alright besties. it took almost the whole session but i finally got myself to tell my therapist that i’ve been hurting myself

thalia design analysis –> let's get started

• hair

- she had long hair growing up but as soon as she ran away she had luke cut It off with a dagger, and when she came back from being a tree, she fixed it.

- she's originally blonde but she dyes her hair black so she doesn't look more like Beryl (her mother) than she already thinks she does - her roots are showing more but she doesn't personally care or have time to re-dye it

- speaking of dye, at the ends of her hair is kind of blue

• facial features

- thalia has leukocoria, which is where one pupil is white instead of black. hers is caused because of corneal scarring.

thalia is very veiny, but it was more visible after her tree years. Her veins are more prominent, it is because when her tree was poisoned, the poison went to her tree's roots, and for her, it went to her veins. even after she was healed, her veins were more noticeable.

- lip piercings: she has a vertical labret, and snake bites.

- ear piercings: she has an ear gauge, 10mm actually. she had an industrial bar piercings. as well as a helix.

- has one eyebrow piercing, and percy has the same. she has an earl piercing (nose piercing.)

- mouth/tounge piercings: she has a tounge tip piercing as well as viper piercings

• scars (tw: mentions of sh)

- she has alot of scars.

- on her face, she has a scar going from her jaw to the top of her forehead on the left side of her face, which also has gone through her corneal scarring. (cough cough, luke reminder, cough cough)

- she has a small one on the bridge of her nose, she doesn't know where she got that one - she has a lip scar, just like Jason's, and she loathes it. she loved Jason, but she hates how every time she looks in the mirror it's always there.

- she has a monster scratch/claw scar down her neck.

- she has the same scars on her backs and hips too.

- she had bite mark scars. from either monsters or people. I will explain later.

she has a massive scar over her stomach from hbh.

- tw: sh, talks of healed and new sh -

- firstly, thalia has scars varying in diffrent length and width on her chest and under it. when she was growing up, she was bullied and teased alot, and said her body, her chest, was ugly. and she looked like her mok, well, and the fact she got compared to her. and since her mom was beautiful, she would make her chest ugly. (I will elaborate and post the in depth explanation later, probably after this one.)

- thalia has few scars on arms, she doesn't sh there usually.

- most of her sh, old and new, are on her thighs, upper and lower. she has multiple scars varying in width length, some are thicker than others, and most are much newer than others. she had relapsed shortly after Jason's passing.

• extra details

- thalia has markings on her skin, but why? on her tree, people have carved things into it over the years, and when she came back, it was there in her skin. she personally doesn't care, most of the times she draws over them with pen so you could see it better. on the rare occasion, when there is a new carving, it feels like your getting stabbed, again and again. she doesn't recommend that pain.

ANYFUCKINGWAY, this is a massive psa that caelynn @/benevolentvampire raped me in february this year.

then she repeatedly violated my personal boundaries when i begged her for space and time to think. she admitted to knowing that she’d raped me the entire time since it happened and just hoping i wouldn’t think it was rape - i do, and it lead me to not only a pregnancy scare (which i am increasingly concerned was her intention) but also a severe relapse in my ptsd (from previous sexual assaults, which i had told her about) that has caused me to have a flare up of several health issues

i’ve done my absolute best to be friends again but she openly admits to still liking me romantically when i’ve said i only want to be friends, and i’ve truly pushed myself past my fucking limit to be nice because i don’t want to lose a friend - i don’t want to lose a friendship, i am terrified of being abandoned, but i honestly have no idea what else to do.

i’ve posted about this before and was met with anons accusing me of lying or trying to be transphobic. i myself am a transgender man. this has nothing to do with her gender identity and everything to do with the fact that she fucking raped me.

i have the story under the cut as well as screenshots of her admitting to it. i know this is incredibly triggering and upsetting, and i don’t want to make drama but i’ve seen my mutuals follow and reblog from her and make friends with her since this has happened and i feel sick, uncomfortable and intimidatingly small.

she stayed at a hotel near my house for a few days over my birthday. she wanted me to stay with her one night in the hotel room. it had two beds and a couch, i would be able to make myself comfortable, i felt fine with it. we fell asleep.

on the morning of my birthday, i woke up to her having sex with me. i do move around in my sleep a lot and had been having a nightmare, but i gave absolutely no verbal consent and was very obviously asleep the entire time. i woke up just before she came inside me, and i felt fucking terrified. i didn’t know what to do, and i know from previous experience with an ex that trying to say i was uncomfortable would lead to more issues - she’s physically stronger than me, i would have no way to defend myself if i upset her. so i tried to ignore it, but she continued to assault me. at that point i told her i was awake, and we continued because i was too terrified to tell her to stop. later that day, i took her to get a tattoo - it’s a sword that matches the one i already have. she got the tattoo specifically to match mine. i got mine because it represents surviving being assaulted previously, and living with my ptsd. which is cruel fucking irony.

we already had tickets to a my chemical romance concert in march (i bought both tickets and gave her one), and i didn’t want to miss it. at the concert, i was uncomfortable but tried to ignore it because it’s fucking my chemical romance and that band saved my life. after the concert, caelynn stayed in the hotel room with my mother and i for the night because her phone was dying and she hadn’t made any arrangements on where she was staying after the concert or how she was getting home afterwards. she slept on the couch while my mother and i took the bed, i barely slept at all that night and woke up physically sick the next morning. we had plans to get tattoos the day after the concert, which caelynn had booked and i had payed the deposit for, and i felt too sick to go through with it.

(the is my boyfriend, who i have been dating for over a year now. she knew that i was in a relationship. she also contacted the on multiple occasions.)

Eating Disorder Questions

1. When did you eating disorder begin?

2012 (I was 17)

2. What is your earliest related memory?

I started a food journal and weighing myself. Didn’t like how high the number was. Before that I had some body image issues related to puberty but ate whatever I wanted.

3. Favorite safe foods?

Non fat yogurt, berries, rice cakes

4. Favorite safe meal?

Coconut milk and low cal cereal (rice crispies or cheerios)

5. How do you handle hard days?

Not sure that this means but when I’m upset I either sleep, watch tv/read, or use harmful behaviors.

6. sw/cw/hw/ugw

147/142/152/ as low as possible but at least 108

7. How do you comfort yourself after a binge?

Purge or fast, I used to also burn myself.

8. What type of ED do you have?

I’ve had anorexia (b/p subtype), bulimia, and BED at different times. Right now mostly restricting and binging/purging occasionally.

9. When did you realize you had an ED?

Not sure but I remember when I started purging I realized it wasn’t just a “diet”.

10. Do you have any recovery tips?

Meal plans (healthy ones preferably made by a dietitian) are great for learning what normal portions are again. For starting recovery: a good pros/cons list and reflecting on everything your ED has taken from you. Also having at least one person to be accountable to, especially a professional if you have access to that.

11. Does anyone know about your ED?

Pretty much all of my friends and family. It’s hard to hide it when you’ve been in treatment so much.

12. What is an embarrassing ED related story you have?

Once when I was drunk with friends (really drunk, like I can barely remember everything) I started feeling nauseous and said in front of everyone “don’t worry, I used to be bulimic” (at the time I still was) then proceeded to purge in the bathroom with the door open. Also multiple occasions of shitting myself due to laxatives (no one knows about that).

13. Longest fast?

41hrs only drinking water and coffee

14. Do you have any other ED communities?

Yes, on Instagram

15. Have you recovered/relapsed before?

Yes, multiple times.

16. Favorite safe outfit?

Leggings and a baggy tshirt or hoodie.

17. Do you smoke?

Yes, nicotine

18. Coffee or tea?

I am a coffee addict but I like tea too

19. Diet soda or energy drinks?

I have never liked soda but I’m currently addicted to energy drinks.

20. Biggest sweet tooth craving/binge food?

Donuts or other pastries

21. Something you want to tell about your ED but you’ve never had the chance.

Not sure...maybe that I feel like I’ll never 100% recover. I’ve told at least one person everything else.

22. Best words of advice/love/experience to other ppl with EDs?

Recovery does get easier, though it sucks at first. Living with an ED isn’t really living, you deserve better. Things really are darker/less enjoyable when you’re sick.

23. Do you have a partner? If so do they know about you ED?

No, I’m single. My last S.O. was a huge cause of a very bad relapse a few years ago and I’m still healing from his abuse.

24. Do you want to recover?

I’ve been actively trying to recover for the last year. I don’t want to lose the life I’ve built for myself in that time, but relapse is so tempting.

25. Do you actually enjoy working out?

I’ve never really liked formal exercise (like things you do at the gym) but there are other things I like doing, mainly caring for and riding horses (I own two horses, help at the barn, and compete). I also like hiking.

26. Do you smoke?

Already asked that

27. If you smoke weed, do you get the munchies?

I only smoke cigarettes and vape

28. What is the thing you miss most that your ED has taken from you?

Finishing college and getting my license as a LVT and my dream job

29. Have you worked on your ED in therapy?

Yes, extensively

30. Have you ever been caught mid ED behavior? (Binging, purging etc)

Not exactly, except purging while inpatient, but I’ve had people question me right after using a behavior.

31. Do you eat healthy or not?

I don’t strictly eat “clean” but I don’t just eat junk. Mostly it’s just the amount of calories something has.

32. Does your ED affect your sex life/sexuality?

When I’ve been underweight my libido decreases which I don’t really mind.

33. What is your favorite unhealthy but safe food?

Low calorie popsicles and certain crackers/chips. I’ll eat anything in small quantities if it fits into my calorie limit.

34. What is one of your most obscure fears brought on by your ED?

Not sure. I used to think people thought I was ugly, now I’m just afraid they think I’m fat.

35. Least favorite part of your body?

Chest, stomach, hips, thighs, cheeks

36. Favorite part of your body?

Eyes, hair, arms, and wrists

37. Do you have a fast metabolism?

I don’t think so, at least not as fast as it used to be.

38. Dumbest weight loss advice you’ve ever gotten.

Not sure, no one has ever given me “advice”, it’s more of what I’ve over heard people saying. I think people that don’t understand that calories in/calories out matters more than what type of food you eat.

39. Do you try to practice body neutrality or positivity? How?

Body neutrality has helped my in the past. Mostly focusing on what my body can do rather than how it looks.

40. How do you handle ED related nausea, fatigue, sickness, weakness?

I avoid a lot of it by eating small amounts throughout the day and not fasting. I used to be able to fast a lot but don’t anymore cause I don’t want to feel like shit at work. Oh and I abuse caffeine to combat fatigue.

