full name is?” he asks, because he knows that she knows, and he nudges her with his shoulder just a bit like he used to do when she was younger. She gives him a ghost of the smile she used to have when she was younger too.

“Carrie Sunset Wilson,” she says, barely above a whisper. He nods.

“It was the only way to name her after all three of them. Named my little girl after all three of my brothers. And she saved my life,” he says again, because she did. She’s the best thing that ever happened to him, his little girl. He stopped making music entirely when she was born, road the money and went to gender inclusive Mommy and Mes and bought a big house where she could make friends (she already had a built in best friend, because Julie is three months older than her, they all lost Rose together, they’ll come back together), he does everything for her, still. He’s lost in his head again.

“What about-”

“He’s had enough,” a new voice says, a terrifyingly familiar voice says, and there’s a hand on his shoulder that wasn’t there before and he looks up and Reggie Peters is there. He’s just standing there, like he’s allowed to just stand there, like he’s not dead, like he hasn’t been dead for longer than he was alive, and a sob breaks out of Robert Trevor Wilson’s chest before he can contain it. He stands up and he wraps himself around a seventeen year old boy that he hasn’t seen since he himself was seventeen, and he feels like he’s going to crack apart. Reggie. His brother. His best friend. His family. His family. His family. Another body wraps around his back and he knows Luke’s stupid sleeveless fucking shirts even against his back and twenty five years late and he sobs some more. Alex hugs him too and he breaks into full fledged tears. Everything is okay. Nothing is okay.

“I never forgot. I never ever forgot. I would never forget you,” he says it like a mantra, and everyone knows it’s true.

#bobby wilson #trevor wilson #bobby jatp #jatp #julie and the phantoms #i sobbed while writing this #julie molina #reggie peters #luke patterson #alex mercer #carrie wilson #mine

15 notes · View notes

surveys-at-your-service · 4 years

Text

Survey #335

“on my forehead, a birthmark / remove it with the kiss of a knife / even if it causes me to die”

Do you recover well from surgery? Judging by the two surgeries I've had, oh yeah. I was hyper as hell when I came home from getting tubes put in my ears as a little kid, even though the doctor said I'd be very sleepy. Then, after my cyst removal, I was put on very strong painkillers but was still warned it was going to be a painful recovery, when it totally wasn't. I literally only took painkillers the first day. What addictions have you had? Caffeine, technology. Would you change your name if you became famous? Nah. If Cupid were real, would you hire him to make someone love you? No. I don't want somebody forced to love me. Ever been to an auction? No. Which word(s) do you generally use to describe someone attractive? (e.g. “fit”, “sexy”) It kinda varies with gender. Women I tend to call "beautiful" or "gorgeous," sometimes "hot" or "cute," while men I usually refer to as "handsome" or "hot"/"sexy." The last person you kissed - are they older or younger than you? She's a bit younger. When was the last time someone wanted you to do something, and you refused? Hm. I dunno. I have a hard time saying "no," so. When was the last time you had Pop Tarts? What flavour were they? Many months ago; I kinda stopped eating them because they're truly not filling and just a load of sugar that veils itself as an actual breakfast choice. But anyway, I liked the chocolate sundae ones. Have you ever felt a temperature below 0? No. Did you ever play Spyro? I LOVE!!!!!!!!!!!! SPYRO!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Those games were my CHILDHOOD, and it's half the reason I'm dying for a PS4 to play the remastered trilogy. Speaking of which, it'd be awesome if they remade the The Legend of Spyro trilogy as well. I might just like those games more than the originals, but that's a bold statement I'm unsure about. Have you ever dated someone who was of a foreign origin? I dated a Hispanic guy for less than a day. Have you ever read any of your idols’ books/autobiographies? Ozzy Osbourne's, yes. I'm just fucking waiting for Mark to write one, but he's always said he has so little interest in writing about his life. DO IT, YOU FUCK. Do you own any succulents? No. I think they're pretty, though. Do you have a drone? No. What’s your favorite Netflix series? *shrug* What is something a lot of people like but you don’t? Summertime. The heat, the humidity (at least here), the sunburn from just standing outside for ten minutes... I hate all of it. The ONLY two things I enjoy about summer is swimming and then flowers, though spring is the more floral season here anyway. Do you have revenge fantasies that you never actually play out? They've... happened. Did your first real significant other change you at all? Pretty sure forever. Are you waiting to have sex until you’re married? Once upon a time, that was the plan. Now, nah. I'd just want to be in a healthy, stable, and long-term relationship. What do you think about divorce? It's sad, but necessary for some people in order to be happy, which everyone has the right to be. I used to be very firmly against divorce except in extreme cases like abuse, etc., and I'm still definitely no fan of it and think couples should do their best to work things out, but it's incredibly unfair to believe that someone should be stuck for the rest of their life with a person they just don't love anymore. Getting married can be a mistake; don't damn people forever to be chained to their bad decisions. Do you remember the first time your heart broke? What was the reason? It was probably when Dad just abandoned us. What's the worst prank someone has ever done to you? I don't think anyone's ever pulled a sick joke on me. Have you ever seen someone sleepwalk? Yes; my little sister deadass tried to walk outside late at night. Thank God I was on the computer in the living room and stopped her. What song are you listening to right now? I just turned "Mutter" by Rammstein on. When is the last time you cursed? I'm not re-reading, but I have probably cursed fifty times in this survey already. It's so deeply ingrained into my vocabulary. Are there any words on your shirt? No; it's just a plain gray tank top. Why do you forward forwards? I never do because they annoy the fuck out of me. How many people are you interested in at the moment? Just one in a healthy and logical way. I can't be truly interested in Jason because like come on I haven't spoken to him in four whole years. My PTSD just ensures I never forget the memory of who he was, who probably no longer even exists. I mean, look how much I'VE changed in four years. Do you know any mechanical stuff about cars? Nnnnope. Who was the last person (apart from family) that you spent time with? What did you get up to? Apart from family, I have no idea. If you have pets, when was the last time one of them got on your nerves? Venus never does, but Roman can get on my nerves sometimes when I don't let him lay on me when I'm on the laptop in bed. He's a large cat (not overweight, just a big male cat) and blocks the screen big time unless he lies down properly, which he doesn't always do. He still tends to win when he tries to come over, but sometimes I'll block him with my arm, and this spoiled brat will actually slap it a few times before walking away lmao. Would you rather live in a house with a swimming pool or an indoor cinema? Absolutely a pool. I want one badly. Do you own a credit card? If so, do you currently owe any money on it? Could you afford to pay it off tomorrow if necessary? No. How many hours of sleep do you typically get each night? Is that enough to function or would you rather have more? Especially lately, I don't get nearly enough. Like at the time I'm answering this question, it's 4 AM, and I've been up for almost a couple hours. I struggle with falling asleep, I will ALWAYS wake up at least once in the night, and I jerk awake from nightmares regularly still. It's a big reason why I pretty much require naps. Does your house have a loft/basement? Are they functional or do you just use them for storage? We only have an attic. Do you suffer from road rage? What kind of thing tends to set you off or wind you up while driving? No. I'm way too timid of a driver to get that outwardly pissy about stupid people. I'd just judge them in silence, haha. What kind of animal did you last see in the wild? Is that a common sight where you live? Because of just how common they are, I'm going to assume this excludes birds, in which case it was probably a squirrel? Yeah, the normal brown ones are common. Do you post a lot on social media? If so, what kind of thing do you tend to post on there? Since I was fucking stupid enough to post a suicide note on Facebook (I don't want to hear a goddamn thing about "attention seeking," I genuinely wanted to say goodbye), I almost never, ever, share things about my personal life. Even before, it was rare for me to actually share what's going on with me. All I really do now is share relatable, wholesome, or funny shit I find, as well as political things I'm in firm agreement with. What are some habits you have in common with your parents? I pace like my dad, and it drives people crazy because it apparently makes them anxious? I can't think of an obvious one I have with Mom, but I'm sure one exists. Where's your favourite place to swim - the ocean, a pool, river, lake etc? I feel safest and most clean in a pool, but c'mon, swimming in the ocean is so much fun. When you're saving your place in a book, do you use a bookmark or fold your pages down? Or something else? It depends on the book, it seems. Especially if someone else owns it, like in school or something. Is any part of your body hurting at the moment? Is there a specific incident that caused the pain? My legs always hurt. I've shared enough as to why; it wasn't an actual, singular "incident." What was the last thing to make you laugh out loud? OH MY FUCKING GOD. So in group therapy the other day, one of the girls had her bearded dragon out, and he was being aggressive. I think he tried to bite her aND SHE SAID WITHOUT REALIZING HER MIC WAS ON, "fucking dickhead," and everyone d i e d. She's a really cool chick, I'll miss her when I'm finished with PHP. Who was the last person you heard sing? Myself, surprisingly enough. I barely ever sing. Do you bite your lips a lot? Yes, especially when they're dry. .-. What part of your body would you never get pierced? Anyone who gets a piercing "down there" has a greater pain tolerance than this bitch right here. Have you ever dated someone with tattoos? Juan had quite a few. I don't remember if Tyler did... but I think maybe a The Legend of Zelda-related one? Have you ever failed gym in school? No. Are you scared of dogs? No; I love dogs. What is the saddest movie you’ve ever seen? Man, idk, I'm a little bitch when it comes to emotional movies. The Boy in the Striped Pajamas is high up there, as is of course Johnny Got His Gun. Old Yeller, too. Which one of your friends is most likely to be famous one day? Why? Sara's gonna write a fuckin book series ok you can't convince me otherwise. What is the worst present you have ever gotten? Damn dude, what an ungrateful question. I'm just appreciative someone even thought TO give me something. Do you shave your arms? My armpits, yes, but not my arms themselves. How many people have you dated? I only count three as even remotely serious: Jason, Sara, and Girt. Have you ever performed in a play? I remember back in Sunday school as a tiny kid I played Mother Mary in one we did in class. Do you chew gum? I have been more lately since my doc upped the dosage of one of my mood stabilizers (which I think is actually helping); I mention that because apparently a side effect is dry mouth, and it's the fucking Sahara in there. He advises those who deal with it to always carry around hard candy or something like that for the sake of forcing salivation, so gum works for me. How old were you when you first started dating? I was in the 7th grade when I had my first "boyfriend," but it was total puppydog love. I started dating my first "real" bf when I was just shy of 16. Are/were your parents strict? Dad, no. Mom, only to a degree that I feel was pretty reasonable. She only ever wanted to prepare us to be functional, independent adults. Didn't work so well on me though, ha... Do you wear glasses? Yes. God, I need new ones. I'm blind as hell. What do you miss most about your childhood? Being so outgoing and happy to just be weird lil me. Do you write “To-Do” lists? Not really, no, but I do have notes on my phone about a couple things, like a bulleted list of planned monetary investments by importance, as well as a list of drawing ideas. Do you have a favorite quote? What is it? I don't, really. There's loads I like, but no one favorite. Could you survive as a vegetarian? I pretty desperately want to, but I don't know if it's realistic. I am so, SO picky, and without meat, it's very questionable as to where I'd get an adequate source of protein. I still want to try again though once I'm at my goal weight. Has anyone ever asked you for your autograph? Lol no. Has someone of the opposite sex ever told you that you were sexy? Yeah, but that was a looong time ago when I was actually some semblance of pretty. Do you prefer to take your showers at night or in the morning? I used to be someone who firmly stood by nighttime showers, but now I'm all about them in the morning. It's a nice way to wake up and start the day with productivity. Could you handle living with a male roommate? I mean, I lived with my then-boyfriend once, but I'm going to assume you'd consider him more than a "roommate." We lived with our two other friends, though, also a couple, and I was totally fine with living with them. Has anyone taken their shirt off in front of you? Yes. Do you like Freddy Krueger? His concept is very scary, but all the movies I've seen bits of have always been super cheesy. Which do you prefer, Naruto or One Piece? I haven't seen either and really aren't interested. What do you think of Rob Zombie? I've never really watched his movies, but I'm a fan of his music. What’s you fetish? I don't have one. Have you ever been in the “friend zone?" Well, what I'd call a "fake" one with Jason after the breakup until I was blocked on Facebook. I know now he absolutely did not want to be friends; he was trying to appease me. Is the area you live in more liberal or conservative? Definitely conservative. Do you know anyone who had to have tubes put in their ears as a baby? Yeah, me. Were either of your parents baptized? I'm certain Mom was, but idk about Dad. I think so. The last concert that you were at, was there a mosh pit? No. What was the last computer game that you played? World of Warcraft. Does your bathroom have a theme to it? No. Are any rooms in your house themed? No. What was the last thing that you recorded? I think Mom and I singing "happy birthday" to my late dog Teddy; we knew it would be his last. Do you like the show Futurama? Not really. Have you ever been in a choir class? I was in the elementary school chorus, as well as the choir at my childhood church. Are you ashamed of any of your family members? No, only myself. Were you a chubby child? No. Did you ever have senior photos done? No, even though I wanted them. Who is the person you dislike the most? God, this is so petty... but it's the girl Jason dated after me. I know it's childish as hell to feel like she "took" him from me, and I just feel this horrible hatred towards her that is entirely uncalled for. I just can't get myself to move past it. Do you take part in paying the bills for your household? No, as I'm unemployed and also don't have disability, so I literally can't. How do you usually celebrate New Years? I really don't do much. Sometimes Mom will grab a pack of daiquiris, but that's pretty much the extent of it. Does the place you work have music playing? What sort? N/A What was the last job interview you went to? At a local grocery store to work in the deli. Got the job, lasted there for not even two hours. :^) Do you know anyone with autism, mood disorders or learning disabilities? Autism and mood disorders, yes. I myself may have high-functioning Asperger's (yes, I know that term doesn't technically exist anymore, it's just the umbrella term of "autism," but w/e). Have you ever had an immediate relative pass away of cancer? My grandmother died of pancreatic cancer, and it's pretty much guaranteed that, unless there's some sudden accident, my mom will die of cancer, too. Hers got too bad to entirely eliminate every trace of cancer cells, so it will inevitably re-emerge at some point, just obviously some place else given that she had a total hysterectomy. Would you rather work in an office, warehouse or on a retail shop floor? Office. Are you a fan of sweet, sour, salty, or savory snacks? I enjoy all of those, but sour I think tops the list.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''mutter'' by rammstein

7 notes · View notes

bowenandjohnson · 5 years

Text

My Thoughts on Elite Season 3

Spoilers! Under the cut!

