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marleemutt · 6 months

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TLDR: im a black trans artist who can use some help right now following the sudden passing of my only sister - her doberman is now the responsibility of my parents and we can use help for his food, supplements, toys etc.

Kofi (help me send Chewy orders to my parent's house)

Wishlist (literally send him things like toys, treats, etc.)

⬇️ more info ⬇️

hey guys

some of you might be aware of this already, but early October, my eldest sibling & only sister suddenly passed away due to a seizure, she had been dealing with epilepsy her whole life.

this has been incredibly difficult for me, and my family. her passing was incredibly sudden, she was only 30.

for the past month or so ive been struggling to find any motivation to draw, and barely able to work.

she was the incredibly devoted owner of a doberman named Remi(Ramsey). Me and my sister traveled 4 hours to pick him up three years ago. He's a goofball who tears up socks and needs constant supervision. My parents love him, but I can tell he is a lot of work for two people who have fulltime jobs and have lived long lives.

I'm going to try to help them take care of him as much as possible, I feel that it's the least we can do to honor my sister's memory, since she loved him so deeply.

My sister always wanted a doberman, for years she would watch videos about dobermans and talk about them to anyone who would listen.

Remi wasn't easy to raise - I shared a room with my sister when she got him in 2020, she still worked a 9-5, five days a week, so I was his nanny for most of his difficult childhood. I was his chew toy for the first year of his life about - but that only made him bond closer to me. If he wasn't following my sister, I was choice #2. Dobermans are "velcro dogs", they were bred to guard their owners, and because of this, they are fiercely loyal. I've been moved out of my parent's place for going on 3 years, and my sister had just moved with Remi out a few months prior to her passing.

A week before my sister's sudden passing, we had to board Remi at my dog daycare job while my family and I took a trip out of state. When dropping him off, although he was happy to see me again for the first time in months, the moment my sister turned her back to him he began to panic. He got through the boarding all right but my coworkers told me he would cry and wait by the door for me or her. When my sister picked him up, they said he jumped all 80+lbs into her arms.

Since my sister's passing, Remi has been directionless. He's with my family, people he trusts, but he's bored, confused, and heartbroken. My sister would often take him to the dog park, social events, on runs, etc. but my parent's can't do that in their age. If my apartment allowed large dogs, I would take him, but I can't, and I see him maybe twice a month if possible.

Ramsey's Christmas List

I made a christmas list for him of things that might help my parents better take care of him. We're trying different food brands out because he struggles with frequent stomach issues, and we can't seem to figure out what food my sister was feeding him. This list is by no means a necessity for him, but I tried to add things to help with his boredom and keep him stimulated when my parents can't give him all their attention.

i do want to state that my family is capable of providing him with the essentials to live, we arent irresponsible. i would just like to help my parents out since a 3 year old 80-90lb doberman is a lot of work to be suddenly placed on them soley. And I worry for his health and well-being sometimes - Remi has a tendency to eat/tear random objects when he's bored.

please consider donating whatever you can. Everything goes directly to him.

thank you for taking the time to read this, and possibly reblog if possible. ❤️

#artists on tumblr #black artist #black lives matter #mutual aid #doberman #doberman pinscher #trans artist #trans day of visibility #tdov

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pupyuj · 8 months

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[cw: smut, dumbification, pillow riding, masturbation, fingering, degradation, humiliation]

YEAH I KNOW WHERE DID THIS COME FROM CUZ I'M SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD RIGHT BUT AKDHKJD... I JUST—I NEED TO WRITE ABOUT SUB YUJ OR ELSE I'LL GO INSANE...

imagine like,, being gone for weeks bcs you had to go on a trip w your family or something :(( poor yuj was so lonely even when she was doing a lot of activities and idol work with her members,, while you did text and call her every single day you were gone, yuj wanted to have you beside her :(( she just couldn't sleep at night without you cuddling her.. and softly rubbing her clit through her panties while pinching her nipple as she's falling asleep... she has to do it on her own but it never feels good, she has never really been able to make herself come when you weren't around 💔💔

you feeling so bad bcs eventually yuj sends you whiny voice messages,, telling you to come back already, saying that she misses you and that she needs you :(( you knew she was fingering herself while recording those messages bcs you could hear the way she struggled to push herself over the edge,, whimpering in frustration bcs she so wished you were fucking her instead,,, see, after that voice message you really did decide to come back early! you loved spending time with your family but hearing yujin like that... well it broke your heart to hear your baby being sad but it also turned you on so much that you backed out of the vacation a week early!