41. What was the moment you realized you had an ED?

Already asked

42. What food do you miss the most?

It’s less about the food and more about how I miss being able to eat without feeling guilty.

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2020 - Day 1 (a little late!)

Day 1 – There’s only one bed

Title: Trying Again

Summary:  When, two weeks after Sherrinford, Molly has to share a room with Sherlock during the weekend away for Greg and Laura Lestrade's re-marriage, what might happen between the pair? If you know me, you know it's gonna be Sherlolly-flavoured! And fluff, there will be fluff.

Rated: M for some smexy times. 

Although Molly was skeptical when Greg Lestrade announced that he and Laura were tying the knot for the third time, Molly had to admit that there was more than a little appeal in spending the weekend out of London for the wedding. Especially after the last few months – Mary’s death, Sherlock’s relapse and recovery, the bombing of 221B, Sherlock’s sister, and that phonecall – the one that Molly tried her best to forget and Sherlock seemed to have perfected the art of acting like it had never happened.

And so when presented with the option to get away, Molly took it.

Greg’s wife-come-ex-wife-come-fiancé Laura, being a High School English teacher (or glorified babysitter, as Sherlock had once said a little bit too close to Greg’s earshot), had chosen Stratford-Upon-Avon as her setting. Ignoring Sherlock’s protests (Shakespeare didn’t even write those plays, he’d snarked), Molly RSVP’d yes straight away. It was only a week later that she started doubting that Greg and Laura’s relationship would last as long as the wedding date, concerns she refused to share with an equally sceptical Sherlock.

But the day drew near and Molly soon found herself pulling into the driveway of the Hallmark hotel. The grounds almost took Molly’s breath away, beautifully manicured lawns, terraced gardens, and the hotel itself was like something out of Downton Abbey – ornate and imposing on the landscape with more windows than Molly could possibly count. If she were to have a wedding, she would have chosen a place just like this.

Greg and Laura were there to greet her when she arrived. Any prior tensions about their impending nuptials seemed erased as they clung to each other as if their very lives depended on it. Molly hadn’t seen such levels of public affection since back at uni between her roommate Meena and Meena’s boyfriend Mark. Molly never admitted to Meena that she was relieved when the two boke it off in third year.

“You’re the lucky last to arrive, Molls,” Greg grinned at Molly as Laura nipped at his neck as if Molly wasn’t even there. “Here’s the key to your room.”

Molly thanked Greg and made as swift a departure as she could from the increasingly nauseating couple, promising to return downstairs for dinner at 6.

Molly couldn’t believe what she saw when she opened the door and stepped into her room. If the outside was like Downton Abbey then her room was so on-point she felt like Lady Edith. Warm, cozy furnishings, a small round table with plush dining chairs in the corner, all bathed with a warm glow from gorgeous lamp lighting placed strategically around the room. It was all beautiful, but it was the ornate four-poster bed that really drew      her eye.

Molly couldn’t wait. She kicked off her shoes and flopped down on the bed. It was just as comfortable as it looked, her body almost falling into the mattress. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of relaxation when there was a knock at the door.

“I thought dinner wasn’t until 6?” She asked as she opened the door.

She had assumed the knock to have come from Greg.

It didn’t.

It was Sherlock.

“I decided to come. ”He said, brushing past her to enter the room, placing his travel bag on the floor and removing his coat.

“I see that, but why didn’t you drop off your bag before coming to say hi?”

Sherlock’s face scrunched. “Well, about that. It seems that they’ve run out of rooms.”

There was a moment of silence while the situation dawned on her.

“Ok,” Molly said cautiously.

“So I was wondering – I mean,” he gestured to the bed. “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve shared.”

He was right. They had shared a bed in her flat on multiple occasions, especially when he was “dating” Jeanine and needed a place to stay away from her. It was one such platonic bed-sharing occasion that Tom had stumbled upon and completely misinterpreted, leading to the end of their engagement.

More recently, in the desperate moments during his recovery when in the dark of night he’d call her name and find comfort in her presence, she’d slide into the covers beside him. In the light of day he’d always wake before her and greet her in the morning like nothing had ever taken place.

But they hadn’t shared a bed recently, not in the last few weeks, definitely not since that phonecall. Molly wasn’t sure if her heart could take more hurt, having him so close but not being able to touch him.

“Sherlock, I’m not sure if it’s a good idea,” is what she meant to say.

“Ok,” is what she heard herself saying instead.

Molly thought she saw relief flash across Sherlock’s face.

“Fancy a drink?” he asked, reaching for the complementary bottle of champagne that Molly hadn’t noticed in her hurry to test out the bed.

“Why not?” She asked. But she knew why not. Sherlock Holmes was in her room, Sherlock Holmes was about to share a bed with her, the same Sherlock Holmes who knew without a doubt that she loved him, and who had said the same to her in a tone so convincing she almost believed he meant it – right up until Mycroft’s assistant knocked on her door and told her the full story.

Perhaps Dutch courage was precisely what she needed.

“What should we toast to?” Molly asked as he passed her a glass, purposefully ignoring the electricity she felt when their fingers brushed.

“To trying again,” he said, his eyes burrowing deeply into hers.

He’d meant Greg and Laura, right?

Champagne always went to Molly’s head and before long she was in rapt attention as he regaled her with the details of his latest case. So taken was she by his story that she almost didn’t hear the knock at the door.

Sherlock opened it, only to be greeted by Greg, eyes red-ringed from crying.

“I’m sorry Sherlock, Molly, the wedding’s off,” he said, before crying again.

“Was it the masseuse?” Sherlock asked.

Greg shook his head.

“The hairdresser?”

Greg’s tears turned into sobs.

“Or was it-“ Molly put a steeling hand on Sherlock’s arm, stopping him before he shared another one of his deductions.

“I’m so sorry, Greg.” Molly said.

“I’m, s-sorry you came all this way for nothing.” Greg said before another wave of sobs crashed over him.

“I’m sure we’ll make good use of the trip,” Sherlock said. There was an undercurrent in his voice, but Molly couldn’t quite work out what it was.

Greg apologized again before moving off to the next room on his rounds.

“So, room service?” Sherlock asked as the door shut.

“I suppose the group dinner is off, so why not?”

When the food arrived, they ate in companionable conversation. He talked more about his cases, she shared some interesting findings from the bodies she’d examined over the last few weeks. It was just like old times, back when they could share her flat and not have her feelings take up all the air in the room.

By dessert, the champagne was long gone and the wine that came with dinner had been emptied. Sherlock reached into the minibar, grabbing two mini bottles of vodka.

“I really shouldn’t,” Molly said.

“Yes, you should,” he said, handing a bottle to her.

Dutch courage indeed.

The dessert was chocolate volcano cake. Rich gooey chocolate ran out of the center when she pierced it with her spoon. The sauce was so delicious, Molly couldn’t stop herself moaning as the flavor exploded in her mouth.

“This is so good,” she said by way of explanation when she caught Sherlock staring at her.

Without warning, Sherlock reached across the table, his finger running along her lip.

Molly had no idea what he was doing until he showed her the chocolate on his finger. Wordlessly, he licked his finger, removing the chocolate.

Molly’s breath hitched.

Sherlock stood, walking over to Molly.

“There’s still some left,” he explained, “may I?”

Instead of his finger, Sherlock leaned down, placing his lips on hers. Molly’s mouth opened in shock, only to find Sherlock kissing her soundly.

All conscious thought vanished and instinct took over. Her fingers weaved through his hair. His arms snaked around her body, pulling her close. Both moving in perfect unison as he backed her up against the bed. His lips teased hers and Molly couldn’t help opening to him, eliciting a small groan as she did. Emboldened, he claimed her lips more powerfully, as if marking her as his own. The feeling caused Molly’s knees to buckle and she pulled them both backwards onto the bed, Sherlock’s full weight pinning her to the mattress.

The kiss stopped briefly as they settled in place. It was enough to bring her back to reality.  

She rolled away from him, still panting, mouth still tingling with the ghost of his lips.

“Sherlock, what is this?” she asked, cursing herself for her need for clarity, her desire for definition rather than just going with every instinct inside her that said to go for it.

“This is me, trying again.” His face was downcast, almost in supplication.

She searched his eyes, trying to glean his meaning. “Trying again to do what?”

Sherlock reached out for her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers.

Molly’s breath caught in her throat. They’d shared a bed, she’d examined his naked body on numerous occasions, and they’d just kissed each other senseless – but somehow the joining of his hand with hers was the most intimate act they’d ever experienced.

“Do you see these scars?” he asked, moving his hand, which still held hers, closer into her view.

Sharp lines marred his porcelain skin, jagged cuts which were healing, but hadn’t yet disappeared. They looked only a few weeks old.

A few weeks ago Sherlock was stuck in Sherrinford with his deranged secret sister.

“What happened?” Molly asked, removing her fingers from his so as to trace the violent lines that violated his flesh.

He described Eurus’ tests, each more sadistic than the last. He’d explained about the Garrideb brothers, the fear in their eyes as they processed their fate, dangling as they did above the Sherrinford cliffs. He’d condemned Alex because he had no choice, but Eurus spared the murderer only to spare his innocent brothers – or so Sherlock had thought until she cast them, too into the sea and rocks below.

As he spoke, Sherlock looked haunted by the memories. Molly couldn’t stop herself from running a hand through his hair, a gesture of comfort. His eyes closed for a moment, reveling in the sensation, before taking her hand in his.

“What happened to the Garridebs was just the beginning,” Sherlock explained.

He described another room, empty except for a coffin.

“She said that somebody was about to die, and considering I’d just watched her kill three men in cold blood, I believed it.”

His eyes were so far away, Molly wondered if by sharing it with her he was also reliving it.

He described a coffin designed for someone small – about 5 ft 4, a practical informed choice made by someone acquainted with the process of death. His eyes bored into hers as he said it, and Molly wondered if there were the beginnings of tears forming in the corner.

“It was your coffin, Molly.”

He almost broke then, eyes darting away from hers as if looking at her would make it real, bring the memory back to life.

She reached for him, hoping that the contact would bring him back to her, to the present, to this room.

“I had no other choice, my sister,” his tone was poison as he said it, “she said you were about to die and I had no reason not to believe it.”

“The phone call,” she said. Sherlock closed his eyes, nodding slowly.

“It’s ok, Anthea told me all about the lies about the bomb, her agents removed all the cameras. It’s fine, Sherlock.”

He shook his head, eyes still closed so as not to meet hers.

“I thought I might lose you, Molly. And in a way, I almost did.”

“What do you mean? I’m here, I’m alive.”