The Murder of It All

Well, I definitely didn’t see that final twist with the murderer happening, but I understood why Lu was the one to do it. She has always had the capacity for darkness, and even if it was an accident, Lu made the best unexpected choice. I’m glad Guzman was able to forgive Polo in the end--he needed that closure to fully move on and heal from Marina’s death.

Did I like that everyone covered for Lu? Eh. I didn’t ever really enjoy her as a character. But the fact that everyone overcame their differences to come together as a team? That’s the real endgame that I’m sure the writers were going for. Forgiveness and growth is possible, which is a large theme this season.

Omar/Ander/kind of Malick

Ander’s cancer storyline hit very close to home for me. My father was diagnosed with cancer last year in February 2019, and has only been in remission for around four months so far. Seeing his struggle and his journey was hard. I know a lot of people are being hard on Omar, and I certainly condone cheating on a significant other.

However, many people don’t understand the pressure of being someone’s main support system like I do. It’s so hard and so draining on a person, and luckily for me, my dad had his wife, my brothers, and his parents. But for Ander, he only had his mother and Omar at first, before slowly starting to let Guzman and Polo in.

Omar is a 18-19 year old boy, and so I can understand why he had a thing with Malick. He’s young, his only major support system is Ander and Ander’s mother. His family (outside of his sister) disapproves of his life, and who he loves. His life was falling apart, and he was losing control. Malick could relate to being a gay Muslim with a disapproving family, so it makes sense why he would cling to someone who shared similarities to his own life. Omar made a mistake, and he realized who he truly wanted to be with.

I do wish he would have owned up to the cheating with Malick to Ander directly, but they only have eight episodes and a large cast to support. Overall, Omar and Ander are happy, in love, and returning to Las Encinas TOGETHER. Plus, Ander is in remission--thank God! And Yusef finally accepted that his son is gay and has a boyfriend, true character growth!

Carla/Yeray

Teodoro Roson is a goddamn asshole. I hate him, and I wish he were also dead. He manipulated and gaslighted his daughter for several more episodes than I wanted to see. Carla truly suffered this season, and I hated that. They broke down her character to serve the whims of a powerful, white man, and I hate that. Carla was such a bad bitch in s1, and she didn’t deserve this storyline. Ester Exposito did the most with the material she was given, however.

Yeray could have also been so much more as a character. They barely addressed how he was harassed in the past for his weight, and how that affected him still in the present. Though he didn’t love Carla, nor she him, he cared about her enough to accept her friendship, and help her take down her father for good.

Those final interactions of the two talking about their relationship and how the two teamed up only showed me what could have been for the two in this third season. As one of the first black characters on this show, Yeray really got the short end of the stick, and he didn’t deserve to be an obstacle to a white girl’s true happiness. I did truly like him in the end, and Sergio Momo did the best with the material he had.

Samuel/Rebeka

I felt bad for Rebe throughout the entirety of her relationship with Samuel this season. She was a obstacle for “Carmuel” and ultimately used by Samu who helped to throw her own mother in jail. She deserved so much more. So much more. I’m glad she’s going back to school and she got her mother out of the drug business. PLUS SHE ADMITTED SOME ATTRACTION TO WOMEN!! Rebe/Caye for season 4, perhaps?

Samuel has also never been a favorite character of mine throughout the series, but I’m happy he got his brother free, he’s going back to school, and he’s single. That’s right--single Samuel may just be for the best. When Samuel is romantically concerned, there is always trouble to follow. He has never made it easy for any of his romantic interests.

Also, can we please get Samuel some therapy? They really needed to address his anger issues. Season 4 needs to get all these kids all some counseling, honestly. Two people have died that these kids were close to.

Cayetana/Valerio/Polo

Caye, Polo, and Valerio have never been my favorite characters on this show, either. I’m sorry, I guess I only enjoy five characters on this crazy-ass show. However, despite this relationship feeling like a rehash of s1, this relationship got Valerio away from the toxicity of his incest relationship with Lu and it helped him to succeed in school, and I felt like the dynamic was also evenly balanced between the three. Ultimately, I feel like Valerio grew enough to earn his “happy” ending helping Carla run the wineries and also pissing off Teodoro.

Caye also figured out FINALLY that money doesn’t equal happiness. I’m glad Polo broke up with her, and that she works as a cleaning lady like her mother did at Las Encinas. She helped a murderer, and in the end, she got an ending that I thought she deserved. I enjoyed her bonding with Rebe though after Polo died. They should date. The fraudster and “Narco Barbie” would be a match made in heaven in season 4.

Polo got his forgiveness, and he was fully charged with the murder of Marina posthumously. Alvaro Rico has always done a wonderful job portraying Polo over these three seasons, and I wish him the best with his future endeavors, this guy is a star.

Lu, Lu, Lu. She is, by far, my least favorite character from the show, and while I did enjoy some moments this season, her redemption arc was lazy and unearned. She never apologized to Nadia for releasing a sex tape of her, and that is what I had the most issue with. She didn’t earn Nadia’s friendship in the way that I would have wanted her to.

Sure, Lu grew. But did she grow enough? No.

Have a nice life in NYC, Lu, with the happy ending you never truly earned.

Nadia/Guzman/Malick (part 2)

Nadia’s arc made sense to me this season. I know why people feel shortchanged by the lack of physical Guznadia this cycle, but there’s a clear undercurrent of love throughout all their interactions this season, and it makes sense why Nadia would pull back after being so violated in an intimate moment last season.

Malick makes sense for Nadia on paper: he’s nice, a good listener, and most importantly, he’s also a Muslim. However, Malick and Nadia’s relationship crumbles because he’s maintaining a facade: he’s closeted, and interested in hooking up with Omar, her own brother. Nadia is betrayed by this, of course, but the truth is: she wants a relationship that is based on love and respect. She’s done putting up a facade.

She has that real connection with Guzman, the boy who offers to work at her family’s shop while she works on her scholarship applications, the boy who doesn’t want to jeopardize her dreams, the boy who loves her without expecting anything in return. At the end of the season, when she promises to come back for him, and he starts crying, that is the first time that he is certain of her committing to their relationship--and it is so incredibly beautiful.

Nothing will ever come in their way--not religion, not other people, not time or location. Their love will endure.

Guzman scared me in episode 2, when he kidnapped and tortured Polo. That moment felt so out of character for me, it took me out of the show for a bit. It was detrimental to the rest of his arc this season. However, I’m glad he grew out of his anger and frustration, and ultimately forgave Polo. He’s a supportive friend to both Samuel and Ander, and he reclaimed his “Mom Friend” title in the process. Can we please get the boy some therapy though? Please? Next season? I’m glad he gets to go back to school.

Malick also got the end of the short stick this season, and I wanted to see more of him as well. He deserved more than to be an obstacle to both “Guznadia” and “Omander.” Have fun in NYC, dude, I guess.

Thoughts on Season 4

Considering Guzman, Samuel, Rebeka, Ander, and Omar are all attending Las Encinas to make up a year, it makes sense for season 4 to include them. Each season is a half of a year, so the also-ordered season 5 would be when they graduate.

This way, other characters could guest and make appearances when they’re on break from college or something. It will be interesting to see how the show evolves in the future.

Overall, this season was a mixed bag, but I love these characters, and I will probably return to watch future episodes.

#elite netflix #elite spoilers #elite s3 #guznadia #omander #nadia shanaa #guzman nunier #lu montesinos #polo benavent #omar shanaa #ander munoz #carla roson

13 notes · View notes

smokeybrand · 4 years

Text

Smooth Criminal

I was talking about the whole Wayfair predator scandal and the topic shifted to Bill Cosby and Michael Jackson. A friend of my believes that Cosby definitely raped for decades by is in complete denial about Jackson. I, one hundred percent, believe Michael Jackson was a sexual predator. He had hundreds of victims. Sure, he was “acquitted” of certain crimes brought forward by less than “reputable” people, but there is a ton of circumstantial evidence that point to them maybe not lying for clout. Michael, himself, was severely emotionally stunted. you can see that sh*t openly. Mans wanted to be treated like a child because “he didn’t have a childhood.” That’s fine. I didn’t have one either. Get some f*cking therapy and move one. Grow up. Learn coping mechanisms. Don't act like a fourteen-year-old when you're in your goddamn forties. Don’t whisk kids away from there parents and lock them up on a compound with private security and secret rooms which has a name that references Peter Pan. Don't run around with an entourage of prepubescent little boys that have severe behavioral problems once they return home. Don't associate with other rumored, high profile, Hollywood, pedophiles and sex traffickers. That sh*t is weird and mad suspect. So much so, I wouldn't trust anyone under the age of twenty around the dude.

The way he acted and interacted with children, is textbook predatory. That Jesus Juice sh*t should be enough for people to question his integrity. Who puts wine in soda cans and serves it to kids? What the f*ck was that for? If he’s willing to go that far, what else would he put into a kid’s drink? How can anyone justify that sh*t knowing that is a stereotypical way pedophiles get in? Why is everyone okay with leaving him around inebriated children? I mean, dude gave a kid an engagement ring. He wanted to “marry” this thirteen-year-old. There’s footage of them buying it together. the kid, now an adult, kept the ring and f*cking showed it on camera!

That, for me, is enough but i understand that it might not be for other people so i got more. The deteriorated relationship between Spielberg and Jackson is well documented. It occurred after the first trial. Jackson has gone on record to say he felt abandoned by Spielberg. Why? Because Spielberg is part of the pedo ring, too. Spielberg has long since been rumored to be one of the “powerful men” that facilitated the molestation of many child stars in the 80s. His own adopted daughter, while not pointing the finger directly at her pops, has spoken about her grooming and exploitation for years. There’s a reason she’s engaged to a grandpa at 20 and fucks on camera for money. Spielberg and Jackson bonded over their love of the kiddies. They used Neverland Ranch as a base of operations to literally auction kids off. hat little girl from Poltergeist who died of sepsis because of a bowel obstruction but her family still got a multi-million dollar payoff? Yeah, that occurred during a trip to Neverland where she was put on display, bought by a monster, sodomized so viciously that her bowels ruptured, and then she f*cking died. Spielberg bailed on Jackson during his first molestation trial because it was too close to exposing him.

Look, i get it. There are many things that point to but don’t prove MJ diddled the kiddies. If that’s enough for you, that little bit of doubt, good on ya. Take everything i said with a grain of salt. I might have taken a few leaps here but they’re more like little hops. If you look, there is a trail of debauchery and destruction that follows Jackson for most of his adult life. Mike was and inspired artist. He made outstanding music. That’s fine. You can acknowledge the man’s talent but understand he was a f*cking monster, too. I, personally, can’t listen to his music anymore. I can’t separate an artist from the art. For me, Michael Jackson is definitely a rampant pedophile. His music just makes me sad for the probable hundreds of victims that have suffered either directly or indirectly at his hands. I’m not trying to change anyone’s mind. If you like Jackson, go for it. I’m just giving you part of the reason why i can’t like him anymore.

1 note · View note

finaliity · 5 years

Text

&. 【 sh, do you hear TROUBLEMAKER by BEACH HOUSE playing ? that must mean NEVE CHANNING is coming, the 31 year old CIS FEMALE that goes by SHE/HER, currently employed as an ER NURSE. they’re a BANSHEE in oldgate for eh, i’d say about SIX MONTHS. tough luck, huh ? least they got their SELF-POSSESSED, COMPASSIONATE, ALOOF and SELF-RIGHTEOUS stuff to fall back on. anyway, it’s best to get out of here. their ( a revolver hidden in the nightstand, late night jogs with a canine companion, light blue scrubs beneath a leather jacket, silent screams while dreaming ) vibe gives me the creeps ! - ADELAIDE KANE.

a brief history. trigger/content warnings: murder, death, graphic violence, mental health, postpartum depression, suicide, cancer, drug mention, parent death, medical, euthanasia mention, stalking, guns

THE FOG CREEPS IN ; GIRLHOOD IS A GRAVEYARD

neve channing is born on a cold, grey february sometime around midnight to douglas and paula channing while the heavy oregon fog kisses the modest concrete jungle of portland oregon like a phantom. paula gives her a big name, telling the nurses with heady confidence that she’ll be famous one day, and it’s the biggest gift she ever gives her. baby genevieve is in her arms so often, she hardly touches a cradle, but it’s not long until douglas feels an uneasiness creeping in.

paula is bohemian silk skirts and crushed velvet. she grows restless being trapped in the plain, modest home in northeast. she is a woman that is easy to fall in love with—not meant to sit at home idly with a collicy baby, where she finds herself in tears more than ever. douglas returns from work to find baby neve screaming unattended in her crib while paula cries in the backyard with an ashtray full of cigarettes. she tells him she’s worried she’ll crash the car one day on the way to the grocery store with them both inside. douglas digs his teeth into his bottom lip and tries not to cry. he squeezes her hand and tells her she needs to go to therapy. what he really wants to tell her is that their baby needs her. he leaves paula outside and spends the afternoon tidying the house with neve swaddled against his chest. it’s a warm feeling.

it’s not long after that paula starts disappearing for periods of time and douglas learns she can’t be trusted to watch after the baby on her own. she screams all the time and perseverates on death in the most unhealthy of ways. when she calls from downtown in tears, hyperverbal and desperate, he picks her up in his old chevy truck and brings her home. she agrees to see a doctor and for awhile, they figure out how to live again. some days are even as sweet as the rhubarb pies she starts to make again.

there are only two ways neve later remembers her mother, and the first is lovely–paula is picnics and shakespeare in the parks. she’s dried roses in the window and salmon tacos with mango salsa. she is whirlwind adventures and laughter. she teaches neve to make wishes on stray eyelashes, blowing them into the wind like dandelion seeds. on the good days, paula’s eyes are filled with stars. on the bad days, they are left black as the night sky while she cries the constellations down her cheeks. occasionally, she is cruel. mostly, she is absent.

by the third grade, neve expects this. douglas has never been much of a cook–save hamburger patties with canned green beans and a baked potato. she cooks their dinners from recipes she learns from her grandmas and helps around the house. most nights she’s home alone until the grumbling sound of the chevy breaks through the dark and signals her father’s return. eventually, she stops missing her mother from the everyday–it’s only when the other kids talk about their moms that she feels the pang of loss and wonders where she is. some nights neve finds herself sitting in her bedroom window pulling out eyelashes just to have something left to wish on. some of paula’s friends overdose on heroin or get murdered in the nights when neve is sleeping; she stays up late and hopes that her vigil will keep a distant mother safe.

there aren’t many trees on their street–unlike some of the other neighborhoods. the big weeping birch in their backyard that drives her father crazy as he rakes leaves every fall is neve’s pride and joy. there is comfort in the shade its branches cast every summer. at night it makes her lonely as it blocks the silhouette of the waxing moon. on lazy summer days when her father leaves for work, neve sits with her back curved against its rough trunk and reads the day away.

on a cool april afternoon, just after preparing a plate of cherry poptarts with a thin layer of butter on top of the frosting ( much to her father’s chagrin ), neve ventures out to the modest yard to sit under her tree. the familiar crushed blue velvet of her mother’s favorite dress catches her off guard and she drops her breakfast onto the unkempt lawn as her mind makes sense of the unnatural height of its hem as paula swings–marking the time of neve’s pounding heartbeat. the butter solidifies as it cools in the dirt, the heel of neve’s hand-me-down airwalk sneakers mashing her breakfast. the cherry filling sticks to the sole like bubblegum; she’ll never eat them again, but she can’t help but recall that her mom always preferred the maple and brown sugar.