coming home dead in the night,, wondering how yujin did not at all hear you when she was usually more alert than you,,, but then you figured it all out when you hear muffled moans and hushed swears through your bedroom door... leaving all of your luggage outside in the hall to open the door,, seeing your very naked girlfriend thrusting her hips into one of the soft pillows, whimpering pathetically as she rubbed her clit on the pillow over and over again,, she was moaning your name, clutching the bedsheets with a death grip as she sped up,, "mmommy,, mommy...!" she was screaming.. she was close, she was so close but she couldn't do it at all... she has tried every night you were gone but it was always impossible, until now,, coming up behind her, assuring her that you weren't some fucking intruder by kissing her shoulder, "keep going, baby. you're almost there." you whispered, grabbing her hips and guiding her so she's riding the pillow properly,,,

yuj thrusting her hips even faster, so relieved that you were finally back to her that she couldn't resist taking your hands and putting them on her breasts,, kissing her while taking her nipples between your fingers, fondling her just like she always wanted,, "i m-missed you so much, mommy... a-ahh, ah—please..."

"mhm.. i know, baby. sorry i couldn't help you with this before. i should've know you couldn't come without me.. but it's okay now, i got you..." pulling the pillow away and immediately shoving three fingers inside yujin, making her scream but the feeling was very much welcome... and oh, how you missed the feeling of her cunt around your fingers, so warm and tight... she was practically drenched so it was easy for you to just move in and out of her,, yujin still moving her hips to your pace accordingly, "so cute. you missed being mommy's stupid little slut, didn't you? having to lead your members all day for weeks without getting to get fucked by me.. must have been hard, huh, baby?" you were asking, and yujin was nodding as she spread her folds open for you.

"that's okay. you're not ive's cool, charismatic leader ahn yujin right now... you're just mommy's dumb slutty girlfriend.. right, yujinnie? you want me to fuck you stupid?"

yujin nodding again, "y-yes, yes please...! i c-c-can't do this without you, mommy.. please... i need you, ineedyou—fuck me, please!"

smiling in satisfaction, "such a good girl..." but you pulled your fingers out of her and slapped her cunt pretty harshly, earning a pained gasp from yujin. "you have no fucking idea about all the things i have planned for you tonight... turn that tiny brain of yours off, all you need to think about is me... got that?" you slapped her right on her clit again, nearly making yujin come right there.

"yes, mommy.. do whatever you want. i-i'm just your stupid toy, please..." sure, your slaps hurt but fuck no matter what you did it just turned yujin on. spreading her lips open with one hand and then slipping your middle and ring fingers inside her warm pussy, your thumb pressing against her clit... yujin's back arching at the feeling, her eyes completely hollow and empty and her brain only clouded with you, and the pleasure you gave her...

fingering her at an abnormal pace,, yujin was screaming at this point but she didn't care, nor was she aware of it at all! it all felt too good,, she couldn't even hear you saying things to her, she was that lost in her head... turning her into a babbling, crying mess as she squirted all over your fingers and ruined the bedsheets,, legs shaking and lips quivering as she came down from her high, her eyes were shut tight, and she was holding onto your thighs so tightly that you think she might have drawn blood but you didn't mind at all.. and you didn't care that she left scratches at your back when you pounded into her once again merely minutes later...

yujin is, and will always be, completely fine being reduced to what she was when she was with you! a brainless whore who wants nothing but to be of use for her mommy, the most wonderful good girl for you 💞🥺

sorry if this ending is a little sloppy i have class in nine minutes—

#ive smut #ive x reader #ive imagines #girl group imagines #girl group x reader #girl group smut #ive x fem reader #ahn yujin smut #ahn yujin x reader #ahn yujin x fem reader #ahn yujin imagines #yujin smut #yujin x fem reader #yujin x reader #yujin imagines

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irradiatedsnakes · 1 year

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POKEMOB!!!! ive been thinking abt this nonstop for like, weeks. check it out, though! lots of little guys! reigen's special move where he chucks his nacli at the foe as hard as possible! teru's furfrou's matching wig! other stuff! this post has 18 images

@skypiea helped SO much with pokemon choices for this also!

see under the cut for full teams and further explanation!!! please check it out

mob - ralts & espurr. later, silvally. mob isn't a trainer, and his pokemon don't fight. they're just little guys. type:null was originally toichiro's (who used various pokemon alongside the human claw grunts), mob met it in aftermath of the divine tree once everything in the domination arc was over. (it still doesn't battle or anything. big fancy lapdog full of love.)

ritsu - unovan braviary, bisharp, and alakazam. going along with his student council status & top-of-the-line grades, ritsu's a skilled trainer with some powerful pokemon. braviary and bisharp were his most used pokemon early on- they're sort of representative of his student council thing (note braviary's unobtainable psychic type form)- but abra was his first pokemon, a counterpart to mob's ralts. it only evolved first during ritsu and the esper kids' attempted escape of the 7th division claw building.