“Eurus didn’t take you away from me, but she did almost take away my one chance.”

“What do you mean?”

“That coffin – I didn’t tell you what was written on the plaque.” He paused, steeling himself. “Three words. I love you.”

“It was the code, it was what she needed you to get me to say,” Molly supplied.

Sherlock shook his head. “When someone dies, the words on the coffin aren’t a message from those who have departed, it’s a dedication from those who are left behind. My sister, who has no concept of emotion, knew the one thing I had blinded myself to.”

“Which is what?”

“I love you, Molly.”

Molly couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Eurus robbed me of the chance to say it properly the first time, or the second, but here I am, trying again.”

Molly didn’t know what to say, but instinct took over. Her lips brushed his, feather-light. He tilted his head towards her, kissing her gently but soundly.

“I love you, too” she murmured between kisses a truth they both knew.

---

The next morning Molly awoke to the feeling of Sherlock’s warm body pressed into hers, his arm across her torso and his leg draped possessively over hers. It took a moment before the memories of the previous night registered in her conscious mind. Flashes came back to her.

Fingers brushing along the side of her face, down her neck, pulling down the strap of her bra.

Mouth on lips, throat, chest, breasts.

Her fingers snaking their way through his hair, tangled in his curls, pulling ever so slightly to elicit a moan from him so deep and desperate it was positively sinful.

Clothes abandoned, strewn around the room in a frenzy as skin ached to meet skin.

The exquisite ache as he filled her soundly, thrusting deeper and deeper.

The glorious sound as he reached his climax moments after she did her own.

In the light of day it all seemed so surreal, like she had dreamt it, but the feeling of his hand on her back, tracing small circles as Sherlock slowly woke brought reality crashing in.

“Morning,” he growled with a voice still gravelly from sleep.

“Morning,” she said, arching into him, luxuriating in the feel of him against her bare flesh.

She wanted nothing more than to stay there, enjoying each other and the pleasure they could bring from each other’s bodies, but something stopped her, a question she needed answered.

“Is this why you came?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you would have known that the wedding would be cancelled.”

“True.”

“So, did you come just so that we could,” Molly smirked, “share a bed.”

“Not quite.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, there’s a wedding venue with a last minute cancellation. It would be a shame for it to go to waste,” Sherlock smirked

---

John had to be told three times before he’d believe it. Mrs Hudson was so overcome with the reality of it that she didn’t care about the details. Greg, as heartbroken as he was, was happy that something good could have come out of the situation.

Even years later, Molly would smile as she remembered the weekend she got married to Sherlock Holmes. She was so thankful that she decided to get out of the city for the weekend, and even more thankful that Sherlock was brave enough to try again.

A Jaded Introduction:

I have been very apprehensive about beginning a true blog. By this I mean to say, in the past I did simpler versions like small paragraph entries on a couple of sites, profiles, and message boards while I was still in school. None of these showed all of my true self as this blog shall. So be ready for what comes next in this latest venture in my life. Its beginning has been long awaited, overthought, and over planned (without any accomplishment of any said planning). I need to just fucking do it. Get over being scared something bad will happen. 

There are too many reasons to go over right now as to why I have felt nervous, anxious, and somewhat fearful of finally putting something, anything onto my page. I am a fucking amazing procrastinator! I have been putting this off for at least 5 fucking years now. Oh, and yes I curse a lot, so if you don’t like that, you will need to deal with that or find an insanely more conservative page (which will likely be hard to do). 

Typically artists of any form have broken filters that we do patch up a bit for events like family occasions and such. These patches are like duct tape on a leaky pipe. Shit still dribbles out and you only have so much time before that tape just peels right off. And, letting alcohol enter that pipe will make the tape peel faster.

……………………………………………………

The main blog profiles from my past often had to do with the support of others enduring forms of depression, and most often the disorders and side effects that come with it. After a while, I realized certain entries of healing supporters were at times, unfortunately, a trigger for myself. 

I do not know how I would react to them now but perhaps there is a reason as to why I could not, even less than a month later of my stopping them, remember any of my profile names, username emails, passwords, etc. For more these sites I used a special new email address and to this day I cannot tell you what it was. 

I suppose this was possibly myself protecting me from what I knew was a trigger, what was even an encouragement. Though supportive in nature, sometimes certain lows others had reached, seemed more like achievements I never came close to. I know, terrible to say, but another motive to help explain depression and its side effects. Have them be realized as diseases, disorders, issues, and more for a reason, which is more often to help others understand them.

……………………………………………………..

Anyways, I should announce a few things about myself.... 

I am a major animal lover/advocate, a feminist, a major homebody, a person majorly attached to family (though I do have my many secrets from all the world as you will come to understand), a person that has lived most of my young life with the “trifecta” (allergies, asthma, skin issues – mine being eczema), a person that is by definition mentally “fucked up” due to both natural and situational causes of depression and the like, a person on meds for that depression and its side effects, a person who has/had the many side effects, disorders, issues that come with depression, including many relapses (no one’s perfect here), a person who is a victim of multiple sexual assaults, and the list goes on just as it would with many of you. 

My one difference that I may have from you is that I am a writer. I need to constantly spew my words or I will explode. These explosions piss others like no other. For many reasons, when I do explode and send lots of words to places, I seem and I think possible am on the verge of manic craze. Attending college made this more difficult after it ruined my writing (obviously I am healing from this being able to begin a blog). Moving to an area that I have always loved but where good therapists are hard to come by also has not helped. My psychiatrist though is the best one I have ever come to have known, so there’s a point for my glass half full. 

I also unlike most my age (stereotypical millennials) do not fake being a true lover of culture, art, history, and things that make us real and existing (not including the many, many moments of people being the shitty, disappointing pricks they/we usually are). I can interact and find conversation with any age group due to my love of culture (45 year-old moms love when they can report back to their kids that they met a twenty-something that didn’t at the time know you can send private messages on Instagram, and that was a mind blowing discovery for me by the way). 

Though I do not keep up with all the latest fucking fads out there that pop up like new spam in your inbox, I do typically need just 20 minutes to learn the ins and outs of the new piece of tech in question. When I sit down and actually put an attempt into learning whatever shit it is, I usually become quite adept. It’s the sitting and attempting part that gets me, the necessary motivation needed to strike just does not often arrive or sometimes ever arrive. 

I love puzzles and trivia so I hate to give up when I am attempting something. It’s a weird determination factor, I know, but it seems to help me out a decent amount when called for. Otherwise, yes, I irate those with my need for Jeopardy-like quizzing. It is one of the very few things I become truly competitive with. Another is foosball. 

I’m pretty sure there’s a numerous amount of dudes out there that think of me as that vodka game girl who was weird as fuck, telling their friends how I wanted to play more games instead of finding a place to do some hooking up (which was and still is because I typically need to be drunk in order to do more than a make out and a hand job, just how it is, thanks to other dudes/your peers).  

……………………………………………

Oh and heads up, I’ve been told I speak about shit that has happened in the past too often and have apparently considered myself a victim for too long. These are the same people that vent about the same boyfriend and other friend drama for years straight. I still listen.   

So, fuck not speaking about what has happened to you in the past! Those scars are there forever. They piss me off and I would like a way to fucking vent without bothering people that tell me they care about me. More about that shit later…. 

I apologize if my age old scars put major dampers when they come up in conversation but they’re there and lasting. 

……………………………………………….

My agenda with this blog is to tell the truth. Including truths that people do not often want to hear. I want to ramble and vent and if anyone out there wants to read my words, hopefully feel something, please do, and perhaps we won’t feel so alone.

XO babes, Jaded Vee 

#blog #assault #depression #eatingdisorder #therapy #sex #fuckedup #truth #animals #rape #scars #jadedtruth #jadedlip #veegreenekissed #veegreene

Thought I’d share this here too, as a life update I guess

The school year is starting very soon and my brain has been occupied with upcoming events. It has also been more than occupied with thoughts of the last three years...

I’ve realized (sadly, a long time after people I love had told me so) that I haven’t been very honest with myself in many aspects of my life, or at all. Social media has played a huge role in this, so I thought that I would start here.

As some of you know, I struggle with a variety of mental illness and neurological disorders (adhd, aspergers, etc.) and it has become much more difficult as I continue to take on more responsibility. Since I moved from PEI to Halifax, my life has been rocked by many changes and events that I wasn’t prepared for. And whenever something would go wrong, I would brush it under the rug because I wanted to do things “on my own”. My image took precedence over everything...

Beginning of second year, things really started to go downhill for me. My time in residence beforehand wasn’t a positive experience as I had been sexually/physically assaulted on multiple occasions. I had lost a very influential person in my life and did not handle it well. I had very unhealthy attachment issues. I had lost so much sleep that I was hallucinating throughout the day and I was terrified of going to class. My self harm tendencies had resurfaced... My curriculum was the last thing on my mind, yet I made it through that year somehow.

I would talk about my struggles incessantly to people, yet do nothing else about it and push everyone away.

Throughout that summer, I worked and I drank.

I drank a lot.

Third year I was diagnosed with BPD and things got a little better as I started taking minimal action, but I fell apart academically. I was still in combined honours, music and theatre. I failed my science course, withdrew from two others, wasn’t making attendance in my acting classes at all... I was afraid, I was scrambling, I had delusions of all my classmates and teachers having it out for me. I was financially unstable, not eating at all. At the same time, a certain family member was going through a relapse and I was torturing myself over it. (Having buried many of my feelings about their addiction as a kid)

I managed to pull off a B average in acting, but being in an honours program, this wasn’t enough. I had broken down and told my teachers everything. This resulted in me being dismissed from that program. My great aunt, who had supported me by going to all my voice recitals, taping them, etc. was in palliative care and I had been visiting her throughout that time. The last conversation we had was about my struggles in school... she said that I needed to work really hard and get some help. I had lost all belief in myself, but she hadn’t.

I learned of her passing within the same hour of my dismissal from the program.

This broke me and I’ve been making bigger changes in my life since. I now have a plan and could graduate in September 2019 with Bachelor of Arts, major in music. However, if I’m to be honest, I’m terrified of going back. I’m scared of what people will think of me, I’m scared I’ll fall apart again, I’m scared that I’ll stop buying groceries for some reason again, I’m terrified of losing trust in myself and others who are trying to help me again.

I need to focus on my classes, and what I came here for in the first place... which is my music. My beloved, beautiful music, which has never let me down, even when I’ve let it down.

In an effort to focus more on that, and to make changes in my environment, I’ve decided to delete Facebook and Instagram off my phone starting September 1st. My account will still exist, and I will keep messenger for work and contact purposes, but I will not be active on social media. At least for some time.