THE ODDS ARE STACKED AGAINST HER ; A GIRL LEARNS TO COUNT CARDS

portland in the eighties and nineties is less portlandia and more drugstore cowboy. a lot of kids from other neighborhoods don’t go downtown. the ones that do have an air of palpable grit. neve takes the max, rides her skateboard in the dark. douglas has cautioned her a hundred thousand times, but paula’s death has instilled such a great fear of losing his daughter that he lets her get away with more than he knows he probably should. he fears paula’s ghost will someday possess her and she’ll wander off into the ether. most days he insists that the only parts of paula he sees in his cherished daughter are the good ones–neve holds onto the corporeal world with claws. it’s only on the worst nights–paula’s specter cooling the sheets of his bed in the dark–that he wakes up with the fear his daughter is gone.

douglas’s new wife, rosie, does her best to pit them against one another, but sometimes–she’s not so bad, neve thinks. it’s nice to have a mother figure in the house again even if she falls short most days. sometimes she thinks that maybe they could learn to love each other. if nothing else, she’s sure she owes a bit of gratitude to the woman; the nights of her father’s haunting sobs have become fewer and farther between. it isn’t until douglas begins receiving late notices on utilities that he begins to grow suspicious. rosie is quick to throw neve under the bus–a young girl like that? she’s probably stealing their money to spend on drugs and CDs at sam goody. douglas has never bet on anyone like he bets on his daughter; rosie’s gambling debts are news to them both.

the fallout of the relationship leaves douglas and neve in dire financial straits. the father is heartbroken–another love lost, he blames himself for always choosing the wrong lady luck. despite their financial ruin, left in rosie’s wake, douglas has a hard time getting out of bed most days and blows through what little sick time he has available to him. school takes a back burner and neve barely attends it at all–favoring her time on finding work ( legitimate and illegitimate ) to help keep their small family afloat. she attends class when it’s profitable and waits tables or washes dishes when she can. it’s still not enough.

a few kids turn neve onto small crimes to turn a profit. they ride the max to the suburbs and crash parties–stealing pills out of medicine cabinets and turning them over for profit. calculus wasn’t worth a good goddamn, but distribution teaches skills. it’s hard not to get caught up in petty thefts and the occasional break-ins. neve and her friends find it easy to justify in the spirit of class war. a pin on her denim jacket reads ‘eat the rich’ and it doesn’t sound so bad. portland is a cannibal and it eats its children.

neve is a cat with nine lives and despite her friends being caught by the long arm of the law or the stronger arm of revenge, she evades detection. even such cats live with a fear of death, and as consequence catches up to members of the small circle she runs with, neve knows she is living on borrowed time. sooner or later, she knows, her luck will run bone dry. it seems so unfair that death follows her and yet, she is unable to wield it as a weapon. everything she is feels like mourning.

SPRING RETURNS TO PORTLAND ; THE FROST CLINGS TO FRAGILE BONES

neve dropping out of high school is a wake up call for douglas. he sees farther than she does and knows that she deserves a better life than the one he’s scrounged together for her. most days, he blames himself for a life that could have been; some kids like her wore neatly pressed dresses and folded over lace socks on picture day. some kids had piano lessons and summer camps. there’s a lot of insight in hindsight, but neve staunchly opposes his masochistic remorse and becomes determined to prove him wrong. it takes her a couple years of working to figure out what she wants to do–a girl baptised in her mother’s blood is born with the kind of heart that takes on too much. she is meant for saving lives and carrying the world on her shoulders like atlas himself.

it takes time, but as douglas gets their house in order and starts working again. neve is able to start up at portland community college. she takes up a work study job and works a steady flow of odd jobs on the side to support herself. lady luck shines her fortune on the pair for the first time in forever to make up for the steady losses they’ve sustained over the years. life isn’t lavender and gardenias, but somehow waking up becomes little and less painful each day. some days neve wakes up and forgets that she can’t breathe. most days she spends her gratitude in the heap of debt the world owes her–waiting for the other shoe to drop.

the rebirth of their family is a hearty soil; both channings flourish as if made anew. the dew drops that cling to garden spider webs in their window signal the looming anniversary of a mother’s misty breath and neve learns not to fall apart. douglas works hard to do right by her and make up for the years of never knowing what to do and waffling between what is best and what is desirable. he is a man that longs for dreams–feet barely brushing the earth like her mother’s did on that day–but he is learning to make dreams work too. his dreams take root around his daughter once more; he builds them around her and builds her up with them.

the highschool dropout graduates her community college adn bridge program and she can hardly believe it when she’s accepted to ohsu for her bsn. there are no college diplomas with the channing name hanging on walls with peeling wallpaper or tucked away in trunks with paula’s things. douglas has saved his money for months to get her the right graduation gift and neve laughs, downplaying that it’s not a real graduation, but still walks in the ceremony at his insistence.

she returns home to the small party of friends she’ll start to grow apart from when she gets tired of the jeers about how she thinks she’s ‘too good for them’ now. neighborhoods like hers don’t always love to watch you grow if it means you’ll leave them. they’ll still blow up her phone for medical advice, but the invitations dry up like the drought of portland natives in southeast. for now, it’s a pleasant barbecue. the highlight of the evening comes in the small bundle of inky fur that douglas proudly produces after neve’s second burger. peering out from his strong arms are the brown eyes of a young siberian husky. douglas begs her to name the pup murphy over robocop, but loses easily–a hearty chuckle on his lips. they are bonded instantly–girl and dog–robocop becomes neve’s second most stalwart companion next to her father.

nursing school is hard, but it’s not impossible and it is full of new kinds of joys. she makes new friends and they eat lunch from the thai foodcart—nestled within the pod of south waterfront—and lay on the quad drinking smoothies and complaining about the next pharmacology exam. nose in a book and a drink in her hand at happy hour down at cha cha cha !, neve attracts the attention of pa student shane stone. he knows a nursing school classmate of hers from high school and is quickly incorporated to their study groups with a couple of his friends. he is tall with dark hair and kind eyes and just the sort of person a girl dreams of falling in love with. he spends little time worrying about things like rent and bus passes. it’s not even the end of the semester before study dates evolve into movie dates. there’s an entire world between them, but somehow the pair build a bridge.

DEATH RATTLES AND DYING BREATH ; THE GIRL’S OTHER SHOE DROPS

as neve focuses on school, douglas seems to be making steps to keep himself around longer. they go for long walks with robocop around the neighborhood. southeast portland is becoming a different neighborhood and the cost of living is high. restaurants crop up with around the block waits and family friends are forced to move to grayer pastures. it seems, to the channings, that it’s the end of an era. with neve spending most of her time at shane’s apartment on south waterfront, douglas’ weight loss is hardly noticed–everyone assumes it is merely the byproduct of increased activity. it isn’t until his stature becomes gaunt that neve starts to worry. she is having dreams again. she can smell graveyard soil around him.

shane holds neve close when she finally breaks down–sneaking into the single bathroom of the clinic to let her fall apart the way he knows she can’t do in the open. like a wild animal, the girl he loves hides herself away when she feels death’s acrid breath on her neck. he doesn’t know what loss is and he certainly can’t relate to what she’s been through. douglas’ diagnosis is like watching the noose tighten around her mother’s neck all over again. her throat is dry like she’s choking on the fibers of that same rope; the world has a foggy edge—hollow like street lights illuminating an empty suburban neighborhood on a clear, dark night. everything is wooden; everything feels like a dollhouse.

it’s hard to keep up on her studies, but somehow neve muscles through. shane gives up his idyllic apartment and moves into their modest southeast home to help out. he makes a lighthearted joke about finally being a real portlander and moving so near the trendy, revitalized mississippi neighborhood and neve drops and breaks her coffee mug on the unfinished wood floor of the kitchen. it’s just another reminder that he doesn’t belong in her world any more than she does in his. it doesn’t sting as bad as the ink on his mother’s checks that she cashes to keep her father comfortable on his deathbed while she learns to be a better caretaker. life ebbs and flows, but douglas’ drains away until she hardly recognizes the sinewy, pale hands that hold hers so strongly for a man that can’t sit up by himself any longer. she curses her mother once more for leaving and twice for never having been there in the first place.

death isn’t slow or peaceful like the woman from her father’s church will lie about at the funeral. his death rattle lasts for hours and the bellows of his chest quake with weary breath. part of her wishes that the hospice nurse had started an iv on him and a sick, hidden part of her wishes it because a sweet dose of morphine would’ve ended it all sooner for him. she wonders silently if that would do more to ease his pain or hers? he hasn’t been conscious in two days. shane sits with her at the side of his bed with rapt attention and as his breathing slows, neve crawls into the hospice bed next to him. the next several months are a blur and a father misses his only daughter’s graduation. neve is barely present there herself. all she can hear is the sound of her own scream.

shane insists that she’s not an orphan–his parents fly in from denver and treat her like one of their own. it guilts her that she can’t help but resent them for the simple virtue of living while her own father is reduced to a cold dust. she wears his ashes around her neck in a pendant from the funeral home and spreads the rest in every beautiful place she can find. some of them spill into her purse during a hike with robo and shane and she breaks down in tears. there are so many small things that make her sick or numb. a multitude of tiny memories that weigh as much as planets; isn’t dust what helped create the milky way? even around the stone family she feels alone. maybe especially around the stones.

HACKLES RAISED, A GIRL LEARNS THE DANGERS OF BEING FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE

the emergency department attracts all kinds of people in myriad dire straits. people come in at the end of their ropes–infections ignored too long, stabbings and shootings, a broken bone from slipping off the slide, and sometimes when they feel like they can’t live any longer. evan does not fit into any of these categories when he comes in. among the myriad failings of the medical system, lack of access and use of primary care is one of the larger contributions to higher emergency department volumes and evan is another data point in a sea of statistics. he comes back to neve’s room with a sly grin plastered on his face and states that he’s new to the area and can’t get into a new primary care for a few months. his daily asthma inhaler is out and he needs to renew the prescription and get a referral to a clinic.

there’s nothing on the surface that identifies this man as a threat. he’s almost charming and he’s nontoxic appearing–a nice easy patient in a sea of sick people is sometimes a great relief. they make some small talk and it’s the usual stuff she chats about with patients: ‘where’re you from?’ ‘where did you go to school?’ he expresses an interest in nursing and she recommends the program she attended at the hospital she now works. there’s almost a tension there, and when he makes a casual comment about the tan line on her finger she tells him that she doesn’t wear her engagement ring at work because it can tear the gloves. that’s only half right. maybe he can sense the rest of the truth; she’ll wonder that later when she pieces together every scrap of something she can use to blame it on herself.

he sends her a message on facebook, which makes her lips curl downwards in uncertainty. even that isn’t entirely alarming. it opens up reminding her that he’s knew to the area, and that he’s interested in the nursing program she went to. it’s a surprise, but he makes mention of a girlfriend’s wifi and he even asks how shane is doing. he loves her dog and mentions wanting one himself. sure, it’s a little weird–unconventional–but neve has always been interested in helping others find nursing and agrees to meet him for coffee to discuss the program. when they meet, she sees the mistake inherit in it before she even opens the cafe door. he’s disheveled and hyperverbal when he speaks to her and she can barely get a word in edge wise. between the gift he’s brought her and the intensity of his stare, she wonders how she could have read him so wrong. it’s then that he drops the bomb that makes her stomach sink into the trench it detonates in–will they take him in the nursing program with a record? she doesn’t ask, but he provides the details anyway. death threats to some girl he barely knew that wouldn’t leave him alone, he paints the canvas well, but she can read between the lines. evan stevens is dangerous and his lethal eye is trained on her.

she makes an excuse to leave–the first of many excuses, the illusion of being unavailable, unattainable. it’s the advice she’s given to women before, but never had to follow. those words offered to women in distress seem so trite now, so hollow. there is so much fear in cutting ties slowly–the strategic approach to keep an impulsive person like that from escalating. she wishes she could take those clinical offerings of textbook wisdom back from those women and hold their hands. she wonders how many of them still live. he starts blowing up her phone constantly. he comments on all her social media. all day and all night. if she doesn’t respond, he threatens suicide. some days he asks if she’s working and says he brought her lunch. if she says she’s sick, he asks for her address to bring her tom yum takeout from the restaurant she’s posted about on instagram. everything makes her sick now.