reigen - murkrow, greavard, thievul, and nacli. reigen's not a trainer, his pokemon are both pets and assist him with work. with the exception of nacli, dark and ghost types are his specialty (psychic-adjacent types, but Not actual psychic types). his murkrow imitates him constantly. greavard is uu-chan, of course, but this time he doesn't get eaten by dimple (uu-chan is still feeding on reigen's soul). one of nacli's possible abilities in the games is "purifying salt", which cuts damage from ghost moves. reigen's nacli, of course, has sturdy. and to quote kite, re: thievul: "Reigen: would an untrustworthy guy have THIS [sends out the thief pokemon]"

teru - furfrou (shiny), zoroark (maybe shiny i cant decide. burple), and togepi (later togekiss). before his encounter with mob in season 1, teru didn't actually use his pokemon in battle often- they're rare, flashy, and/or powerful, but they were lackeys and status symbols just as much as his underlings at black vinegar were. his relationship with his pokemon improved after he started to work on his humility, leading to the evolution of his togepi.

shou - morpeko, latias, and (mega) blaziken. he's a super tough trainer, and he cares about his pokemon So much. he rides his latias like she's a surfboard

serizawa - swoobat & bewear. serizawa didn't really have pokemon growing up after his self-imposed isolation- the stufful he had as a kid was taken care of by his mother once that happened. he met his woobat a while after joining claw, and it evolved sometime after the world domination arc. bewear isn't entirely his- but after the world domination arc, he reconnected with it and takes care of it some of the time. the rest of the time it's serimama's gigantic housebear

tome - two (later three which become a single magneton) magnemite, orbeetle, eventually elgyem. i think magnemite just fits her vibes... plus it's a bit ufo-y, innit. she HAD to have a bug, and i mean..look at orbeetle's gmax form! and it has the telepathy ability! unfortunately, despite her best efforts, orbeetle's telepathy ability hasn't proved useful for finding human telepaths. she caught elgyem on new years, on the way back down to the car. tome can hold her own in battle, but training for battle isn't something she's focused on.

dimple - is a yamask! his big powerful form is cofagrigus, obvs. his mask is usually blank save for the cheek spots, since he has no memory of his life as a human. the mask does change to fit the (LOL) and psycho helmet cult as well. he places his mask on someone's face to possess them like any other yamask, to others it just appears as the regular red cheeks, but to folks who can see spirits they see the mask. when possessing someone, his expressions will show on the mask as well.

whew, i think that's everything i wanted to talk about. thanks for reading!

#kageyama shigeo #reigen arataka #kageyama ritsu #hanazawa teruki #kurata tome #serizawa katsuya #inukawa mameta #dimple #pkmn #mp100 #pokemob #art #ids in alt btw

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a-random-weeb · 7 months

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hi ive never requested like anything from anyone before so my DEEPEST apologies if this is really bad..😭😭

so like this idea has been eating at me for WEEKS but i cannot write at all so.. here i am in requests 🙏🙏

imagine a reader who works in the port mafia,,, but she’s dating ada dazai, she’s knew him since he was in the mafia and once he left they never really separated like chuuya and dazai did… eventually they start dating and it’s so obvious… they obviously try to hide it from everyone but chuuya eventually catch’s on and isn’t even surprised, even after he left they constantly reminded chuuya of all the things they did together before he left, and how much fun they all had (chuuya absolutely argued on having fun with dazai) AND I DONT REALLY KNOW HOW TO END IT OFF BUT ITS BEEN EATING AT ME AND I NEEDED SOMEBODY TO KNOW 😭😭🙏

Haha, thanks for thinking I'm a good enough writer to help with your idea ♥️

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When Chuuya confronts you about dating Dazai you freeze, completely shocked

"H-how did you know?!"

"I'm not surprised, you two had chemistry anyway." He shrugs. You stay silent, astonished that he knew

"please don't tell anyone, Chuu!"

"I won't I won't." He sighs, flopping down on your bed. Chuuya had texted and asked to come over to hang out, which you agreed, completely forgetting you invited Dazai over as well. When you hear the doorbell ring, a wave of confusion washes over you. You answer it, only to see dazai.

"I completely forgot I invited you! I also have chuuya over, is that ok?" He nods and comes in, you jump up the stairs and lead him to your room "Don't you remember when we all hanged out like this? We had so much fun!" You smile

"Fun?! I've never had fun with someone like Dazai!" Chuuya pouts as you giggle.

"What about all the selfies we took? You looked pretty happy in those!"