I need to reset the way I think about myself and others. I realize that this is only a small change, but it is one of many.

I wish all my fellow university students the best of luck in the coming year

And please...

Be kind to people x

Sipping on emotions

Fandom: Haikyuu!! Pairing: Oikawa Tooru/Miya Atsumu Summary: Oikawa couldn’t help but sink deeper and relishing on the high of falling in love. Prompts Used: Flight, Firsts, Kygo & Ellie Goulding “First Time” @volleyball-rarepair-week

Or read on Ao3.

It was petty to sneer, but it felt so good.

With everything said and done, it was gratifying to have that kind of privilege after winning the battle. It was like a badge of honor for Oikawa to be able to showcase his victory. He had always been addicted to having a winning streak whether it was through trivia, academics or within athletic purposes. There was just something about winning a debate or a game that made Oikawa smile, he knew it was a bad habit of being happy over something like that but, he honestly couldn’t help that kind of impulsive reaction. But then, why did God make it feel so satisfying in the first place then if it was so wrong?

He always appreciated the type of people that didn’t mind him and his gloating (since they tended to have the same disease as him of being overly competitive).

It was simpler to be occupied by a sea of others that understood his language and style. That and because, he could continue with his silly arguments and never feel too paranoid on stepping on landmines that would jeopardize him of losing people from his inner circle. It wasn’t foul proof but, with his kind of charms and flexibility to live it made it possible for him to roam and create a place to freely discuss and enjoy himself well enough.

Maybe that was why he liked how he met Miya Atsumu before beginning college. (A week prior to be exact.) The new spring semester was a colossal dynamic that it made him want to settle into his new environment earlier and assess his new chapter before it would get cluttered by the end of the year. He met Miya in a passive tempo of carrying some his boxes while listening to the hallway of his apartment’s level hum of multiple lives being jumbled together. It wasn’t as claustrophobic or overbearingly loud as he made it sound but, it made him aware of the new flavors he would encounter if he lingered in the hallways long enough.

Miya was in that mix; with his bleached hair standing out a little from the sun glares that casted into Oikawa’s vision, his eyes were mischievous enough to make him drag the second longer than necessary (he could feel a small smirk form in the back of his mind in curiosity). He was a pretty boy like Oikawa, he granted that with first impressions. The way he glided in the hallway made it easier to conclude that he was associated with some type of an athletic hobby or job. They didn’t speak or introduced themselves then.

Or the second and third day.

Before he knew Miya’s name, Oikawa dubbed him as the cocky pretty boy. (In hindsight, it wasn’t the most creative nickname but, it did its job.) Each time they passed each other Oikawa held his breath and squared his shoulders. In a minimal tone, he studied him, because there was tipping point of his curiosity for him. He felt like the type of person that lived in a similar fashion of loving to conquer everything and anything.

It was on the fifth day when they officially introduced themselves, Oikawa was coming back from his morning jog. Making his way to his level he felt another pair of eyes watching from behind. It was an intensity he was familiar with when he played volleyball or when there was a fangirl that wanted to confess to him. He didn’t change his pace of walking, but made himself relax as he heard another pair of shoes walking almost side by side. He checked his phone and lowered the volume of his current playlist playing when he caught Miya’s mouth opening and looking at his direction.

It was a straightforward conversation that Oikawa was used to from past cocky volleyball players, there were under layered challenges that made him steel his own words. Neither one of them were out right nasty to each other, but it was plain to see that Oikawa remembered seeing his face somewhere and apparently, Miya felt the same. It was the start of them bustling through the quiet exchanges of winning admires from a distance and the louder ones when they raced in their morning jogs, or when played against each with their separate volleyball teams. Competitiveness between them was the stepping stone for the both of them to continue on learning more about each other, and it was the perfect excuse for Oikawa himself to seek his own personal enjoyments when he won. It was a sweet kind of victory when he became accustomed to seeing Miya give him a special type of attention only reserved for him.

He was vain, Oikawa could admit that. But so was Miya. (It was almost like it was destined for them to cross paths at one point.) They both posed the same type of drive to be the incarnation of perfection. With the way life was handling them Oikawa couldn’t help but be overjoyed by time that was given to him to study Miya Atsumu.

The vantage point of witnessing Miya smile genuinely was unintentional.

They were lounging in Oikawa’s living room watching some old rerun cartoon from their childhood. It had been three months of slow edges of their words teasing more openly. As if they didn’t care of the world catching a glimpse of cheerful banters that borderline flirtations. It was slipping and swooning like water droplets; Oikawa noticed the way Miya glanced at him. (He was sure Miya noticed his too.) They had become more acute to each other’s habits and personal walls. Secrets had been shared in the late-night texting and the few times Oikawa allowed Miya to sleep on his couch after drunkenly misplacing his own keys.

Miya was the first to crack a real smile, his face radiated from old unspoken dreams coming into light. His voice was a murmur in the dark, they had been eating junk food and wasting time talking about old stories from their youth. It was weird how Oikawa’s state of mind was blinking and refocusing on Miya’s shift in tone as the story continued. (Like his gut was telling him something was going to happen.) Half his mind was recalling the story with precise detail, the other was catching how Miya’s glow from the TV made it accentuate how tired he was from his team practice. As the seconds ticked; Oikawa noticed it.

It was faint but the atmosphere was changing. And then he heard it: his own heart floating above his rib cage, then soaring past his body in a phantom speed that left him momentarily breathless. Miya’s smile that was unlike the rest he was acquainted with made him grasp the situation. He had fallen. So deep, and far from his old presumptions. As he relapsed into the present he couldn’t help but sigh in defeat the way Miya’s eyes were twinkling at him. Iwaizumi was going to be annoyed (and most likely slap the back of his head) when he would visit him this upcoming week. But he would live.

“Tooru.” His voice was becoming a little slurred from the lack of sleep. “Tooru, I’m gonna crash on the couch again. I don’t think I can make it to the door.”

Listening to Miya complain about his twin brother was a normal rant, one that Oikawa could relate to. He had older siblings to compare with and a nephew he sometimes still baby sat on occasion. Meeting Osamu was a different matter after the revelation. They weren’t complete strangers, they had met briefly in the occasions Miya face timed him while Oikawa was in the background. There were enough stories that he heard about the other Miya brother but that didn’t give him the best representation to understand the other brother. But that was beside the point, before Oikawa was aware of this dimension of wanting Miya he hadn’t thought too much about meeting Miya’s close-knit family back then.

It would pose a problem that would give him insomnia when Miya told him off handling that his brother would come visit soon.

Like most siblings, they all had their quirks and system of coexisting. Miya was the flashier, selfish, vain and over competitive and sometimes pettier brother. Osamu was quieter (that it was harder to know what he was exactly thinking), he was a little bit of an ass but, when your twin was Miya, Oikawa had to guess that having thicker skin was a must. At first glance, there was a coldness that was casted between him and the brothers, as if he was intruding in their private turf. They shared memories and inside jokes that only they could describe and comprehend with each other.

A contrasting picture of the sun and moon was the mental visual he had as he went through the motion of talking to the Miya twins in his apartment. He didn’t bother shooing Miya when he opened his bedroom and saw him and Osamu eating his breakfast he made a few minutes ago. Oikawa had long given up going a mid-morning without Miya eating his food. They were just lucky that he expected this type of mooching when Miya’s brother would visit would incline to bring him over to his place. Making Oikawa prepare in advance to have enough groceries for the three of them that weekend.

Having Osamu watching him carefully and in the flesh, was different from the few skype and face time chats he was pushed into. His eyes were just as deadly as Miya’s, his voice was clipped and hinted boredom (or was it tiredness from Miya’s happier energy never seeming to quit?). When he spoke directly to him Oikawa was (a little) intimidated because he shared the same piercing voice pattern (the vocal ranged differed enough if someone personally knew the twins or was as observant as Oikawa). It felt like he could read Oikawa’s thoughts without a problem. He didn’t know what Osamu precisely saw but it was enough to make him paranoid when he was around him.

Which was why finding out that Osamu was granting Oikawa the privilege to court his brother was the last thing in his mind to happen. He thought becoming a fool for love wouldn’t make him forsake his capability to hide his heart’s matters. Turned out that nothing could bypass a Miya when they had sharp senses of these kinds of developments. Even with the blessing (that included Miya’s parents since he was like the middle man for these kinds of matters) nothing truly changed with his status with Miya.

Miya himself never said he was opposed to Oikawa kissing him (both during his abrupt drunken self and lament quiet sober person) but then again, he never started the trend to open that Box of Pandora.

It made it harder to decide the next course of action: to be the catalyst for a new tempo to dance in or, to pretend that his heart didn’t fly at the daydreams of Miya kissing him.

Oikawa becoming drunk at the same time as Miya was probably not the smartest move. They both got locked out of their apartments and had to camp outside the hallway. The walk to their tenant’s office the following hours was fuzzy, there was a small tension building up when they each got their respective “lost” keys back. Going inside Oikawa’s was faster, the curtains were half parted making his living room dark enough for their eyes to sting less. The hangovers were a pressing matter that Oikawa scarcely made an effort to object Miya following him back to his room. It was left unsaid when they woke up later in the afternoon that if one of them didn’t lose their key something would have snapped.

Nonetheless, Oikawa made breakfast (he didn’t care if it was 3pm) Miya ate half of it like usual and the world moved on without a care.

Becoming lovers was never a goal Oikawa thought he would accomplish. Sure, the kissing privileges appealed to him, and not having to overthink everything would sound good. But in all honesty, Oikawa preferred to sleep for thirty years after going through finals week. As the summer session was coming into the picture Oikawa couldn’t make himself believe that Miya was the first to confess with haste explanation and a kiss that burned his lips long after he was left alone when he didn’t respond fast enough.

He had many past relationships that were shambles. Only one he previously and naïvely thought he was in love (but really, he was happier about the theory than her). Miya was really his first love that he was invested in. With a sudden confession to a person who grew on the opposite side of the court he fought countless of times during his youth; Oikawa found it. A life and a possibility of having Miya become his home. As the sun’s rays were fading he walked back to their apartment complex, when he reached his level Miya was watching the day transition to night.

Minus the city noise and other people’s windows starting to glow there was a calmness among them that he couldn’t ignore.

He opened his mouth, he didn’t know what he said but it was loud enough to catch Miya off guard. They didn’t cry and hug dramatically like the movies, but they did walk inside to Oikawa’s couch and sat closer to each other than the yesterday. The following hours were swept under without a care, they familiarized themselves with the sudden new direction of where their hands and lips could roam now. They were comfortable to laugh when they fumbled and reap in the lightness of their happiness when they drifted into another day and week. It was a feverish race of living in a temporarily high of being first time lovers.