A FINAL GIRL IS FORGED ALONE ; THERE IS NO SUBVERTING FATE

god, it’s hard to speak about. she can’t even let the words reach her tongue, lips and teeth to birth them. they shrivel and die in her throat, festering there until she swallows them and they rest in her stomach like great stones. she wonders if evan will cut her stomach open like a wolf and find the rocks there. that’s not how the story goes; she tells herself so many versions as she lies awake in the dark afraid to sleep.

when she finally tells her friends–a smattering of girls and guys from nursing school, the er, and her neighborhood–the response is like the knife she dreams about in her gut. she shows some of the girls at her work his picture, worried that he’ll come in asking about her. she’s chided by these friends, “he’s actually pretty cute, florence nightingale” they joke. “it must be flattering to have the attention.” even shane suspected that there’s some indulgence on her part. that maybe she likes trying to fix people who are broken so much that she gets some sick reward from the experience. he doesn’t speak the words, but neve is fluent in shane stone. he says it in his eyes, the downcurve of his lips, the tense way he sighs when her phone dings over and over again during date nights.

on a cold night in december, neve works on meal prepping alone in the kitchen. evan has been out of town helping his mother remodel her kitchen and neve feels like she can finally breathe in the space he’s left behind. turning on the wireless speaker, she tries to pair her phone to play music as loud as the thin walls of her father’s modest northeast portland home will allow and instead hears, in the cold, robotic voice ‘pairing with neve’s iphone and evan’s iphone.’ robocop doesn’t even lift his head in suspicion the whole night. she calls 911, but they find neither hide nor hair of him. in the morning, neve nails the windows shut and buys a gun–a smith & wesson .357 snub nose revolver. the weight of it is heavy in her hands and she buys a membership to a gun range, calling into work and practicing until shane returns. she doesn’t tell him about the gun and she stops telling him how bad things have gotten with evan. the click of his tongue and disapproval in his eyes is more dooming than a death sentence and she can’t bear to bring further disappointment. neve channing is a strong woman–a smart woman. things like this don’t happen to women like her. the nightmares begin, but they’re different this time. she can’t tell if they’re coming true this time or if it’s only her anxieties, amplified and strange.

somehow, evan is everywhere and he knows all her secret places as if he exists as an extension of her. maybe he even believes he is–sending her voice messages about how they’re connected. they are the same; they are foils of one another. he send her a picture of his ouroboros tattoo from a new number after she finally blocks him. ‘we are the same.’ he is an all-consuming, devouring force, but she is not a serpent’s tail. he is moloch–besmeared with blood, the great, horrid king–but she is not a child and she will not be sacrificed for sins she has not committed. he has not right and there’s only one way she can see this ending as the days grow longer. like life itself begins, this too will end in blood.

LOVE IS A HARD KNIFE ; A GIRL CAN’T STOMACH AMBROSIA

there is a consequence to every action and every inaction. every little thing she chooses not to tell shane fester and boils. the late nights at work and the new passcode on her phone seem more to shane like cheating than a worsening of some creep’s obsession. she hasn’t even mentioned evan to him since the trees started blooming again. when he elects to cheer her up and bring her lunch during a shift she traded so she could practice at the gun range, his suspicions deepen and while she sleeps that morning, he rifles through her work bag and finds alongside her locked cell phone the cold steel of a secret that he cannot abide by.

it’s not his fault either and she means that from the bottom of her heart. every kindness from the stones feels like another debt and neve can’t help but let the resentment fester in the tasteful diamond on her finger. when she looks upon his face now all she can see is death and it’s the world’s cruelest joke, because she’s the one with cemetery dirt underneath her fingernails. she can’t tell which of the two of them she resents more and they both deserve lives where ghosts stay buried and the dead don’t whisper malcontent in her ears while she struggles to fall asleep. nightmares are her own warm milk; she’s sick of the cold metal of a gun as she moves it from her night stand to her purse each morning. she’s tired of being made to feel like she had a stake in any of this.

it’s not the kindest way to leave a man, but she’s not sure she’s ready to face him again after all that’s happened. she leaves her house keys with her cousin paloma and packs up shane’s stuff. paloma has just started nursing school and can use neve’s father’s old house to sublet. the rent’s free and she’s always been gentle hearted. neve can’t think of anyone better to care for her father’s old house. with dear john letters to both shane and the hospital, neve takes robocop and enough of her things to fit into her subaru forester. it’s not goodbye. it’s never goodbye, she thinks as she hugs paloma on the modest porch. it still feels so permanent, but neve tells herself that big decisions always do. she yearns to discover who she is outside of grief and fear and love. a daughter cannot bloom in her parents’ shadows and she is suffocating underneath the gentle love of the mourning glory.

on the road without a real plan–because if she doesn’t know where she’s going, then neither does evan–neve signs on for a travel nursing company. the first assignment she considers is salem hospital an hour south and it’s a great department, but it’s too close to home. he’ll find her there easily. st. charles in bend isn’t far enough away either. it doesn’t feel like enough of a difference and none of them do until she’s cruising down the interstate through blythe, california and she sees a listing for a emergency department in oldgate, louisiana. it feels like it could be the right place to burn and be born again.

A GIRL AND HER DOG; SOMETIMES PEACE IS ITS OWN KIND OF PRISON

the cool steel of the snub nose .357 revolver lies buried beneath her registration and owner’s manual in the glove compartment. she wonders briefly as she pulls out her sunglasses and slips a salty french fry into her mouth. the car stereo fades in and out along the highway, switching between some smooth-talking radio host and the tinny crooning of buddy holly. it makes her think of her father, and she blinks back tears–plugging in her iphone to switch to a tune that doesn’t bring back such painful memories. robocop whines in the backseat and neve discovers that she’s hardly far away from oldgate, but her gps is out of service.

there’s no sense in pulling over and pulling out the map of louisiana she purchased from a disinterested teen in the first gas station she’d come across in the state. there’s only two days before the job starts and, according to her recruiter, they’d already moved the orientation up a day, cutting her time to adjust to her new ( temporary ) place before work in half. taking a long drink of coffee–now as cold as her french fries–she blinks hard to keep awake and just when she thinks she’ll have to pull over and sleep in her car huddled close to robocop’s warm, furry body.

neve has spent three peaceful months in oldgate. the gun no longer lives shoved into the bottom of her work bag or nestled into the glove compartment of her subaru. now it spends its days in solitude in the coffin-like drawer of her bedside table. evan will never find this place, she is almost sure of it. he might be looking for her, but he’s not looking for oldgate. some evenings on her long strolls to work, she smiles and closes her eyes–listening to the soothing sounds of the town. she’s learning more about herself in this town and more still about the hidden world around her. perhaps she’ll renew that travel contract.

wanted connections.

i. friends ! i’d love to see someone who has taken to showing her around oldgate, someone she meets up with regularly for drinks, or goes to the dog park with her. ii. i would really love a relationship where they aren’t enemies to friends / lovers, but there is a certain amount of shit talking between the two of them. maybe they did dislike one another at first, but now they both try not to admit that they actually like one another’s company. iii. someone who is perhaps a regular at the emergency department, either for themselves or a family member. either way, neve and this person see one another often and there’s a budding friendship from it.

#fangfmooc #sorry it's a bit long !

7 notes · View notes

nigelspookerjee · 5 years

Text

CAP🧟‍♂️ Thoughts:

This bitch went into the woods by herself, knowing legends of the monster. Did she not watch ANY scary movies? GOING INTO THE WOODS IN THE DARK NEVER FARES WELL FOR THE PERSON WHO DOES IT.

Karl screaming “LUKASSSS!!” at the top of his stressed out lungs gets me every damn time.

Omg Ned is such a lil crybaby. I can’t. All of a sudden he whines that Nancy is off solving mysteries? Like I get feeling left out and stuff but rule #1 in a relationship is to not make your significant other your whole life. It’s unhealthy. NED NEEDS THERAPY.

Karl talking loudly about how there aren’t any monster sightings reminds me of fucking Trump and how he probably does the same thing, paranoid that his office is bugged. “THERE IS NO COLLUSION GOING ON WITH RUSSIA HERE NO NO SIREE FAKE NEWS! COVFEFE!!”

And hereeee comes raid...fuck me.

I don’t like to toot my own horn but goddamn I am kick Karl’s Bürgerbutt at raid. Don’t let your tears stain your lederhosens.

Again, don’t know who posted it on tumblr but thank u very much for the raid money glitch. I love u lots

I know some people find Lukas annoying, but I think he’s adorable and hilarious, and you can tell he’s so lonely.

Ned talking about adding some mystery to his life: “I might just not return my library books...ever.” Holy shit, take. me. now. *swoons*

I love how Karl just dips the fuck out, leaving the fire going. “Fuck this. I’m out. I don’t get paid enough for this. Fuck my lederhosens. Fuck these people. Let Finster go up in a blaze *runs to save his precious board game*

And this is when the beautiful relationship between Nancy and Bucket first started. Literal sparks ♥️

Renate is Hotchkiss’s gf/wife and she gave Renate the chicken scented markers as a gift to always remember her while they’re apart. That’s a headcannon somewhere, right?? If not, it should be.

*Nancy finding the costume laid out for her in her room*: So the monster is into role playing...kinky.

Frank sounds apprehensive when he says it’s good to see Nancy and Ned back together...my Francy heart hurts. He just wants Nancy to be happy. He isn’t selfish about how much he rather be with Nancy at all.

Inappropriate and tactless questions Nancy asks Renate: “Do you have a home? Do you have a family? Why do you such a bad reputation?” Nancy, Honey, y r u like this¿?

Lukas was all like “I can’t tell you where the security booth is. It’s top secret. No one can get in there.” But he’s standing literally right there as I play the glockenspiel and enter the security booth and...doesn’t say anything? So much for trying to keep people out, kiddo.

Markus is a bastard and couldn’t give a shit less about anything but money. And he said he’d be back to the castle in four hours...what’s he doing? Arriving via the back of a turtle?

Also, can’t believe Anja ever dated him. He def treated her like shit and she deserved so so so much better than him.

I love how Karl claims he’s so busy getting ready for the festival and dealing with das monster, but little does he know that I spy with my little eye him playing with fucking dolls on his office desk for HOURS. *screenshots and sends it to Markus* “This is who u have in charge? Not surprised because ur pretty incompetent urself, u ignoramous.”

Sonny Joon’s objective on resume: “To get any job in a really cool castle with a monster legend.” WHEN SONNY WAS STILL SUCH A GREAT MYSTERIOUS CHARACTER.

Sonny has had more jobs than Kirk from Gilmore Girls.

Nancy literally asks Castle Casting about their wizard discount. I fucking cannot.

Frank: “That castle has too many monsters.” *Nancy takes a big hit of weed and exhales dramatically* “That’s pretty fucking deep, bro.”

It’s taken me about a week and a half to finish this game because of work and whatnot but I just need to say I h8 myself. I spent TWO hours looking for the map Renate has of the monster sightings so I could trigger getting the photo only to realize I’ve had it all along in my inventory. *lays body down underneath the gate of Castle Finster and awaits for metal spikes to impale me*

SMILE FOR UR CLOSE UP, you handsome, scabby looking thumb you! *snaps picture*

If this game was made in 2019, Nancy would have gotten herself in the photo with the monster and put it on her snap story “He IS real everyone LOL #livinlife #sasquatchwho #dasmonster.”

Anja the scorned woman. What a cliché and forces the stereotype that all woman are “psycho”. Most of us just cry, get drunk, and bitch about u to our friends if u cheat on us or do us dirty. That’s the REAL tea.

Did Markus’s promise to Nancy for a special surprise for solving the mystery ever come thru? Nope. No it didn’t. Because he’s a huge dick.

Okay, the outtakes after the credits of this game are fucking hilarious.

I’m fucking PUMPED to play Alibi in Ashes next.

#nancy drew #clue crew #cap #the captive curse #playthrough #thoughts

64 notes · View notes

anonymoustoddler · 5 years

Text

I Got Stoned And Started Typing To Post On FB (And Ended With Something That Could NEVER Get Posted)

Hah. I hit my vape pen a bunch and then this happened:

This afternoon, after taking way too many hits of my *state tested, clean and safe* vape pen, I was surfing hulu on my laptop while scrolling through facebook on my phone and playing Stardew Valley on the PS4 every few minutes in between and I suddenly, in fact altogether _casually_ thought to myself, “I wonder if I’d want kids and be able to take care of them if I made it to 38?”

And the thing is, that is literally the most positive organic thought I’ve had in my VERY busy, VERY chatty brain in almost two years. It is the first thought I have had regarding a potential future that wasn’t colored by the idea that My Mom Is Dead So Nothing I Could Do In Life Would Mean Anything Or Be Possible Because She Isn’t Here To Experience It Too Or To Help Me Through.

This stoned, distracted, completely mindless and unfocused random little insignificant thought... is the first time in over a year and a half of thinking, that did not immediately end with, “She’s Dead So You Can’t Ever Hope For That Anymore Because It Means Nothing Now That She Can’t Be There To Experience It Or Get To Be Proud Of Me For Once” and also, “Nothing Is Possible Without Her Because Without Her I’m Alone And Unable Forever Unless Someone Else Takes Over Helping Me But That Will Never Happen And I Will Never Be Ok Or Able On My Own.”

I mean, no wonder I’m doing so poorly and also dealing so badly with her death?! Being close was great in a lot of ways and awful in others. Our codependent enmeshment was deeply and traumatically unhealthy. Having to be your mother’s best and only friend at 8 years old is... really weird. And abnormal. But then, so is developing a diagnosable anxiety disorder and eating disorder at FOUR YEARS OLD is kind of abnormal too!

The thing is... some physical aspects of puberty for me started very early. VERY early. All aspects of puberty seemed to start earlier in me than a lot of girls in my class, in my grade. So maybe it makes sense too then that I would develop these psychological issues so early, particularly with the stress and fear of moving from Texas to Michigan and leaving the first friends I remember having, how terrified I was of change and meeting new people, trying to make new friends. I was so painfully and obviously shy. I was so afraid of people.

But anyway. No one caught the anxiety disorder until I did myself.... in college. I lived with a totally unchecked anxiety disorder and pretty high-but-not-yet-extreme depression from the ages of five and eleven/twelve respectively, and the first time I got ANY help was at the age of 19. No wonder I was sick for so long. The fucking eating disorder is suuuuch a perfect(ly horrifying) coping mechanism. And since it was my primary, and often only, coping mechanism for many many many years, as in almost ALL of the first two decades of my life. Two decades of drilling this into myself of How To Relieve Stress And Self Soothe = Disordered Behaviors And NOTHING ELSE.

Is it really any wonder why I’m like this??? I am dealing with the loss of my only family; my best friend by leaps and bounds and freakin lightyears; my entire and very giving safety net - so I could try something new or move away or whatever and I knew I was safe because if it didn’t work out or I tanked I could ALWAYS go home. Always.

I’m also dealing with the loss of... the person who never let me try things because she was a control freak so I could never learn from her; the person who taught me the

passive aggressive ➡️ passive aggressive ➡️ very aggressive

method of responding to interpersonal relations, which I mean... how could anything go wrong?! 🙃🙃🙃

I’m dealing with the loss of a relationship where my mom once, in all seriousness, asked me if I’d have a baby if I didn’t have to take care of it, she would take care of it for me.

Like, I know part of her was “joking” but... she wanted to be a grandmother. She wanted to see me have a career, a family, security.

But also who sort of benefited from my continued illness; my inability to cope or work; my low functionality, my constant need of help, support, and validation... they made her SO frustrated but also kept her busy and kept her from being alone, kept me with her but also sometimes was too much for her so it was upsetting, because surprise - crazy people gon turn up a notch higher than you can predict, and don’t ever forget that.

I am mourning this relationship that either fully shaped or strongly influenced almost every issue I have now. I don’t mean to shirk responsibility, just to be clear - I have to actually try as much as is literally possible to fix the things in me that are broken. I have to find a therapist and go to therapy. Trust my doctors, try a hundred different meds that might ALL make me horribly sick or even more crazy or both as side effects while still trying to build some kind of life. Maybe, eventually, find one, but also... get out of bed every day. Shower, brush your teeth, get dressed, GET OUT. Grab your coat boots keys purse and go outside. Make it into your car, drive it down a few blocks (depending on where you want coffee/are you reading a book or can you play HP there/etc), get coffee and sit and read or play a bit or work lines or whatever. Make your to do list there! Lay out a plan for the day. Schedule at least two work items then set a timed break for video games or whatever. When the alarm goes off, you MUST get back to work. Two to three more items earns a longer break to play OR taking care of any other immediate need stuff and then going out or something.

If you want to get some casual exercise, go to either mall. Walk around for Shopkick, the game, and to get your blood flowing at least a teensy bit while working out rarely used muscles and burning juuuuust a few calories.

You spend SO much goddamned money on delivery, when actually — Going out yourself is SO much better for you. It is obviously MUCH cheaper, but it’s also good to get out of the house even if only going to and from the car and into the store or restaurant or whatever, and it’s very VERY important to drive the car regularly, to keep the battery functional and the guts ok. ((Also RE: CARS — Next warm day, that Prius goes through an intense car wash. Need to get that shit out so it stops stinking, prob growing mold ugh ugh need fix!))

But I mean JUST THINK how much money you’d have left, maybe to even treat yourself to better things, and also if I stop ordering, I will 100% lose weight. So muck fucking weight lmao. And with a job, I’ve got two sources of income coming in! And hopefully still medicaid for as long as I can possibly have it 😭

This got REALLY away from my stoned assssss BUT. The original point is this:

I thought about myself as potentially being alive six years from now, which is very much not what I see lately but which, for once, didn’t automatically sound like a punishment, and I thought of myself six years older and wondering if I might be better enough to be an ok caregiver and also have a relationship that could sustain children coming in, and I was able to and did have one?? That’s SO bananas to me lol. It made me feel... weirdly hopeful though.

#stonerthoughts #soliloquy #depression #mentalillness #dead parents club #orphan #codependent relationships #dysfunctional family #suicidal ideation #ramblings

4 notes · View notes

southboundhq · 5 years

Photo

MEET NEVE,

FULL NAME › Genevieve ‘Neve’ Sloane Channing AGE › thirty one GENDER › Cis female (She/Her/Hers) FROM › Portland, Oregon RESIDENCE › Tangerine Drive (Midtown) OCCUPATION › ER Nurse at the Amen County General Hospital NOW PLAYING › Troublemaker by Beach House

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger/content warnings: murder, death, graphic violence, mental health, postpartum depression, suicide, cancer, drug mention, parent death, medical, euthanasia mention, stalking, guns

THE FOG CREEPS IN ; GIRLHOOD IS A GRAVEYARD

genevieve channing is born on a cold, grey february sometime around midnight to douglas and paula channing while the heavy oregon fog kisses the modest concrete jungle of portland oregon like a phantom. paula gives her a big name, telling the nurses with heady confidence that she’ll be famous one day, and it’s the biggest gift she ever gives her. baby genevieve is in her arms so often, she hardly touches a cradle, but it’s not long until douglas feels an uneasiness creeping in.

paula is bohemian silk skirts and crushed velvet. she grows restless being trapped in the plain, modest home in northeast. she is a woman that is easy to fall in love with—not meant to sit at home idly with a collicy baby, where she finds herself in tears more than ever. douglas returns from work to find baby genevieve screaming unattended in her crib while paula cries in the backyard with an ashtray full of cigarettes. she tells him she’s worried she’ll crash the car one day on the way to the grocery store with them both inside. douglas digs his teeth into his bottom lip and tries not to cry. he squeezes her hand and tells her she needs to go to therapy. what he really wants to tell her is that their baby needs her. he leaves paula outside and spends the afternoon tidying the house with genevieve swaddled against his chest. it’s a warm feeling.

it’s not long after that paula starts disappearing for periods of time and douglas learns she can’t be trusted to watch after the baby on her own. when she calls from downtown in tears, hyperverbal and desperate, he picks her up in his old chevy truck and brings her home. she agrees to see a doctor and for awhile, they figure out how to live again. some days are even as sweet as the rhubarb pies she starts to make again.

THE ODDS ARE STACKED AGAINST HER ; A GIRL LEARNS TO COUNT CARDS

SPRING RETURNS TO PORTLAND ; THE FROST CLINGS TO FRAGILE BONES

DEATH RATTLES AND DYING BREATH ; THE GIRL’S OTHER SHOE DROPS

HACKLES RAISED, A GIRL LEARNS THE DANGERS OF BEING FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE

A FINAL GIRL IS FORGED ALONE ; THERE IS NO SUBVERTING FATE

LOVE IS A HARD KNIFE ; A GIRL CAN’T STOMACH AMBROSIA

on the road without a real plan–because if she doesn’t know where she’s going, then neither does evan–neve signs on for a travel nursing company. the first assignment she considers is salem hospital an hour south and it’s a great department, but it’s too close to home. he’ll find her there easily. st. charles in bend isn’t far enough away either. it doesn’t feel like enough of a difference and none of them do until she’s cruising down the interstate through blythe, california and she sees a listing for a level one trauma center in tuscon, arizona. it feels like it could be the right place to burn and be born again.

A GIRL AND HER DOG; SOMETIMES PEACE IS ITS OWN KIND OF PRISON

the cool steel of the snub nose .357 revolver lies buried beneath her registration and owner’s manual in the glove compartment. she wonders briefly as she pulls out her sunglasses and slips a salty french fry into her mouth. the car stereo fades in and out along the southbound highway, switching between some smooth-talking radio host and the tinny crooning of buddy holly. it makes her think of her father, and she blinks back tears–plugging in her iphone to switch to a tune that doesn’t bring back such painful memories. robocop whines in the backseat and neve discovers that her maps aren’t loading any longer, the gps unable to locate their vehicle.

there’s no sense in pulling over and pulling out the map of arizona she purchased from a disinterested teen in the first gas station she’d come across in the state. there’s only two days before the job starts and, according to her recruiter, they’d already moved the orientation up a day, cutting her time to adjust to her new ( temporary ) place before work in half. taking a long drink of coffee–now as cold as her french fries–she blinks hard to keep awake and just when she thinks she’ll have to pull over and sleep in her car huddled close to robocop’s warm, furry body.

neve passes a hospital on the outskirts of town–lit up all pretty against the dark desert sky. it looks nice enough and the longer she drives, the more she considers that her recruiter might’ve told her they were full up in tuscon. maybe that was why they moved the date up for orientation afterall. in the dark august night, most of the businesses are closed and the lights in the mobile home park neve passes are off. the first place she sees open is bj’s food mart and she stops to get a fresh cup of coffee and stretch her legs. she learns inside that amen county is always hiring and leaves with a smile on her lips.

neve has spent nine peaceful months in boot hill. the gun no longer lives shoved into the bottom of her work bag or nestled into the glove compartment of her subaru. now it spends its days in solitude in the coffin-like drawer of her bedside table. evan will never find this place, she is almost sure of it. he might be looking for her, but he’s not looking for boot hill. some evenings on her long strolls to work, she smiles and closes her eyes–listening to the soothing sounds of the town.

soon enough, neve is sure there really was no travel assignment to reach. or, if there had been, she can’t remember where it’s at. instead, she takes some time to enjoy the small town and the anonymity she feels there. she’s not even living out of the silk bonnet hotel anymore. she hadn’t seen boot hill on any map during her road trip and, if that’s universal, her past can’t find her without a destination to set its sights on. there is more than great comfort in that. by the end of her first month, she can’t imagine living anywhere else.

the emergency department is not the bustling trauma center she was used to, but there is an appeal to the autonomy rural medicine offers an experienced nurse. hell, in some places the doctors only come in if you call them. neve can’t exactly remember the application and interview process anymore. it seems like there are so many things that have become mysteries and she can’t find herself caring enough to investigate them long enough to follow an actual lead. it seems like she’s always worked there–an instantaneous sensation of home. she couldn’t even leave if she wanted to.

❝ how else can i say it but like this? like a fever, i burned and then broke. how else can i say it but like this? like the dawn, i broke and then rose. ❞

CENSUS,

FACECLAIM › Adelaide Kane AUTHOR › Lucia

#adelaide kane #rp #rpg #lsrp #town rp #bio rp #{ all. }#{ local. }#{ f. }#{ over thirty. }#{ lucia. }#stalking tw #death tw #cancer tw #murder tw #suicide tw

4 notes · View notes

theysaywhatasadsight · 6 years

Text

Someone New

A/N: This is for @lokissoul ‘s 1k Hozier challenge and my prompt was the song ‘Someone New’ by Hozier. This is an angsty monster that took me 3 weeks to write, it was so sad. This was beta read by my love @nasarogers and I’m tagging @trashpanda-barnes who’s always a lovely supporter of my nat fics

Warnings: Oof, character death, mentions of civil war, I guess

“I really don’t think Paris is an option, even if we skirt around and get to the countryside, someone’s got to be there, they always think we’ll be there next-” Natasha was interrupted by the vibrating of one of her burner phones. Muttering an excuse to the rogue Avengers in front of her, with whom she was discussing their next move.

On the other line, a male voice spoke “How are the pears today?”

“Fresher than yesterday. What’s going on, Pat?”

“ Remember the name you told me to keep a lookout for? There was a mugging up on an apartment on 31st street., near Chelsea. They left a body behind, stabbed twice in the head. They’ve sent it for the autopsy, but so far the cause of death is the loss of blood.” He could hear her sharp intake of breath even across the phone.

“It’s identified?”

“Y/N Y/L/N. She was renting one of the flats, looking for a roommate.”

“Thank you for the information, Pat.” She ended the call.

The apartment still smelt of her perfume and coffee. The moonlight shined through on to the hardwood floor, which was stained with blood despite the shabby attempt to wipe it away. It was in the privacy of the empty apartment that Natasha finally allowed herself to break down. Tears streaming down her face, she opened the drawer in the cabinet where Y/N always kept the extra keys. Y/N always spoke of losing her keys so she had a bunch of copies made, one of which she gave Nat. The assassin wasn’t looking for the keys, though. She wanted back a photograph they had taken long ago, which Y/N had framed and wanted to keep on the mantle, but when her girlfriend had argued they’d know she was dating an assassin and subsequently make her life hell, she’d compromised by keeping it in the drawer.

After the whole going rogue fiasco, though, she’d probably moved it somewhere she didn’t have to see it every day. Maybe even dumped it unceremoniously into the trash can. If it was here though, the police would’ve already taken it away. She moved her hand across the inside of the drawer, finding nothing. Her fingers brushed up against an edge that seemed to stick out a bit. Poking and prodding, she tried to lift it up, to no avail. She accidentally pressed it, and it gave way, and something on the right jutted out.

“Clever girl.”

There was nothing in the concealed drawer except some loose change, receipts, and a phone. Police had probably taken her perosnal phone for the investigation, along with the rest of her possessions. The phone was primitive, okay by market standards but Y/N had recently purchased a Starkphone that would make any other look like a bloody typewriter.

So unless the police left something behind, it would seem Y/N wanted someone to see this. After she went rogue, Natasha had only called her once on a burner phone. A voice call that lasted only 15 minutes, where each could clearly hear the other cry, but the redhead knew they would come chasing after Y/N if they discovered they had been communicating.

She took the phone, slipped it into her pocket and went searching for the photo.

Dear god, why am I even doing this? Clearly losing my sanity.

I know you said nothing could ever come out of dating a bloody assassin but god, how I love you. It’s hard. Yes, I know, whoever’s listening to this is scoffing and Nat if that is you, wipe that cheesy smile off your goddamn face. It’s just, once you fall in love, it’s really fucking hard to get out, you know? Particularly when there’s no such breaking of the commitment; that here’s your heart and here’s mine and let’s go our separate ways. We fell apart because we had to, because some idiot decided to fight with their own teammates.

She pressed pause. The phone had nothing on it except a few recordings on it, and the number of the burner phone. It would not work, but it was nice to some corner to her heart that Y/N had somewhere to turn after all.

But it would be of no use, would it? Y/N was dead, dead, gone, and she could not protect her. Then and now. Crying was a release, it reminded her she was human.

So, I met someone today.

What a fucking slut, right? Barely, what, 4 months after your girlfriend of 2 years drops off the face of the earth after betraying her team, Y/N hooks up with the first person she sees.

He’s nice, for your typical coffee shop hipster. Reads. Probably thinks a date is us discussing our favorite indie films. Not bad, right? We used to do that, Nat and I, except she never saw movies.

I think it’s natural I compare everyone to my previous relationships. Healthy, right? I mean you see where you went wrong, what you should’ve done. So, Nat, where did I go wrong? Why was I not worth it? Why do I have to suffer this goddamn agony of losing the one person I love more than anything just moves on.

It’s late, I think I should sleep.

She should’ve done that.

Cut Y/N loose, explain nothing. She would never have to go through what she seemed to be going through, or she would’ve already moved on and there would be no recordings where she compared herself to everyone else she saw and how happy they were. How she’d lost the chance to be happy herself.

Natasha set the phone aside and looked at some photos Pat had sent over of the crime scene. The stained carpet after investigation would probably be replaced by the landlord and Y/N Y/L/N would become some kind of urban legend in the building. There would be trouble finding tenants.

Nat did have enough to buy out the landlord. Cry herself to sleep every night in the shell of the house she was meant to share with the love of her life.