The world was theirs for the taking.

The colors seemed to mix, the vibrations of the city being constantly awake made Oikawa feel like he was in one of those cliché music video scenes of being a young and reckless boy. Miya was always by his side, hands holding his, or lips too close, hovering and teasing in the wide open. It was a blessing in disguise that neither of them knew how to drive a motorcycle because God knew the dumb shit they would attempt. The train rides were all they could do if they wanted to explore the deeper sets of the city. To get lost in all the colors and promise of adventure.

Being firmly placed into the realm of only lovers knew was a strange one. It was a place that felt infinite, it corresponded with a certain type of youth who went against the impossible without a care. A paradise that manifested itself into his heart and actions as he filled his social media with an endless trail of his time in love. It was a modern take of two people being consumed with new emotions, making them stagger as if drunk by life itself. Time was irrelevant then.

Oikawa just wanted to cherish the feeling of being powerful, admired and genuinely having a reason to breathe. Miya’s adoration may have been ticked by misplaced oddities and playful teases but, it rose above it as it progressed. He became what Oikawa once dreamed about; a constant in his life that created a happiness he never fully experienced yet. Treasuring this new part made him see how wondrous and random it really was. He could have gone to a different college, could have picked a different career or stayed behind in his sleepy suburban neighborhood.

There were so many other possibilities but in the end, Oikawa smiled at what was in front of him.

Sniffling, Oikawa trudged on as the fall semester was consuming his coffee intake. Miya had moved in with him by then, since there really was no reason for him to waste that much money on rent when he practically already lived with Oikawa for a long time. Osamu visited more often when Miya announced it on a random night. Oikawa by then was getting better at reading him to know he was happy for the both of them. He was still a stiff sarcastic guy but his humor was on point. (He really did love hearing all those embarrassing kid stories that Osamu provided for him.)

With happiness seeping out of his body Oikawa engulfed himself into this transition. College was a pain in the ass but with his friends and Miya around there was calmness that relaxed him by the end of each day. Love had always been one side of the coin that made him question its potent but, as he was summoned by its own accord he learned to accept its kindness and cruelty. Engraved into his soul Oikawa smiled wider with the simpler moments and loved every touch Miya gave him. It was easier to clasp this side.

His eyes were smoldering, Oikawa always loved it when the fire brew out.

They were in the middle of a volleyball match when Oikawa relished; he had the upper hand after winning a set. The newest battle was rasping into a long dance, with the ball being push, pulled and assaulted in the air. He felt his lips form his usual shit-eating grin and was pleased to see Miya openly glaring at him. It was game on. How couldn’t he when Miya was making it sweeter the way he made the game so much livelier. Each new ploy, decoy was making him hungrier to win.

He knew him so well, the way Miya sneaked in a fast attack when Oikawa soaked in the quick victory for a beat longer than it was necessary. He took a quick scan of the room, and then his teammates. They didn’t look too bothered rather, they were pumped from the challenge. The ball flew higher again, his fingers tingled; just as the first time he found his love for volleyball his face lit up brighter. His body moved into sync with his ace. He was alive; and he loved it.

The way the fire burned his body and watching him gain another point against Miya. As a fellow setter and observant boyfriend that he was, Oikawa flew higher. With the way, the game was going Oikawa laughed out loud, Miya from the other side chuckled. (He probably had an idea of what Oikawa was feeling like to understand.) He was scheming, the tide was rolling and the game could tip to his favor if Oikawa made a mistake. It was exciting to have Miya as his opponent.

“You’ve seen nothing yet, Tooru!”

He was cocky for good reasons, but Oikawa was always amped up to push the limit higher.

Relapse.

Relapse. 

Part I.

 Relapse: to fall back into vice, wrong-doing, or error; backslide.

Two months. It had been two months since I last seen you, let alone spoken to you. It had been two months of pure bliss and peace. For once I was starting to feel whole again. I was able to breathe better. Not to mention I was finally capable of sleeping the whole night through without waking randomly, wondering if you were still breathing. I hadn’t imagined my life returning to its normal state without you, but everything was returning to just that, normal. I was chasing my dreams faster than ever at this moment. There was nothing standing in my way. Not even you. I was certain I was happy and I refused to lose that again. 

“It’s been awhile. Aren’t you the least bit curious about his wellbeing?”

I locked eyes with my reflection in the mirror ahead of me. I was completely alone, however I heard those words clear as day. The voices were returning. I had been ignoring them for the last couple of weeks but as of a few days ago I had let them win.

Now before you get to thinking that I suffer from schizophrenia, it was not like I heard actual voices in my head. They had more so been thoughts that I couldn't suppress and right now I could not control the fact that my mind drifted off to him. “I don’t care about his wellbeing.” My voice bounced off the mirror as I continued with my nightly regimen. I had finally managed to convince myself and my brain that he was no longer a factor in my life. Night had become a shadow in the dark to me. I knew he was there, but I never saw him. 

“Fuck!” I groaned lowly. It was already after 9 o’clock in the evening. I knew I wasn’t going to make it to my destination anymore and I honestly didn’t care. Staying away from crowds of people was second nature to me. I didn’t strive to be around people and that particular trait of mine was growing deeper. I reached for my phone and tapped on the screen. My bottom lip rested between my teeth as I lightly chewed on it. I needed an excuse to feed my friends so they wouldn’t press to hard into why I wasn’t coming. I didn’t want them to worry about me either. So I decided to send the best believable excuse that I knew of.

Hey, I’m trying my best to make it, but Mother Nature is fucking winning right now. I’m sorry.

Deep sighs escaped my lips as I carried myself back into my room. I have to admit, I lied earlier when I said I that I was happy. I was almost close to it until a little while ago. Everything had gone from pure sunlight to straight fucking darkness. I still continued to stroll through life like everything was all fine and dandy. In some aspects it was. My work life was amazing and my health gradually grew better. At least my physical health continued to grow better. Now my mental health that was something that was going to take longer than two months to repair. 

It’s okay, feel better.

She didn’t need to say too much in her response to me to let me know she was disappointed again that I had bailed out on being around her and the remainder of my small group of friends. I knew Rylie would never grasp how I felt in life. She was my best friend and she did understand me on certain things, but the demons in my closet…she would never quite understand. 

My mental disorder was unknown to majority of the people around me. But Night knew about it.

I crawled into my bed and adjusted myself multiple times until I was comfortable. I was hoping I could be sleep by ten. Sometimes I got lucky with that hope, other times I didn’t get so lucky. My sleeping pattern had always been off. I could remember as far back as being eight or nine years old and lying awake into the wee hours of the night. Whenever I was questioned about why I struggled with my sleep, I never had a clear answer. I wish that I could answer that question with a straight out answer, because then maybe I would able to solve this terrible sleeping curse. Until then I shall continue to struggle with my sleep. 

I let my thoughts flow through my mind as I continued to lay in the same position. Eventually sleep would consume me. 

“My mind is off it.” I looked in his direction. To the average person he held no pain, he was a strong individual and he never slipped. But my eyes had seen too many of his truths. I knew the pain he held and the strength that he could exude. There’s was no fooling me. I didn’t see black and white when it came to Night. I saw colors, his true colors. “I didn’t need you to clarify that for me, Night.” I didn’t. I could see it all in his eyes that his mind was nowhere near where it needed to be. I placed my hand softly on top of his. The feeling of his warm skin against my cool palm brought a wave of calmness over me. 

 Prior to my hand touching his, my mind had been running laps at 150 miles per hour. Now it had completely slowed down and focused on him.

“You know I’m here for you. I don’t understand why you don’t see that.” I looked him up and down. Night didn’t move or even change his facial expression. I wasn’t quite sure what he was thinking at this time and this made me even more worried about him than I had already been. “I know, E. I love you, but some of this shit I have to handle alone. We’ve been over that more than once.” I removed my hand from on top of this. He was telling the truth. He had told me on multiple occasions that it was certain situations that I needed to be separated from. But a part of me wasn’t willing to accept that. He never accepted when I wanted to be alone or even when I told him that I was doing fine.

“Don’t do that Egypt.”

I could hear him sigh. I wasn’t doing a damn thing. I just knew not to continue to press the issue. When it came to us, if we continued to press one another it would only lead to a huge explosion. And honestly right now neither one of needed an argument, let alone a screaming match.

“I’m not doing any. I just want you to understand that I’m here for you. You don’t need to shut me out.” I spoke my true feelings. If I never did anything else when I spoke to him, I was going to at least speak my truths. Night nodded his head gently. “And I know that, Egypt. You just have to be patient with me and ride this wave all the way through. We gon’ get pass this.” I knew that we wouldn’t get pass this as long as we both decided not to speak on what was bothering us. I had issues and he had demons. They were both the same, they just played different roles in our lives. Crazy thing about that is that fact that we both knew how to handle those bad aspects of one another’s lives.

I felt his arms embrace me, pulling me until my back was against his chest. I rested my head softly against his shoulders. I felt complete and a sense of serenity whenever our skin touched in some way. It didn’t even have to be sexual. As long as my skin felt his, I was complete. I was a better woman. Even if it was only for that moment.

“I’m not shutting you out. If anything, I’m protecting you.” He pushed my hair away from my face and softly kissed the corner of my forehead. “I need you more than ever right now, Egypt. I just got to create some space. I can’t let my shit start to fuck with you mentally.” As he spoke his hand traveled away from my waist to the faint markings that laid on both of my wrist. “This was my fault and I refuse to let you feel that type pain again.” His thumb touched each one gently. “These weren’t your fault. I had my own issues.” I gently pushed his fingers away from my scars. They had been a terrible reminder of my dark past. A past I never wanted to experience again. 

“Issues that I make deeper than they already are.” Night’s eyes looked into me as I stood from the bed. I didn’t like having these type of conversations. It was nothing but a mind trick. As matter of fact it was reverse psychology. He wanted to blame himself so I could tell him that he wasn’t the one to blame. As a matter of fact he wasn’t to blame, well at least not completely. He did complicate things for me, but at the same time he made things better for me too. It was a win and lose situation. And sometimes I wasn’t sure if I enjoyed winning or losing more. I had known in my heart that I was attracted to damaged people. I had a thing for fixing broken souls...yet my soul was broken the most. 

“I’m not doing this with you, Night. I don’t blame you for anything. I made majority of the decisions on my own. So how could you make anything worse?” I looked down at him as I pulled on a pair of shorts. Suddenly I felt the need to cover myself and hide. Hiding my body meant hiding my heart and soul. Right now that was needed. I couldn’t be open. I didn’t need to be vulnerable. Showing vulnerability meant breaking and I refused to break. Not now, not in this moment.

Night shook his head and kissed his teeth. I rolled my eyes knowing that an attitude was setting in deep in his veins. “You need to stop thinking that way, E.” I watched closely as he rose from the bed and reached for his shoes. He was leaving. This was nothing new. We spent minimum time together now, but once upon a time we spent so much time together that we had become one. “You got it, Night.” My tone was sarcastic but deep down I meant that. It was pointless to go back and forth with him. When he thought he was right that was it. There was no winning.

“Whatever, Egypt.”

I rolled my eyes as I continued to watch him. “Don’t start.” I mumbled lowly. “Just be safe.’ This time I spoke a little louder. I worried about his safety more than anything. “I’m always safe. He gathered his things and came my way. “You be safe and let me know if you need anything.” The word you was stressed every time he spoke it. Truth of the matter is I would never let him know what was bothering mentally or if I needed anything. I didn’t need him to worry about me. Not when had too many things of his own to worry about. I could handle myself. I always did. 

“Don’t be difficult, E. I love you Kid.”

Loud knocks caused me to jump from my sleep. I knew that I hadn’t been sleep long, but what I didn’t know was who was knocking at my door. My hands roamed over the sheets of my bed in search for my phone. I didn’t fear much, however being alone with someone knocking at my door this late scared me. I looked at the time on my lock screen before realizing a familiar name on the screen. My heartbeat sped up some. His messages confused me. 

Nah I’m not really that good right now, E. 

I’ll be there.

I slide my finger across the screen, pulling up our entire thread. I had completely forgot that I asked him was he okay before I fell asleep. I had given in.

Family Sucks: The Rant (tm)

When I see posts and videos that are like ‘aw my mum/dad/carer are so cool I relate to them so much we’re best friends!!! !! !! ! ! !! !! !!!!’ I wanna just cry tbh because I know that I will never have anything like that??? I feel like I need to get the whole story out for whoever is reading this to understand so I guess ill start with my dad. My dad, for lack of a better term, is an arsehole. For all his claims that ‘you’re my child of course I love you!’, he really had a problem showing that. When I think of him, I don't think about the now-obvious attempts to win us over in some silent war between my mum and him - I think of how he’d ask me what I did at school (aged 6), and then completely ignore what I said, saying a quiet ‘uh huh, yeah, sounds great!’ as he sat on his phone in the car waiting for my older sister. I’d remember the disinterest he had towards us in terms of our hobbies and interests, and even discouraged me at times because the things I wanted to do ‘weren’t suitable for a girl’ (it was fishing. I wanted to learn how to fucking fish like both of my brothers, and he said no because I was a girl. I had to teach myself and save up for months to buy my own rod, bearing in mind I was about 8-10yo at the time). I’d remember the screaming matches at 3 in the morning with my mother, who I didn't realise was actually standing up for herself for once. My mum, when I was younger, wasn't much different. However, she had a reason, and I excuse her for it. She used to work full time as a nurse, with very limited pay, and had to look after my three siblings and I, not to mention provide for a father who did next to nothing about the house, but contributed greatly to the bills. She was tired - and I don't mean ‘yawn ooh I'm a little bit sleepy’. I mean. Tired. She tried not to fall asleep during mealtimes, knowing that in a few hours she’d have to go on another 11 hour shift. She’d take sleep where she could, but it wasn't enough because she had to look after four of us and a father who was barely there. We were a poor family, mainly because my dad refused to help with anything other than the mortgage and the electricity and gas bills. He didn't pay for food for a family of 6 every week, my mum did, and she barely made enough money as it was. Also, I don't know why, but I have always thought that, to some extent, these severe money problems were my fault. Don't ask why, I just thought they were. She tried to connect with all of us while she could, but I think that because I was the youngest, I was the last priority. I felt excluded from the whole family, being constantly picked on by my older brothers and my sister, too. My self worth also went down when I made friends with a certain girl in my year at school. She abused me. She hit me, slapped me across the face, bit me and dug her nails into my skin until I bled. This happened regularly. I still have a scar on my hand when she decided to make me play a ‘cute game’ where one person was basically to hurt themselves until the other person completed a task. (I wont go into details about this game bc its fucking horrible) She didn't even properly tell me what was happening, only to ‘trust her’, and I ended up getting hurt for it. She humiliated me in front of someone I had a crush on for almost a year multiple times, called me fat (which prompted me to have a very bad diet consisting of only one small meal a day and nothing else, thinking it would make me attractive), worthless, and blackmailed me into staying in contact with her, even until about 4 or 5am most nights. This took a toll on my mental health, and I started to self harm. Life sucked, I finally confronted her about it with my best friend, and she fucked off, claiming she was the victim. I managed to stop self harming. Things got better. But!!  !!! !!!! ! A few years later I fell out with my Best friend over something (I cant even remember what??? I'm p sure it was my fault though and I still feel fucking terrible) and we didn't talk to each other again (I recently got in contact with her though and she’s still as amazing as ever. I missed her so much) Fast forward to the second half of 2014, where my parents arguing had come to a head (bearing in mind, the reason for said fighting was kept from me until only a few months ago) and my dad had permanently moved out. They got a divorce and now live miles away from each other. My dad, being the glorious fuckwit he is, decided to give us a total of 3 months to sell our house, find a new one to buy that was more affordable and could house 5 people (which was simply impossible) and move in. This is because he decided to stop paying the mortgage , and we had three ‘paid’ months left until it essentially got repo’d, unless we find this magical fantasy house he left us to find. As you can imagine, it didn't go well. We did manage to sell our house, but we had to lower the price drastically so the snotty family that bought it would actually consider it (they were arseholes too). So we had limited money from the sale of our house to buy the one we had picked out, which was now too expensive for us. We didn't get the rest of the money in time. We ended up homeless for a year, but fortunately, my gran had a big house. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough room for us all, even if we shared. My eldest brother, Dominic, was essentially ‘booted out’ to go live with his girlfriend and her family because he was ‘expected to’. We hardly see him now. (I miss him) I had to share a room with multiple family members, so I had no privacy at all. The only time I was alone was when I was in the shower. Meanwhile, my gran was picking apart my school life, my hobbies and my interests, saying that what I wanted out of my future wasn't worthwhile. I had to deal with this for a year. A year. I relapsed into self harm, almost went through with killing myself on multiple occasions, and thought about genuinely just up and running just so I could leave all the shit behind. We found a house. It was a shithole and the seller was wanting way more than it was worth -It was all we could afford. We bought it. We had to spend thousands damp proofing the whole house because the guy lied and said he had done it. We had to spend thousands on new windows because they had severe problems and were letting in currents of water when it rained. There was rot beneath the floor and in the attic so we had to spend hundreds to get it redone. We became very very poor again. I could hear my mum crying herself to sleep at night again. If we had been any more in debt we would have had to sell this house just months after getting it. My room is so small I cant lie out on my floor without my feet hitting a wall, the walls are so thin that I can hear my sister breathing as she sleeps in the room across the hall. I began to collect plants. They depended on me, they needed me, and that's the kind of responsibility that I needed - something wanted me. I had something to look forward to at the end of the day. I had mini hydrangeas, a trellis with honeysuckle and jasmine by my window, lavender, lemonbalm, everything. I knew what their individual needs and wants were and in turn they helped me sleep at night. They started to die. My mum had decided to spray them with a pesticide that was too ‘strong’ for them, and in the wrong places. Their leaves started to rot and they all. Died. I still act to this day that it wasn't a big deal, that it was just a silly mistake, but I know that I wont ever find that same happiness again????? I think about those plants sometimes and somehow I always bring the blame around to me and I don't understand why I do that with everything?? Regardless, I was fucking sad and my mum started to bitch about it. Then, I find out a few months ago that the reason that my mum and dad got a divorce was because my dad had been cheating since at least the mid 90′s. since a few years before I was born. For 18 fucking years he had been cheating, all with different women apparently, and I had been fucking clueless. Again, because I'm a self-depreciating piece of shit, I brought the blame back to me and tell myself ‘if you noticed sooner you could've said to ma and she wouldn't have had to go through that shit’ but the thing is, I know I wouldn't have realised because I didn't know any different??? And when I tried to talk to my ma about it one thing she said was that ‘there were faults on both sides’ and now that's got me thinking ‘what if she cheated too?’ If it turns out she has, I seriously don't know what I'm going to do??? because shes made it out all these years that they've been divorced that my dad is the ‘bad guy’ and I don't know what I'm going to do if I find out the woman I've been heralding as ‘strong and brave’ for standing up to that kind of behaviour from my dad did the same thing And it scares me so much Who knows I might add to this later through an edit but now im in a rlly sad place n I wanna stop

Wealthy murder suspect freed on bail as man accused of welfare fraud stuck in jail California woman whose friends raised $35m for her is on house arrest as a man who can’t afford bail has two options: plead guilty or stay behind bars

Joseph Warren sees no sunlight and never gets fresh air. The 60-year-old San Francisco man, locked up for more than a month, said he has become suicidal, rarely eats the jail food and tries to sleep as much as possible when he’s not crying in his small cell. As a gay man, he is afraid he will be assaulted in the shower.

Warren is awaiting trial on welfare fraud charges. Charged with stealing roughly $5,000 from the government – an accusation he denies – a judge recently set his bail at $75,000, which he can’t afford. His only options are to plead guilty or stay incarcerated.

In the same region, another criminal defendant is preparing for trial in a very different setting. Tiffany Li, a wealthy real estate heir who is accused of conspiring to murder the father of her children, is able to remain under house arrest after posting $4m in cash and pledging $62m in property for her bail. She has a multimillion-dollar mansion 10 miles south of Warren’s jail.

The parallel cases moving through the San Francisco Bay Area’s courts have shone a harsh light on a system that critics say is fundamentally flawed and unconstitutional, where wealth can buy freedom even for those accused of the most serious offenses while others facing minor charges are jailed indefinitely simply for being poor.

“It hurts. I don’t have the money,” Warren said, dressed in a bright orange uniform on a recent morning while seated inside a cramped jail visiting room in the San Francisco suburb of San Bruno. Guards stood watch nearby.

“I feel like I’m an animal here in a cage – less than an animal,” he said.