Saw this cute girl in the grocery store today. Pretty, nice hair, glasses. Loves to write, probably and wants a photographer girlfriend. I mean I did have a photography phase in college. The family has enough money to let her do whatever she wants.

Dear god, I need therapy and a drink.

Is it even normal to fantasize over every stranger you see and imagine a life with them? Love with every stranger, the stranger the better?

There was no evidence that the murder was premeditated. The official conclusion was that Y/N had chanced upon the robbery and was silenced before she could alarm anyone. They had found some bits of DNA under her fingernails that matched a fugitive who was accused of 3 muggings in the past and had been acquitted all three times. His lawyer was really good, apparently.

Natasha skimmed a few of the recordings to see if any conclusive evidence or anything about anyone following her. She kept these recordings as a diary of sorts, clearly, but it could be valuable if it had managed to pick up something of the day Y/N was murdered.

There were many recordings, all of them detailing people she’d met and how she’s imagined an entire relationship with. About how she’d find someone with hair the exact same color as Natasha or one who had exactly the same clothing sense and on and on until Y/N herself had had enough of the constant comparisons.

The last recording was a whole 4 hours. YN had either forgotten to switch it off or…

Natasha didn’t allow herself to think of the other possibility. She quickly played it back and held her breath.

It’s never simple, am I right? Getting over people, like they’re a bridge to cross and once you get over that there’s no looking back.

I just see anyone and all I see is you. All that time we should’ve had together, just gone. I’m wasting my time apparently because love is useless. I have it but the one person who has my heart completely is just not bloody there.

I wouldn’t ever know how long we would go on, Nat, how far we would travel together, I would…

What was that?

Hold up, I’ll put you somewhere.

A thud. Low groans. A high pitched scream, noises and then silence. Apparently, she had really forgotten to switch it off before putting it back and it had recorded until it ran out of battery.

There it was, clear as day, the conviction of the man who had evaded the law until now.

Natasha sent off the last recording to Pat, asking him to send it to the investigation. It would be sufficient to get him the time he deserved. The rest she kept for herself, the last memory of the woman she loved.

#Marvel x reader #black widow x reader #Natasha Romanoff X Reader #mcu imagine #marvel fem reader imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #black widow x fem!reader #marvel wlw imaagine #natasha romanoff angst #writing challenge #song writing challenge #hozier writing challenge #marvel writing challenge #black widow imagine #black widow angst #lydiasoul1kchallenge

116 notes · View notes

nehawriter16 · 5 years

Text

5.11.19 - my life is falling apart and other updates.

Hello internet.

Just wanted to talk today. I like Tumblr because not many people I know follow me on here. Also there isn’t a word limit, and sometimes a girl just wants to rant.

So this is me releasing all my thoughts into the world today.

1. ACADEMICS

I quit chartered accountancy. Just woke up one day, and told my parents I couldn’t do it anymore. That was a long week at home, and I know they’re disappointed in me. All along I’ve been a bright student, somebody who never disappointed and they could brag about at dinner parties. But this course cut me open. It hurt me, it sent me crumbling and it dragged me through hell. In the movie Dear Zindagi, Alia Bhatt is in therapy and Shahrukh Khan tells her that sometimes we keep doing the hard thing because we think we have to. And we forget that its okay to pick an easy way. I guess that’s what I’m doing. I’m choosing the easier way because the harder way made me unhappy, it made me unhappy to the point where I didn’t want to be alive anymore.

So the new plan is that I will give my GRE and apply to Masters in Finance courses in the US. Preferably in the STEM field, because its easy to get a work visa after graduating if you’re a STEM graduate. Do I think this is the perfect career path for me? No, absolutely not. But do I think it will do me good to finally move the fuck out of home, have a change of continent, meet some new people, and have the college experience I always felt I missed out on? Yes.

So this is what we’re doing. My GRE is in 12 days. I am barely prepared.

2. DRIVE/PASSION

I always had a passion for writing. I knew when I discovered it that it not only brought me joy, but I was pretty damn good at it. Unfortunately being brown, and coming from a family of people who had all built their career from scratch by making practical decisions, because they didn’t have a choice due to their humble backgrounds, I was always told that writing was a futile thing and would just be a hobby, not something to be looked at as a career option. I disagreed. Having made a bit of money from it now, I still disagree.

But I’ve been brought up in the lap of luxury and I have a pretty high standard of living. I like my weekly Starbucks and I go to bars that don’t have happy hours. I enjoy the bimonthly staycation in a fancy hotel, and I hate repeating outfits and thoroughly enjoy fashion, so I’m always buying new clothes. It makes me happy to look good.

So yeah, I agree that since I haven’t had the liberty to pursue writing full time, I haven’t yet found a way to make a living from it. Maybe it’s a risk, and a back up plan is advisable. But all I know is writing is the only thing I feel like waking up to do. Even now, when my life is falling apart, it’s the only thing that makes sense to me.

Growing up I was always a hardworking student. And if I wasn’t, my Mom made me that way. She would yell if I got bad marks, and she always encouraged that I at least be in the top ten in class. Even the school I went to was pretty much only concerned with academics. And so due to the environment and brainwashing, I did well. I stayed in the 90 percent lane all my life, all the way up to twelfth grade. In my junior college I had two of the worst years of my life. I was molested by my co caption for months on end, and I couldn’t escape him. It was constant mental, emotional and physical turmoil, more so because I couldn’t tell anyone. Despite how insanely difficult it was to spend six hours every day in the place where my molester showed up every day, I still managed to keep my grades high. I scored 92 percent, and my parents were happy.

I had no passion for finance, but since I had proved to be so bright, my parents said the only thing to do now was four years of Chartered Accountancy. After that, my life would be sorted. I passed the first level by studying for 2 months, while other people attended classes for a year. I passed the second level too. I got into one of the biggest global multiconsulting firms in the world for my internship, and my parents were happy. My life was on track, and it didn’t matter that I was crying in the cabs home from work because I was so miserable. It didn’t matter as long as the plan was being followed. After all, the plan was being followed and I was so goddamn close to the finish line.

Two years into my internship I decided I needed to quit, or at least shift to a smaller firm. The pressures in this one were too much and I was so sad I could barely make it out of bed. So I told my parents I needed to study for my finals, and they got me out of it. My mental health was derailing – but oh boy, was this just the beginning. I moved to a smaller firm and pretended to stay home on the weekends and study. Instead, all I did was lay in bed with YouTube videos playing on loop because I couldn’t bear to be alone with my thoughts.

2017 was the year my boyfriend broke up with me too, so all kinds of shit was hitting the fan at the same time. I was fucked up in every way. I started using alcohol to fall asleep, to wake up, to do pretty much anything actually. To engage in social situations, I’d carry around a quarter in my bag and drink it in the cab. It eased my anxiety and helped me smile at people in a more convincing way.

2018 sucked. So did 2019. These two years are a blurry flatline in my head. I have been drowning like the ground I walk on is quicksand, and the more I struggle to get out, the more it pulls me in. When I look back at my life’s work in the past two years, I see nothing. Nothing that counts as an achievement anyway.

I wasted them while everybody else was putting in the work to get into ivy league schools or pass exams, get their first real jobs kickstarted. I lay in bed and watched every tv show there was to watch with the curtains drawn. I ran through horrible men and gave my body up to practical strangers that I felt nothing for, and the ones I liked left me, like they always do. Yeah, I wrote two books. Made enough money to support my alcohol addiction, my shopping habits, my vacations and staycations. I blew it all off on the temporary ride of whatever would bring me happiness in the moment.

I lost myself. I lost myself to illness and addiction and worthless friends and denial. I’m still lost. I used to have a drive in my body, something that said wake up and get things done today. Instead, I’ve been doing the zombie shuffle through my own life. Sometimes I wake up and my first thought is – “How long till this day is over.” I count the hours until I can crawl back into bed, till its an acceptable time to go to sleep. Because the only place I don’t feel like my brain has a fucking dense fog rolling through it is when I’m sleeping.

I used to be brilliant, and I’ve lost my shine. I’ve lost my willpower, my ability to be the hardest working person in the room. I have gotten self destructive to the point where I procrastinate and procrastinate and then it’s too late for everything. I am so fucked up, you have no idea.

I don’t know what I should do to bring that feeling of wanting to do something perfectly back. You know, the feeling of studying so hard you know everything on the test. The feeling of being the best, no questions asked. The feeling of answering questions in class and submitting assignments on time and just…enjoying the process of academia that I used to love so much. But I guess in depression, your brain sort of grows old and tired. It can’t remember things. It doesn’t want to move, or think, or do anything difficult.

My memory is deteriorating and the moments I’m supposed to remember and the information I should retain? It gets lost more often than not. And I am so scared to assess the scale of this incompetency that I just don’t even try because whenever I do, it’s all so overwhelming and all the trauma from Chartered Accountancy comes swirling back to hit me in the head.

3. BODY IMAGE

As a result of my constant sadness, I had to find ways to make myself happy. The periods of happiness lasted for a short while, but I rode the highs to the fullest because I knew the darkness would be back eventually. I turned to alcohol and marijuana and nicotine, to the point where every three or four days I would need one or the other, if not all three in combination. I would drink every night to be able to fall asleep. In my cupboard there is a special collection of all the wine bottles that have acted as sleeping pills.

I also began to eat junk food, because carbohydrates make you happy before they make you feel like shit. All addictions are like that, actually. Swiggy was my best friend, and my array of lovers : greasy Chinese, McDonalds, any dessert place – just whatever was bad for your skin, fattening, but would be brought to you by a wonderful man on a bike no matter what the weather was, and was easy to eat and throw all evidence of out later and forget that somewhere on my body, this food would settle into another ugly layer.

In the middle I got sick of myself and went to the gym, started going at it hard. My body improved and the endorphins were definitely helping, but a few months in I stopped waking up. My brain said it didn’t want to anymore, and I, the slave to my depression, caved and listened. I haven’t been since. The swiggy orders keep coming in every day and I keep throwing the containers into the trash, changing quickly from one outfit into another so I don’t have to see what I look like naked.

But I know. I somehow hate myself for the disgust I have for certain parts of my body, and then for the part of me that knows it wants to “fix” them all, but is in constant battle with the part of me that says I shouldn’t feel guilty for taking up space or for being a curvy girl. But body positivity isn’t about a number on a scale, its just about whether you like your reflection in the mirror, whether it makes you happy. Mine hasn’t made me happy in a long time. But then again, what the fuck has?

Sometimes I’m in trial rooms with harsh lighting and I just stare at myself and call myself horrible names. I keep the lights off when boys come over and the clothes come off. I keep saying, “I have to lose 10 kgs,” but I keep ordering from Swiggy every time a depressive episode rolls in to make it go away.

I keep setting deadlines, like, “After this month, I will cut out sugar!” and “After this exam, I will go back to the gym!” but then I fuck up and I’m like, oh well. Maybe next month.

The bottom line is I despise my body and the way it’s started to look. It doesn’t help that my Instagram feed is full of women with perfect skin, defined abs, and perky butts with chiselled features. I want all of that. I want to feel beautiful, and beautiful is hard work. Which, of course, my brain pines after, but never actually lets me get out of bed to do.

4. DATING/LOVE

My last serious relationship ended in 2017. I briefly dated somebody exclusively in the beginning of 2019, but he turned out to be the biggest asshole of them all, and “didn’t realise” he was using me to get over his ex-girlfriend. He broke up with me over text, pretty much cheated on me, didn’t even explain himself until I found out from some mutual friends. After that I was done, I couldn’t take love anymore. I couldn’t let anybody in because every relationship I’ve ever been in has ended with me being the second choice or me being dumped or betrayed and left hurt and broken for years.

The trauma is too much. So I decided I was never going to let anybody leave me again or enter my life and find a permanent place in it. I became the biggest fuckboy of them all, despite my conscience that has always been a good, kind and sensitive thing. This player thing really isn’t for me, but it was fun for a while to trump boys and play mind games and make them feel inadequate about themselves, to stand them up and never call back and ask them to leave my house after I had gotten what I wanted, to only call when I wanted it again.

I purposely picked out the worst, baddest ones. Then I tamed them by being even worse than they were. In May I began speaking to somebody who was fun and hilarious and good looking and well off and who made my brain feel alive again. Every time he texted me I caught myself smiling, and all our conversations consisted of saying witty sarcastic things to each other. We went on one date and he kissed me in the car, but for some reason in real life his life was so different from mine, that I declared the kiss good (he put his hand in my hair and grabbed, in a non hurtful but very I’m-super-into-this way, ooofff) and the date a disaster. I don’t know whether I was just in denial of my now strongly sprouting crush, or whether I actually hated it.

As the months passed, I tried to get him to go out with me again. I’m not much of a pursuer, because I have always been the one who gets pursued. But this boy was different. We would talk a lot over DM and we would make fun of each other and his life was fabulous and exciting and I watched from the outside, and built him into a much grander version of who he is in real life. I do that. What made him even more attractive was that he didn’t want me, and I couldn’t figure out for the love of God why not. I thought I was the whole package, and I even started to act out a little bit in the psycho way he told me he liked his women, which is SO TOXIC but I had actually felt something for somebody after so long that I didn’t even backtrack. Anyway, it soon became clear that it was not going to lead anywhere because he just disappointed me, didn’t show up, and my ego took a hit. I let it go, mostly. Or I will, as time passes.

I think I deserve love. Not the makes you feel good and carries your bag when its heavy kind. I deserve the love that I am ready to give – the grand romantic gestures that would be so dumb, but somehow he makes them work. The cant live without you love. The we’re best friends and teammates and nothing, not even distance, not our past demons, will keep us from making it work. I want the kind of person who is so sure of who they are, so internally confident, and so absolutely sure that I am their soulmate that I convinces me. I don’t want to meet a lot of wrong boys, goddamnit. I’ve done my fair share of the wrong boys, I’ve paid my dues for the amount of hurt one person is supposed to have. Now I just want the right one.

Deep down, I know he’s not here. Not in this city, because that would just be a cruel joke. Imagine meeting your soulmate and then having to go to college in six months. Fucking shit. If the universe even pities me a little bit, it wont do that to me.

I sometimes wonder if my life only stays on track if my romantic life is going well. I mean, when I dated my last serious boyfriend, I had it all – I was skinny. I had a prestigious internship. I was passing my exams. The writing was flourishing. This is a very scary thought, because I don’t want to depend or co exist on somebody else for my happiness in any way. But I cant deny the fact that my entire life fell apart when that last boy, who I loved with all my heart, broke up with me. It hasn’t been quite the same since.