While Warren waits in jail, lawmakers and activists in California are pushing to abolish key elements of the state’s bail system so that people accused of crimes would no longer be jailed simply because they are unable to pay the fees. Supporters hope the reforms spread across the US – which has one of the highest incarceration rates in the world – and correct one of the cruelest aspects of the American criminal justice system.

The concept of bail was originally designed to ensure that defendants return for their court dates by requiring them to post funds upfront. But over time, bail effectively created a two-tiered system where the rich are immediately released while poor defendants are forced to languish behind bars, sometimes destroying their lives and leading to coerced guilty pleas.

On any given day in California – which has one of the largest prison systems in the country and has long struggled with overcrowding – roughly 46,000 people are in local jails waiting for trial or sentencing because they can’t pay bail.

That means people who are innocent or accused of minor offenses are trapped. From 2011 to 2015, one in three people jailed for felony accusations in California were never found guilty, according to a recent report from Human Rights Watch. In a two-year period across six counties, the government spent $37.5m jailing people who ultimately faced no charges or had cases dropped.

“When you’re in jail because you can’t pay bail, innocent people are more likely to plead to crimes they didn’t commit, because they need to get out,” said Rob Bonta, a California assemblyman sponsoring legislation to overhaul the bail system.

Even a short stint in jail can lead people to lose their housing, their jobs and their children.

Warren said his life had unraveled since he was detained in March. His fraud case stems from an honest misunderstanding, according to his attorney Elizabeth Camacho, a public defender.

The San Francisco native works as an in-home care provider whose salary is subsidized by the government. When an elderly client of his died in December 2013, Warren immediately alerted police, but continued to assist in cleaning the apartment, planning funeral arrangements and managing the estate, Camacho said.

He collected checks for several months while doing the work, the attorney said, but San Francisco prosecutors later alleged that Warren had stolen the $4,862 he received. The case dragged on, and Warren missed a court date last year due to his mother’s death, according to Camacho. As a result, he was arrested in March of this year and told he could only leave jail if he paid 10% of the bail a judge set – $7,500, nearly twice what the government claims he owes.

When Camacho arrived to meet Warren on a recent visit with the Guardian, he immediately delivered bad news: he learned from a friend that he has now lost his apartment of six years and all his possessions inside. That includes many items of sentimental value such as his late mother’s jewelry and family photo albums he can never replace.

“Everything is gone,” he said with a sigh, explaining that if his mother were still alive, she might help him post bail, but that he now has nowhere to turn.

Warren said he was losing work, too, and that regular clients who depend on him for care may be without help. He said he had been unable to reach his partner since he was taken into custody. The partner suffers from drug addiction, and he feared he could be suffering from a relapse.

Warren could only be released if he pleaded to a felony conviction and agreed to six months in jail, according to Camacho, who is preparing to take the case to trial next month. “He’s desperate to get out.”

Defendants too poor to pay bail face huge disadvantages throughout the process. Not only are they pressured to plead guilty, but incarceration can make it much harder to prepare for trial.

Research also suggests that black defendants like Warren are affected by racial biases at every step. African Americans are disproportionately stopped and arrested at higher rates, are more likely to face monetary bail and higher bail fees than their white counterparts and they subsequently face greater convictions and harsher sentences.

Low-income defendants who do manage to pay bail can also face severe long-term consequences since they are forced to sacrifice basic necessities and incur ongoing debts. Even when charges are dropped, defendants can still be on the hook for their debts with bail bondsmen, the private companies that collect non-refundable fees to post the initial bail that allows people to be released.

“You really can’t understate the downstream peril and hardships that the criminal justice system imposes on people, sometimes for the rest of their lives,” said Tom Hoffman, a former California police chief and prison official who supports bail reform efforts.

Ato Walker, a San Jose man, said his mother had to pay $8,500 out of her retirement money to bail him out of jail when he was accused of resisting arrest, a charge that was later dropped.

“It made me sick to my stomach to sit there and see my mom come up with that money we know we are never going to get back,” he said, noting that he felt targeted for being black when prosecutors argued he was a threat to society. “That was very humiliating. It was very racist in my opinion.”

Reform activists argue that people accused of crimes should by default be cited and released, and that those facing serious felonies should be considered for pre-trial detention on an individual basis based on the danger they pose.

“Once we make the commitment that the justice system is going to be about justice and not punish people before they are convicted, the solutions need to be targeted towards honoring the presumption of innocence,” said John Raphling, senior researcher with Human Rights Watch and author of the recent bail report.

Alex Bastian, a spokesman for the San Francisco district attorney’s office, which is prosecuting Warren’s case, noted that the defendant was initially released without bail and only taken into custody after failing to appear in court on multiple occasions.

Asked about the fraud claims, he added: “The underlying facts of this case will be presented at court.”

Camacho, however, pointed out that Warren repeatedly returned to court when he missed a few dates and argued that he should have been released under a monitoring program that would have allowed the courts to track him.

Jail budget data suggests that taxpayers have already spent more than $6,000 to detain Warren, who has a handful of convictions on his record, mostly minor non-violent misdemeanors, dating back to more than eight years ago. He is also hearing impaired and has struggled to navigate daily life in jail.

Warren said some of his family members didn’t even know he is in jail and that he didn’t want to ask his loved ones for bail money, citing a lesson his grandfather taught him about self-reliance.

“I don’t ask for no help,” he said.

Instead, Warren said he tries to pass the days asleep for hours on end, alone in his cell: “I just isolate.”

+Update: Warren free after anonymous Guardian reader pays $7,500 bail

Photographs:

Joseph Warren is awaiting trial on welfare fraud charges

Joseph Warren said his life has unraveled since he was detained in March

Ato Walker said his mother had to pay $8,500 out of her retirement money to bail him out of jail

Mycroft’s Ties in Season Four

Resources I’ve cited and useful links:

Mycroft’s Ties in Season 1 by @nessanarmolanya​

Mycroft’s Ties in Season 2 by @nessanarmolanya​

Mycroft’s Ties in Season 2 by @multifandom-madnesss​

Mycroft’s Ties in TEH, TSoT, and HLV by @little-hobbit-derptective

Mycroft’s Ties in TAB by @multifandom-madnesss​

The Many Ties of Mycroft Holmes - And Their Colours by @little-hobbit-derptective

Basic Overview of Mycroft’s Different Ties:

We don’t really have a strict key as to what ties symbolise what exactly, but we can deduce roughly what they mean by comparing the different occasions in which they are worn.

- The Red Tie of Love and Sentiment Worn on occasions to do with sentiment/familial love and helping Sherlock e.g., reading about Sherlock’s suicide in the paper in the Diogenes, Christmas, in the helicopter after Sherlock shoots Magnussen. - The Navy Ties of Business, Work, and Duty Worn typically while trying to save lives and prevent terrorist attacks. Usually Mycroft wants to use Sherlock as a weapon e.g., discussing taking down the  London terrorist network when Sherlock returns from Serbia. - The Johnlock Fleur De Lis Tie Aka., the best tie. Worn whenever Mycroft goes to John to discuss Sherlock’s feelings and to Sherlock to discuss John’s feelings e.g., talking to John at Speedy’s/the Diogenes, the “narrow it down” speech in TSoT. - The Black Tie of Death and Sorrow Helping Sherlock fake his death in Reichenbach, helping Lestrade locate Sherlock’s boltholes after he escapes the hospital, when Mycroft is committing suicide by eating many, many cakes in TAB, when Irene ‘dies’ in ASiB (with additional white slashes here). - The Grey Moriarty Tie Self-explanatory. Any time Moriarty is making Mycroft do something against his will, or otherwise influencing him, the steel grey ties come out. It may be a specific shade of grey that indicates Moriarty, however, as there are also lilac-grey ties that Mycroft wears which are slightly different. - The Purple Tie of Mystery and Fuckiness Mysterious. No one knows. Does it indicate illusion? Fictitiousness? Insincerity? Wisdom? Mycroft wears alternating purple/pink ties on the tarmac/plane in HLV/TAB aka., “Tie Hell”.

The Six Thatchers:

TYPE: Lilac/grey tie with small spots CONTEXT: Presenting the doctored footage of Sherlock shooting Magnussen WHAT WE CAN INFER: Most likely not directly linked to Moriarty. A lilac-grey tie may indicate objectivity/planning/calculated thinking here. Also probably links into the fabrication of events.

TYPE: The Grey Moriarty Tie CONTEXT: Discussing Moriarty’s next move with Sherlock in the first bunker scene WHAT WE CAN INFER: It’s likely that Mycroft is holding back and not saying all that he knows in this situation because of Moriarty’s influence.

(full analysis under the cut)

TYPE: The Red Tie of Love and Sentiment (with/without spots) CONTEXT: When Mary dies at the aquarium; interrogating Lady Smallwood for Sherlock; looking in his sad, empty fridge and calling ‘Sherrinford’; discussing Moriarty/AGRA matters over the phone with Sherlock WHAT WE CAN INFER: All of these scenes are somehow linked to sentiment and familial love. Most likely for Sherlock.

TYPE: Teal/grey CONTEXT: Discussing Moriarty again in the bunker office  WHAT WE CAN INFER: Your guess is as good as mine. Generally anything grey-ish seems to indicate speaking strategically. This may be Mycroft acting of his own accord, however, because it’s neutral, but not the Moriarty tie.

The Lying Detective:

TYPE: Dark purple (?) The lighting is quite bad. But ... It looks pretty purple to me. CONTEXT: The third and final bunker scene with Sherlock. WHAT WE CAN INFER: Fictitiousness/fabrication? Deceit? Wisdom?

TYPE: Black bow tie CONTEXT: Watching Sherlock over security cameras as he walks the streets of London while on his drug trip WHAT WE CAN INFER: The black tie represents death and sorrow, so it makes sense that Mycroft is wearing a black tie while Sherlock’s on his self-destruction bender. I can’t see why he’s wearing a bow-tie, though. It might be a reference to Mycroft acting like a Bond villain, linking into the general Bond theme of Season Four.

TYPE: The Grey Moriarty Tie CONTEXT: “Searching” 221B for the cause of Sherlock’s drug relapse WHAT WE CAN INFER: Mycroft knows of Moriarty’s involvement with Mary/the DVD/Culverton Smith and is either acting against his own will in this scene, or trying inconspicuously to help save Sherlock while still being manipulated.

The Final Problem:

TYPE: The Black Tie of Death and Sorrow CONTEXT: Explaining to the Holmes parents that Eurus is still alive WHAT WE CAN INFER: Mycroft was dreading telling his parents that Eurus was alive and partially blames them for the events that lead to her being locked away. And Eurus definitely represents Sherlock here. Just saying.