His life is going spectacularly well, though. Lots of women and a great job and enough money to buy plane tickets to different cities to meet these women when he wouldn’t even drive down three hours to see me in a neighbouring town. I hate how unfair life is. He’s found some amazing people that he has feelings for, that like him back, even though he’s the one who broke my heart. And I still haven’t found a single person who even makes it to the second date, and the only one who did was just using me as a placeholder while his cheating ex girlfriend took a vacation from their relationship. So how the fuck is that fair? Am I being given the worst kind of experiences because my broken heart produces a special brand of my best writing? If yes, then I’m tired. I’d rather be a mediocre writer, but I cant spend my whole life being abandoned and cheated on and dumped and taken for granted, especially when the kind of love I can give is loyal and abundant and pure.

That’s it. Those are my issues, or some of them. Honestly I’m tired of typing and want to retire to my safe space that is my bed, and the deep dark comfort of unconsciousness. I just thought I might feel better if I could release this into the world, before I feel a little better and write another post manifesting what I envision my life to be next year.

If you made it to the end, you truly love me and care for me. Thanks for sticking with me, I guess. I hope things get better. I used to say that the good thing about rock bottom is that there’s nowhere to go but up. I wish there was some kind of tracker that told you when you’d actually hit rock bottom, because all I do is keep on fucking sinking deeper and deeper.

#personal #life update #writing #fucked up

4 notes · View notes

nohcrm · 5 years

Text

( ADELAIDE KANE / 32 / SHE/HER ) – ( neve channing ) has been spotted in the castle. they said to originally be from ( portland, oregon ) and is often seen to be ( self-possessed ) but seemingly ( resilient ). After being in Wolfenstein for ( time in compound ), they’ve come to ( quietly rebel against ) the council in their own way. They work as ( a nurse ) and are known around these parts as ( the healer ). better watch your back with that one around.

A LIST OF (AT LEAST) 6 AESTHETICS FOR THIS CHARACTER: the soft inky fur of a canine companion, a maroon stethoscope hanging around a neck–partially obscured by a curtain of dark hair, a father’s watch with a black leather band that is faithfully worn and cared for, a worn leather jacket that fits like a second skin, a small pile of books read and re-read–the ones with traditional medical treatments dogeared and the margins written in, restless nights after years of working the nightshift. THE SONG YOU SEE AS THIS CHARACTERS THEME: troublemaker by beach house (AT LEAST) THREE HEADCANON: neve had accepted a job as a nurse on a private european tour group as a way to see europe without having to pay for it herself after having been stalked and wanting to sort of disappear. prior to that she was an er nurse in portland oregon. she’s always been a successful and competent nurse, but her confidence in her skills has undergone some change since the supplies and medications have had to be adapted. neve sees the pragmatic need for making harsh choices; she’s made several of her own before and since the outbreak. still, she’s not always a stringent rule follower and she’ll do things for the good of others even if that doesn’t always gel with the interests of the council. she keeps to herself socially as much as she can, but she’s generally very tender and compassionate with those she treats and likely has a positive reputation despite being a bit reserved.

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger/content warnings: murder, death, graphic violence, mental health, postpartum depression, suicide, cancer, drug mention, parent death, medical, euthanasia mention, stalking, guns.

THE FOG CREEPS IN ; GIRLHOOD IS A GRAVEYARD

paula is bohemian silk skirts and crushed velvet. she grows restless being trapped in the plain, modest home in northeast. she is a woman that is easy to fall in love with—not meant to sit at home idly with a collicy baby, where she finds herself in tears more than ever. douglas returns from work to find baby genevieve screaming unattended in her crib while paula cries in the backyard with an ashtray full of cigarettes. she tells him she’s worried she’ll crash the car one day on the way to the grocery store with them both inside. douglas digs his teeth into his bottom lip and tries not to cry. he squeezes her hand and tells her she needs to go to therapy. what he really wants to tell her is that their baby needs her. he leaves paula outside and spends the afternoon tidying the house with genevieve swaddled against his chest. it’s a warm feeling.

THE ODDS ARE STACKED AGAINST HER ; A GIRL LEARNS TO COUNT CARDS

SPRING RETURNS TO PORTLAND ; THE FROST CLINGS TO FRAGILE BONES

DEATH RATTLES AND DYING BREATH ; THE GIRL’S OTHER SHOE DROPS

HACKLES RAISED, A GIRL LEARNS THE DANGERS OF BEING FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE

A FINAL GIRL IS FORGED ALONE ; THERE IS NO SUBVERTING FATE

LOVE IS A HARD KNIFE ; A GIRL CAN’T STOMACH AMBROSIA

she’s seen the ad on her instagram stories for weeks. some nurse she follows has a few spots open for a trip across europe–international travel nursing. it seems too good to be true; it seems like it could be a nightmare. six weeks with a tour group–neve guesses made up of people living way beyond her means–with room and board paid for. it’s an opportunity to see europe and get away from the grief and fears that wait for her around every corner at home. it doesn’t take much for her to convince herself and when she finds out that she can bring robocop along as a therapy dog? there’s no reason not to go.

DEATH RIDES A PALE HORSE ; THE AXIOM OF AN APOCALYPSE

the first inklings of the outbreak pique neve’s interest–an amateur virulogist and a woman on the front lines, she turns her watchful eye on the reports. they are an obscurity, an oddity. they are a fun hobby that neve debates with her new coworkers and the more interesting patrons of the european tour so that she does not lament the northwest so viscerally. the passing jokes do not end when the mandatory screenings are brought up among the two other nurses on the trip. ‘it’s just like ebola all over again’ her colleagues joke. no one takes threats seriously when they’re far away; sometimes the only protection against the weight of the world is levity. the old nurse adage rings true–if you don’t laugh, you might cry.

the work is easy, but tedious. she misses being an er nurse instead of what feels like a concierge to webmd abroad. most of the people aren’t so bad, but she doesn’t really connect with them either. since evan, she had a hard time connecting with anybody. it’s not just the work she misses from back home. she misses her friends and the distant family she left behind. she misses working at night, so she can feel safe sleeping during the day. an entire ocean separates her from her greatest fear and yet it seems she’s never free. that fear consumes her so entirely, that as the outbreak worsens, she isn’t as vigilant as she might have been.

A GIRL AND HER DOG ; AUSTRIA BECOMES A WASTELAND

their group isn’t built on loyalty. it doesn’t take long for fear to drive a wedge between them and several of them split off–either to reunite themselves with their families or to take shelter with other rich eccentrics. neve is invited by some vaguely cultist woman to what she refers to as her compound, but declines. there is nothing good out there for any of them, but she’s afraid that going as someone’s charity case will rob her of her agency. there’s no way she can offer up her only semblance of control to a woman who thinks essential oils cure cancer.

instead, a small band of the travelers survives together for almost a year. it’s difficult and they lose and gain people among them with fair frequency. neve does her best to care for the others, but even with her background and the supplies she’d brought on the trip, it’s hard to treat traumatic injuries and infections in a foreign country with no infrastructure or reliable power. she loses more patients in that year than she can stand, but there are little victories too. she tries not to weight hem against one another–a feather of successes against a pile of lead losses.

WOLF AND WOMAN PERSIST ; IN THE FACE OF CLUB AND FANG

wolfenstein exists as a curious dream–an atlantis built as salvation. she and her surviving companions can hardly believe it’s real when they hear the transmission on the radio. it’s painful to hope, and part of her worries that it’s part of some nefarious scheme; they’ve run into some untoward survivors before, but at the risk of sounding cliched–no risk, no reward. sure enough, there is a big reward: civilization, no matter how rudimentary. after nearly a year scrounging and fighting to survive, there truly is hope. she worries they won’t accept her with a dog she won’t let go of, but an emergency nurse in the apocalypse has more leverage than a dozen physician specialties. he is well trained. he can help with some work. they’re a packaged deal.

the rules are simple, reasonable. she’s trained for mass casualty incidents where resources have to be given to those who will likely be able to survive outside of the hospital when all is said an done. that kind of choice is difficult for those attracted to careers built on compassion, but neve has always accepted the responsibility of it. still, it’s hard for her to justify turning people away who might not always be able to contribute meaningfully. there’s no longer hipaa or ethics committees; there is only the council, of which she too is a member. still, she keeps records of everyone and holds their health information close to her heart. if she can keep some chronic illnesses a secret, she will. no one wants to feed someone who might not be able to work further down the line.

some people must wonder if her interests are aligned with the greater good or the individual, but she keeps that answer close to her chest: it depends.

#biography #wolfen.intro #it's long and i've tried to put trigger warnings at the top of the bio because they are plentiful

1 note · View note

surveys-at-your-service · 4 years

Text

Survey #338

“i can’t decide if you’re wearing me out, or wearing me well”