TYPE: The Grey Moriarty Tie CONTEXT: Almost all of The Final Problem WHAT WE CAN INFER: The events that take place in TFP, Eurus’ “experimentation” and her involvement with Moriarty all render Mycroft helpless and unable to do much other than be manipulated. This likely acts as a microcosm of Mycroft’s involvement with Sherlock, Moriarty, and John over the course of the series.

TYPE: Navy Blue with Umbrellas CONTEXT: Letting Moriarty have five minutes with Eurus in the “five years ago” scene as her Christmas present WHAT WE CAN INFER: !!! This is so important !!! Because Mycroft isn’t wearing the Moriarty tie. He’s wearing the tie he’s only ever worn when discussing the Bruce-Partington Missile Plans with Sherlock in Season 1.

This means that the “five years ago” event that is “all [Mycroft’s] fault” that lead to “Eurus” and Moriarty’s meeting aka., Moriarty getting close to Sherlock, was Mycroft making wrong call after wrong call when Moriarty starts using the Partington Missile Plans as leverage, likely by the end of ASiP.

He believes that if he hadn’t involved Sherlock, things might have turned out differently for him and he wouldn’t have had to fake his death, get shot by Mary, shoot Magnussen, overdose multiple times etc. Everything he ever does is try to protect Sherlock but it always ends up backfiring spectacularly. Gosh. I’m having some Mycroft emotions.

TYPE: Grey tie (?) CONTEXT: The Holmes family watching Sherlock and Eurus’ duet WHAT WE CAN INFER: Objectivity, Moriarty’s involvement, and that Sherlock’s problems haven’t really been resolved yet, despite appearing to at a surface level. Pointedly, Mycroft is not wearing the Red Tie of Love and Sentiment, which he would be if this scene represented the happy ending it implies at a surface level.

TYPE: Purple/grey tie CONTEXT: Explaining Eurus’ backstory WHAT WE CAN INFER: Fictitiousness, colour also just links into the somber, downcast mood. Objectivity/distance/nostalgia???

TYPE: The Red Tie of Love and Sentiment CONTEXT: Watching the romance noir in the personal cinema, watching the Holmes family home videos, being angry at Sherlock for being behind “This ... This pantomime!” WHAT WE CAN INFER: Exactly what it says on the tin.

@worriesconstantly @jenna221b @theveryunnecessaryfeelings @inevitably-johnlocked @the-7-percent-solution @deancasisendgame @shadow3214 @my-relaxation

Congratulations TRISHA! You have been accepted as Sabrina McCarthy. Please go through the checklist and send in your account within 24 hours. If you need more time, make sure you send a message to the main.

Welcome back, Trisha! It’s been ages, but I’m so glad you decided to join us again as Sabrina. I can’t wait to see where she goes on the dash cause I know that you’ll do wonders playing her. In regards to your question about having one of her parents be from England, go for it! I definitely think it makes sense with her character, and I’m fine with either parent. Welcome to Elysium!!

OOC INFO

Name: Trisha Age: 26 Timezone: GMT Preferred Pronouns: She/Her Previous RP Experience: [RFP] Activity Level:  On a daily basis, I’m working office hours, until six in the afternoon. I’m usually free in the evenings, sometimes I need to go to a meeting or two but it’s rare. Of course, it’s also in the evening when I cook, clean and whatnot, but I tend to have at least one hour on a regular night to log in and be around. Anything Else: Nope! And I do hope I’m not missing any catches here, because I’ve read basically everything around, hahahaha.

IC INFO

Character Name: Sabrina McCarthy Second Choice Character: N/A Why did you choose this character:

I don’t tend to have a favourite type of character; I usually like them closer to who I am, a bit different, which gives me more room to develop them without strings attached. However, once in a while I need a change. Perhaps it’s my writer’s instinct telling me it’s fed up of the same old thing (like it led me to write stories in first person - which I’m not exactly a fan of - and write from a male’s perspective, as well as a variety of others experiments). I believe this time came. Sabrina is out of my comfort zone, which would push me to actually portray a character and not simply, naturally play it with my instincts. I have played characters like her before, of course, and it took me places I didn’t expect, which is always amusing.

Sabrina is apparently flawless, a privileged. Underneath layers of expensive designer clothing, imported makeup and youth, she has her own demos, caused by a relapse in the family, often amongst the wealthy ones. As I’m always drawn to the darkest bits of everything, I guess it’s concealed it all and slowly opening up the troubled cracks that led me to Sabrina. She’s very raw as a person, so I think she has a lot to be explored and refine.

Describe your plan for them: It will all depend on how things play out, but portraying Sabrina adjusting to a severe circumstance would be interesting. A more ordinary and less drastic scenario would be the loss of her clique - for whatever reason, from gossip to a misconduct in friendship from either end. How would she deal with the fact that she has no friends other them and how what would she do to come out of her decade-planned social agenda. She would be forced to interact with people that she isn’t too fond of, or even intimate of, for instance.My aim is, I want development. And with that, in Sabrina’s case, it comes with a lot of personal suffering. Her personality isn’t easy, she’s adamant about her beliefs and the way she was raised, without anything to trouble her and make her want to change; I want to put her in situations out of her comfort zone, to slowly build personal growth. And there’s no way of making someone without breaking them first.

Describe your character’s feelings, reactions, and potential involvement/want to be involved during/after the recent fall of the Council (At least a few sentences): Disbelief. Not a surprised one, but a “are you stupid?” eye-roll one. For Sabrina, everything was nothing but well-planned marketing. The media, nowadays, could do wonders to anything and anyone’s reputation - and she knew that quite well, being in her area of expertise. The videos all over the internet, the allegations - they were all publicity. That thought persisted as the first attack occurred in Times Square. It was an odd and clear cry for attention for whatever company was producing that movie/TV show/series/campaign, but it was all an act. Monster did not exist. After the third attack, her creativity perhaps couldn’t wander that far, yet she was rational and intelligent enough to realise something was wrong. That sixth sense clicked the moment he started starting at her, commanding her. Yet nothing said by Nicholas compelled her into doing anything at all. The man acted off with confidence and naturally. Sabrina fought back with teeth (ironically) and fists, running off. It was when she got home that she decided to peek through the layer of silk she were around her neck. Bite marks, trailing down her shoulder covered by blouses of long, high collars. In the danger of the madness the city was truly living now and her own, unanswered fears, she tried to play along without actually sharing with anyone how vulnerable and afraid she was, not even to her parents and closest friends, with the exception of Samantha, who took the time to explain her what many humans were still blind to, telling her small details and even teaching her a few ways to protect herself.

Para Sample:

(I’m sampling this thread, which is more developed and in depth, usually the way I prefer writing. It isn’t IC as I often struggle to write any IC applications.)

Bubbles jumped from the skillfully balanced coupe glasses seemingly superglued to the silver tray. Tulip ones would have been better to preserve the sparkly taste, but after countless refills of Moet - and some downed whiskey on the side - Ella lost her sense of criticism. Regardless of some errors perceived only by a controlling businesswoman, the celebration was, as usual, outstanding. The magazine’s filial in Canada was particularly acclaimed by their Christmas parties, a tradition in a country where snow cornered every living being. New Year was typically celebrated in New York City, back at Ella’s headquarters and main building of the fashion empire. Hard liquor could be found at an arm’s length, champagne was spurting from fountains and, needless to say, there were private areas where recreational ‘distractions’ had the prerogative of a turned blind eye.

In certain zones, the music was as loud as in a night club, the spaces dark as in the anonymity of a Vanilla Sky movie. It was a party, after all, and nobody could party better than rich, powerful people. Especially when they all held dirt on one another, which kept all the gatherings - no matter how large - always very secure for some occasional colleague lose control over the incentive of an invited outsider plus one - or multiples.

Particularly, Ella felt like indulging into champagne. It wasn’t unusual for her to drink (not lately), but the bubbly liquid seemed to be getting to her head fast enough to unleash her scarce inhibitions. It was past one in the morning, though, and consequently everyone else was cut or their way to alcohol intoxication, so the editor-in-chief didn’t mind her sharp, bold tongue and impulsive behaviour. It had proved to be fun so far, in spite of some honest, foolish mistakes.

With a half empty glass of flat Moet, the brunette detached from her crew of co-workers and headed to one of the many bars. With a bubbly smile matching her drink of the night, she requested a new coupe, taking the brief moment of wait to scan her surroundings. Coming to the party was purely an obligation, at first, but she managed to find the fun in it after some litters of alcoholic beverages. Those who knew her, were aware that the brunette was going through a rough time, regardless whether she would share the details and causes or not. Tonight, she allowed herself to feel lighter; tomorrow, she would deal with the consequences of hangover.

It seemed to have started ahead of schedule. A sting hit her temple vividly, like a pin hammered in her brain, at the blurry sight of a familiar silhouette. It was very much alive in her memory to provoke her the certainty of seeing what she thought to be standing across the room. No more than a month had it been she had last seen him, and from afar she could sense his presence, now that she was aware of it. However, it couldn’t possibly be him.

The bartender politely handed her the glass, while Ella’s azure gems wouldn’t diverge from the target her brain focused on. Her lips moved in a ‘thanks’ that was muffled by the music back in the open chamber nearby, so quietly she spoke. It was like being on a trance. In a black tuxedo, his gold-tone, slick back hair was all she could see. But the stance, the gestures he made whenever speaking to whoever was that unfamiliar person he talked to - the voice she heard had to be his, or else her mind was repeating it just for tease. Playful tricks of the mind, after too many glasses. She believed it, she also doubted it. He was away, somewhere in Europe. She was here. She came back. This isn’t happening.

He turned around. Black shawl lapel tuxedo, ebony shirt underneath - a complete full-black outfit just like that first party. Ella was also in black. Her colours were neutral, always black, beige, dark brown and, on occasion, some white. They looked like coordinating colours when most carried on the Christmas warm up in red and green. And the voice that she heard before, it turned louder as she, much to her surprise, walked toward her in the company of another man, which soon enough turned a corner and left Princeton to arrive at the bar alone. He was quicker than Ella’s despair to flee. She couldn’t hear her own thoughts, her heart was too loud in her ears.

Any questions/concerns/things you’d like to change: (siblings to add, pronouns, sexuality you’d like to specify, personality, face claim, history, etc., etc.)

If it’s possible, perhaps Sabrina’s mother of father could be from the UK? I don’t know, I’m asking because I live in Europe and there’s a few differences from the English here and from the USA. I think it could add a bit more of character to her, by having a double nationality and being raised back and forth two distinct continents. It’s not mandatory, just something I thought interesting. :)