Are you a fan of techno? I've gotten more into it lately, actually. I've never minded it. Who’s your favorite horror movie villain/monster? Pyramid Head, though he's called Red Pyramid Thing in the movies. Do you have a favorite muscle car? Nah. I'm not big into cars. What would be a total deal-breaker for you, relationship-wise? You so much as lift your hand at me, bye, motherfucker. Would you consider yourself to be accepting of others? Yes, but not as much as I used to be. There are certain opinions I just don't tolerate in people anymore; I feel like by staying associated with people whose views invalidate or in any way harm others (racism, homophobia, transphobia, etc.), you're on the side of evil as well, even if indirectly. However, I genuinely do feel I have a wide range of viewpoints I'm willing to accept in others, even if I don't agree with them. Are you flirtatious? No. I think I'm only capable of flirting with someone I'm already with and very comfortable around. I'd feel way too shy and awkward otherwise. Have you ever just felt "drawn" to someone, but you didn’t know why? "Didn't know why," no. I've felt drawn to people with good reason, like if I was romantically interested in them. Is there anyone you currently want to reach out to? There's a number, honestly. Especially with the aid of therapy, I'm being motivated to strengthen bonds with old friends and/or acquaintances via Facebook. Freddy or Jason? I think Jason is scarier. Freddy tends to come across as cheesy for me. Have stickers or gems on your cell phone? Nah. Ever teased your hair? Bitch I damn well tried in high school because I wanted the ~ l e g i t ~ emo hair, but mine was just too heavy to hold, at least with the hairspray my sister had. Have any friends with benefits? Nah, that's never been my thing. Ever lost of bunch of valuable information? Ummm I don't believe so. I've lost massive RP posts before, but I can't really call those "valuable information." What drinks or food make you hyper? None, really. Most expensive thing you ever bought? With my own money, my snake. She's a champagne morph ball python. What type of toothpaste do you use? Crest. How much time to spend putting on makeup daily? Zero. When listening to a song, what do you listen for (lyrics, bass, beat, ect)? The beat, more than anything else. What is the color of your toothbrush? It's a white electric one. What is your favorite color(s) of eye-makeup? Black. Just black. Are you sexually active? I'm not. Do you have sensitive skin? Very. Are you attracted to several guys atm? I'm actually not attracted to any guys in my personal life atm. How many toilets are in your house? Two. Do you have an older sister? Excluding the one I don't know, I have three older sisters. Favorite song by Owl City? Probably "Hot Air Balloon," but I don't know many at all. What color is your mum’s car? White. Do you truly understand the (LDS) Mormon religion? I don't know what "LDS" means, but as my former best friend developed into a Mormon, I learned some stuff from her in her self-discovery. I don't remember a lot of it, not that I knew all that much in the first place. Where do you keep your kitty litter box? Ugh, Mom's unmovable about it being in my fucking room for some reason. And we have an extra goddamn room no one uses yet. Roman's shit STINKS, like we think something might actually be wrong, but nope, it has to stay in here. e_e It would literally inconvenience nobody if we moved it in the spare room. Are you a lighter complexion than your father? MUCH lighter. He's very tan. Do you like apricots? No. Solid soap bar or liquid body wash? 100% body wash. Bar soap slips so easily, and as someone who lives with another person, I'm not rubbing my body with the same bar my mother uses, no offense to her. Sharing it's just gross. Where do you live (country or state)? Shitty 'ole North Carolina. Do you use plastic, wooden, or wire hangers? I think we have a mix of them, actually. What is your favorite shade of yellow? I only like pastel yellow. Otherwise, it's one of my least favorite colors. Are there any shades of blue that you don’t like? If so, which ones? Ehhh not really. What is something you want to accomplish before you turn 30? God, can I please have a stable career by then. Who has the best decorated house in your town? I don't know. We live in a cul de sac community thing where it's just houses next to houses, so there's a lot to choose from. I don't pay attention to them. What is your favorite part of Halloween? The decorations. Do you feel a connection to the moon? "As above, so below," as the saying goes. What does your heart long for? Peace and contentness with myself. Did you decorate a pumpkin this year? Last year, I didn't. I do want to this year, though, if I can just think of a really good idea. I have to be motivated. What are some fall activities you would do with your kids? I'm not having kids, but I'll follow along, hypothetically. With how much joy Halloween brought me as a kid, I'd want to do SO much as a family with them. Homemade decorations, carving or painting pumpkins together, and hell yeah I'd be taking them trick-or-treating once I felt they were ready and they wanted to. I'd be one of those parents that probably spends too much on whatever costumes they want, haha... Oh, and then besides Halloween, I'd certainly rake leaf piles together for them to jump and play in. This question has brought to mind like ONE thing I could enjoy as a parent, haha. Have you ever seen a fox? I have; besides in a zoo setting, I've seen one or two in the wild run out of sight, and I also found one poor fellow as roadkill that had been disemboweled by I'm assuming vultures. With my whole roadkill photography thing, I literally almost kneeled into a strand of intestines I didn't see at first. :x What color are the squirrels where you live? We only have brown ones. Is there anything about Halloween you find offensive? lol no What do the trees look like where you live? Lots, and lots, and LOTS of pine trees... There are others, but I'm not well-informed on tree species and such. Oh, then of course there are dogwoods (our "state tree"), which are unmistakable because they smell like fucking manure. What is your dream vacation? Maybe the mountains on the western side of NC during the fall... ugh, that would be breathtaking. We actually have an abandoned The Wizard of Oz-themed park around there that allows tours at certain times of the year, and I'd love to visit and photograph there. As well, western NC has the zoo, which would be spectacular to visit with autumn weather and, once again, load up on photos. Did you like field trips when you were a kid? I LOVED field trips. Do you find museums boring or interesting? Very interesting! Would you ever wear a shirt with your country’s flag on it? No. I'm not patriotic enough at all for that. What’s a medicine that makes you sleepy? Historically, larger doses of Klonopin can knock me the fuck out. Do you like bath bombs? Never used one, because I don't do baths. Who are your favorite small YouTubers? I'm going to guesstimate you mean less than 1M subs as "small," because I really don't know what you consider to fit that description. I watch a lot of people with less than 1M, so it's hard to say, but lately it's probably been a let's player John Wolfe. He's really funny. Then there's some tarantula YouTubers, along with the animal educator Emzotic... and really just many others. I think most of the people I watch actually have sub-1M, but more than 500k. Who are your favorite big YouTubers? Markiplier is absolutely, positively #1. I also really enjoy Snake Discovery, GameGrumps, Jeffree Star (don't judge me ok, he's a fuckin hoot), and while I haven't watched them in years, Good Mythical Morning will ALWAYS be deeply, deeeeply embedded in my heart. What was your favorite girl group when you were growing up? Ummm probably the Spice Girls? Have you ever used an outhouse? Ugh, yes, at old childhood sports games. What was the last good cause you donated towards? When I cut off like 8+ inches of hair to accomplish the style I have now, I donated it to Children With Hair Loss. My hair has always been mega-thick and healthy, so why in the world waste it? One of my most cherished items is the certificate I got in return many months later that my donation had been used. Have any of your exes gotten married or had kids since your breakup? I haven't had contact with Juan in many years, don't know what Tyler's up to either, and I haven't spoken to Jason since 2017, so. I'm very doubtful he's married or has kids yet, though, just knowing him and how "I need to be fully prepared for this" he is with big life stuff like that. Does it bother you when people get super emotional? Not at all. I'll do my all to comfort them. Have you ever worked in a restaurant? No. Do you get a lot of thunderstorms where you live? Depends on the time of year. Summertime? Brief but super intense thunderstorms every late afternoon. What was the last drive-thru you went through? Taco Bell w/ Mom. Do you know anyone who claims they can see/feel spirits or other supernatural ‘things?’ No. Do either of your parents have a mental illness? My mom has depression, and Mom is also convinced Dad has either depression masked as anger and/or bipolarity, but following the divorce, I don't see it in him at all. He's never seen a doctor in that field to be diagnosed with any mental illness. What fun things are there to do where you live? Jackshit. Do you know anyone with a really poorly-trained dog? Mother of fucking god, yes. My little sister lives with her best friend, and said friend has a colossal black lab named Hudson that is absolutely uncontrollable because she neglects the shit out of him. Won't listen to you even if it saved his life. He jumps on you, barks endlessly, and if he escapes the house? Good fucking luck getting him inside. She has absolutely no right to own a dog with how shitty of an owner she honestly is. When you were growing up, did your family rent or own your home? They owned it. The idiots who were moving in after us accidentally burnt the place to a fucking crisp, and my parents were SO not happy to lose that house because people were dumb enough to place boxes atop the goddamn stove. Do you do meal-prepping? No. Do you know anyone who got preggo less than a year into their relationship? Multiple people, not that that's my business. What did you dream about last night? I don't remember it clearly, other than I was with Jason and his mother was also present. What's the biggest age difference you've ever had in a relationship? That would have been with Juan, but I don't remember exactly how old he was. I just know I was a freshman and him a senior that got held back a year or so in HS. If you could save one animal from ever becoming extinct, what animal would you pick? Probably bees, given how vital they are. Name the coolest thing about one of your grandparents. My maternal grandmother worked at Disney World. I can't remember what her position was, though. Do you ever eat peanut butter straight from the jar? If I want a healthy snack, sometimes I'll have a scoop. Do you prefer your clothes loose or close fitting? They need to be loose. Favorite thing you’ve ever painted? This big painting of meerkats grooming on burlap I did in high school. Do you always wear a bra? I question the self-love of anyone who can sleep with a bra on. ;__; Do you normally finish one book before starting another? Oh yes, I can't read more than one at a time. Do you prefer reading books, comic books, manga/graphic novels, magazines, or the newspaper? The normal book. Do you know how to play chess? I don't. Are you watching anything? No, but I do have Manson's "Third Day of a Seven Day Binge" on in another tab. What is your blood type? A-. Has anyone ever borrowed something from you and never returned it? Yes. Do you twitch when you're falling asleep? Dude, I more than "twitch." I can just suddenly spaz out and look like I'm seizing for a moment. Another side effect of my nightmare suppressant medication. Are any of your pets “overweight”? No. Has anyone ever bought you a ring? My mom has bought me a few, and Jason gave me one for one of our anniversaries. Where was the last place you took a bath/shower, other than your own house? My sister's place. What first attracted you to the last person you kissed? Just how unique and happy that way she is. And her pretty much undying loyalty. Has someone ever taken a pic of you while you were making out with someone? No, considering I wouldn't go that far with someone unless we were alone. Had a crush on someone you thought shared your sexuality, turns out didn’t? Yes. What’s your favorite color to wear? Black. Does it gross you out if a guy has hair on his chest? I personally don't find an excess of it attractive, but it doesn't "gross me out." If they bathe themselves just like everyone else, why should it? Do you think sexuality is a choice or not? It is absolutely not a choice. If it was, I'd assume most people would choose to be straight, given phobias, hatecrimes, etc... I could write an essay on this. Do you like industrial piercings? Yeah. Do you think stretched ears are disgusting? "Disgusting" is, once again, the wrong word. Gauges don't really gross me out - hell, I want tiny ones -, but they can reach a size that, to me, is not visually appealing. Did you watch animated Barbie movies when you were little? I do remember loving Princess and the Pauper as well as the Rapunzel one; my sister was addicted to them. Oh yeah! Then there was the Swan Lake one that she adored, too. We usually watched movies together. Do you like fruit in your cereal? Big No. Do you like raw vegetables? Ugh, no. Do you listen to A Day to Remember? I do! They're on my list of faves. Do you like funnel cake? I actually don't. Have you ever been with someone while they were getting a tattoo? Yuh.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''third day of a seven day binge'' by marilyn manson

4 notes · View notes

with-galaxies-in-her-veins · 5 years

Text

let’s talk eating disorders (TW)

*sigh*

this isn’t really something i like to talk about, because, hi, it’s personal and private, but i think that it’s something that needs to be heard, especially if you are someone who wants to help a loved one recover. i know that this is going to cause a lot of drama, but hey, if it helps someone, i’ll willing to face the brunt of it, so here goes.

eating disorders are a mental illness. they may not seem like one, since “oh, all they really are is just starving, binging, and purging, right?” wrong. see, the parts of our brains that normally tell us “okay, stop eating” or “eat now” are different from those of a non-disordered person. this is caused by multiple different reasons, from either the hypothalamus not sending the correct signals to your brain whilst eating (1), or your own stubbornness/personal drive.

let’s break it down, shall we?

first things first: you can have an eating disorder and be overweight

dear all things holy and sweet, the amount of times i’ve read/heard the phrase “but you’re not even skinny, how can you have an eating disorder?” is so plentiful that if i had a dollar for each time i heard it, i would be able to afford the therapy i so desperately need.

here’s the thing, though, that not many people get. there are loads of eating disorders, not just the most commonly heard-of anorexia nervosa and bulimia nervosa. the stigma that you have to be underweight to have an eating disorder is so incredibly ridiculous, not to mention damaging to the kids and teenagers who don’t realize that “hey, you can have an eating disorder and be at a normal/higher weight.” (2) let’s put it this way: say you’re struggling through something, and you don’t quite have all the symptoms shown online or depicted in movies. because of this, you feel like you don’t deserve recovery because “you don’t have all the symptoms of this, though,” and you won’t stop your behaviour and habits until you do. that’s what goes through the mind of an anorexic who isn’t underweight. so the stereotype of a girl clinging to life by a pound is completely damaging to a person, especially if that person is young.

next, notice how i don’t use specific genders, races, or religions here. that’s because anyone, regardless of those factors, can have an eating disorder.

according to National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders, “16% of transgender college students reported having an eating disorder”, “2.1% of sexual minority men reported having an eating disorder” (in a large national study of college students), and “eating disorders affect all races and ethnic groups.” (3) do you see what this means? not just pretty rich white girls have eating disorders. and here’s another thing: happiness has nothing to do with it. granted, many people with eating disorders have other mental illnesses (depression, anxiety, body dysphoria, etc.), but that’s not the only factor here. psychological, social, biological, and external factors are all things to be considered. research has suggested that those who have had family members who struggled with an eating disorder are much more susceptible to having one themselves, later on in life. (4)

obviously there’s much more to be covered here, but if i chose to go over each and every little detail, this post would be longer and more annoying than jay gatsby’s pining for daisy. if you’re interested in doing more research before you read the next topic, please see the links i have provided below.

a personal outlook on anorexia, and what it’s like to have it

okay, now for the juicy stuff you were probably expecting before i smacked you in the face with statistics and facts (you know, boring things people tend to ignore)

so, i think the first thing i want to say is that no, i’m not stupid, and no, i’m not being selfish.

see, many people associate anorexia with vanity, selfishness, stupidity, etc. that’s really not it. again, eating disorders are a mental illness, therefore meaning that it’s not really something that can be easily controlled. when you have anorexia, there’s this little voice in the back of your mind that’s constantly telling you “oh, you’ll never be enough until you’re skinny.” actually, wait, scratch that. some people don’t even have anorexia to be skinny. things like past traumas, bullying, abuse, etc. can cause it because it’s a form of either punishment, self-harm/self-destruction, or a defense mechanism. for me, it’s a form of self-destruction.

my anorexia started out as a 11-12 year old me romanticizing eating disorders because of what i’ve read and watched in the media. i was never a “fat” or “overweight” person, but seeing images of skinny models with thigh gaps and collarbones made me think that “oh, that’s what society values, so in order to make more friends and be popular, i need to look like that.” add this to a few past comments from classmates, and, well, we all know where that ended, right?

sigh.

if there is one thing that i wish i could tell myself back then, it would be “baise la société. ne vous inquiétez pas de ce que quelqu'un pense de vous et vivez votre vie selon vos propres valeurs.” (fuck society. do not worry about what someone thinks of you and live your life according to your own values.) i spent so much of my 14th year of life worrying about my weight, and when i tried recovery (actually trying, not just eating a little normal and saying “oh, i’ve recovered!”) a few months ago, the relapse was the worst i’ve ever had. see, even when you think you’re doing okay, and have a semi-normal relationship with food and your body, your eating disorder will still be there. i tried multiple times to recover, each time trying a new method, but, as you can see, i obviously failed.

but here’s something i really want you to understand: just because i have this disorder, does not mean i’m foolish.

i understand perfectly the long-term effects of this disorder. i understand that if i keep going until i reach my goals, whatever they may be, i will die. i understand all of it. i’ve done the research, i’ve read the testimonies, i’ve seen the first-hand effects of this disorder, and i’ve lived through them. i know that living this way is terrible and not really any way to live at all, and i know that living in general is amazing and incredible, and that i should want to keep doing it. but here’s the thing. like many people in the eating disorder community, i’m not here to just “lose weight.” i’m here to slowly kill myself in a way that ensures i can’t ever be fixed. sure, i could try therapy, inpatient, outpatient, whatever, but i know that it won’t work for me. why, you may ask? i don’t want the help, and i know that it will be a waste of time and money.

i’m not telling you this to make you pity me, or feel bad, or to get you to try and be all “oh gosh, this kid needs saving.” no. i’m telling you this so that you can better understand what it’s like to actually have this disorder. it’s not starving and exercising, it’s cycles of restriction and binging, crying when you realize you’ve gained weight, and absolutely loathing how you look on a daily basis. these thoughts, habits, whatever you want to call it, are what makes an eating disorder so goddamn destructive, and i refuse to just sit by and watch as more and more lives get taken by this parasitic illness.

in my head, i know that i’m not fat. i’m a small person. i don’t have any problem seeing myself as small when i’m surrounded by people. but when i’m alone, i see myself as this horridly overweight being, and that image never leaves my mind. i guess you could call it a mindset, or a disordered mentality towards my body. each time i see my reflection in a mirror, i check to see if i look skinny or not. i wrap my hands around my wrists, ankles, thighs, arms, etc. just to see if i’ve lost weight or gained. it’s an obsession, it’s unhealthy, and it’s a terrible outlook to have on yourself. this outlook, it’s this same that makes me know that, at the moment, no, recovery will not help me.

in order for someone to recover, they need to want it. they need to see for themselves why recovery is the best option. forcing it upon someone can only do so much, especially if they aren’t willing and resist you every step of the way. sometimes the person needs to be pushed towards wanting it, yeah, and sometimes that person will change their mind.

and here’s another thing: just because i don’t want to recover, doesn’t mean that i think you’re crazy or dumb if you want to

it’s honestly so ridiculous that i need to explain this, but regarding recovery, my choices, actions, and behaviours do not match my beliefs. although i personally do not want to recover at the moment, i still believe that you, or someone struggling, should find the strength in them to go into recovery.

the end, as well as a few resources

now, what you do with this information is up to you. you can choose to do some further research on the topic so you can understand better just what an eating disorder really feels like, or you can just ignore this, because, after all, i am just a messed up teenager who probably doesn’t know what she’s talking about (even though she has sources clearly listed below that are so painfully evident, even the most ignorant of tumblr users would be able to find them). i don’t know if i touched down on everything i wanted to cover, but hey, at least i tried, right?

either way, i wish you the best of luck, and hope you understand this a little better, and have a broader outlook on this whole topic. there is a plethora of information available to you at any time, and i strongly urge you to look into it before approaching someone with an eating disorder.

(1) - https://www.helpguide.org/articles/eating-disorders/binge-eating-disorder.htm/

(2) - https://www.eatingdisorders.org.au/eating-disorders/what-is-an-eating-disorder/classifying-eating-disorders/dsm-5

(3) - https://anad.org/education-and-awareness/about-eating-disorders/eating-disorders-statistics/

(4) - https://www.eatingdisorders.org.au/eating-disorders/what-is-an-eating-disorder/risk-factors

thank you for taking the time to read this, and i really, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, hope that this can help someone

4 notes · View notes