"THAT WAS FOR THE SAKE OF THE PHOTO!"

"What about the ones we took when we caught you off guard? You were happy in those" Dazai buts in, smirking.

"SHUT UP!!" Chuuya screams, embarrassed. You laugh, "I really did miss these times..." Dazai pecks you on the list "But it's better now that we're dating~"

"GET A FUCKING ROOM YOU TWO!" You and Dazai burst out laughing, "Technically this is her room so..."

"BE QUIET WORTHLESS GOOD FOR NOTHING!"

"Oh? But you're the one screamin-"

"Both of you shut up!" You hiss while Chuuya sends Dazai a death glare. "it's just like when we were 15... let's all hang out more, just the three of us..."

˚+* ♡˚.°˖✧‧˚+* ♡˚.°˖✧‧˚+* ♡˚.°˖✧‧˚+* ♡˚.°˖✧‧˚

I hope this is the kind of ending you were looking for, if you were hoping for something different or I misunderstood something I could rewrite it for you! Though, it might take awhile because it took me awhile to think about this one how it is

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duck-in-a-thrift-store · 22 days

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Prologue? Pilot? IDK Man I Just Work Here

(part 1.2)

{hey so uhhhh

i have finals coming up and its the last week of classes and im lowkey failing two of mine right now, so unfortunately im going to have to go on hiatus for a bit- even though i literally just started, ugh- while i try to catch up and deal with... all that

that said, ive decided to split the prologue up into three parts instead of two and just go ahead and give you what ive got so far of the rest of it

this and the third (and hopefully final) segment is where we really start setting up/contextualizing the "full house" premise of the fic

link to part 1.1 here}

~~~

So, over the next several weeks, they come up with a plan.

Most of them aren’t exactly happy about the plan, but… oh well.

The parents are determined to move their children- who have proven themselves to be prime targets for the supernatural- out of town, to relocate them somewhere they’ll be well-removed from the apocalypse unfolding in Hawkins. Caught up to speed about the history of Hawkins Lab and Owens’s involvement in everything, they all but order him to help with the arrangements.

And he delivers. Calls are made, blueprints are drawn, and before they know it, a plot of land has been secured two thousand miles away in California for a house to be built on. And it’s going to have to be a pretty big house, considering it’ll be home to six teenagers and a pre-teen.

The kids are dead set on not being separated again; it’s one of their conditions for agreeing to leave. Steve can’t blame them, honestly. After everything they’ve been through together, he doesn’t want to be apart from them either. In fact, he’s been feeling a bit paralyzed by the thought, has had a little trouble breathing since the move was decided.

He’s sort of out of it the next time everyone gathers at the hospital to hash out the details, to be honest, but in his defense, his head isn’t quite what it used to be before all the hits he’s taken in recent years.

But then the ongoing discussion turns to who will look after the kids, and well, that certainly gets his attention.

There’s a military blockade taking shape around the area, keeping the threat contained- but also the citizens. It’s only through Owens’s connections and influence that they’ll be able to sneak the kids out, and just that in itself is going to be risky. As much as they’d like to, they can’t take everyone.

The parents have agreed to join the resistance that’s starting to form, a force of townsfolk who have finally realized what’s really happening and are banding together to find a solution, or at least hold off the Upside Down from taking over for as long as they can. Hopper and Joyce have taken it upon themselves to teach everyone as much as they can about what they’re up against, and a few of the others are helping out with pooling resources and organizing community childcare.

For various reasons, their families won’t be coming along.

“Who’s going to take care of you all?” Sue asks, her question directed more towards the room at large than the kids themselves. “None of you are older than fifteen; I don’t want you out there on your own with no adult supervision.”

Karen starts to say something, probably about how she doesn’t intend to let Nancy stay behind either, that there will definitely be at least one person over fifteen present, but Steve cuts her off in his eagerness. He practically jumps out of his seat, actually, but he’s held in place by his desperate grip on the sheets of the hospital bed he’s still stuck in until he’s done recovering from the demobat bites.

“I’ll do it!”

Once again, all eyes are on him, and they’re broadcasting confusion, surprise- in the case of the parents, that is. The kids mostly look relieved. None of them will say it- the little shits- but he’s pretty sure they were just as worried about leaving him behind as he was about sending them away.

Claudia tilts her head at him in question. “You? What, by yourself?”

Steve figures the faintly bitter disbelief in her voice has less to do with him and more to do with Dustin’s deadbeat dad, so he chooses not to take it to heart. But before he can make a remark about how some men are actually interested in fatherhood- although he’s not entirely sure what his brain even means by that- Karen Wheeler speaks up.

“Not by himself, no. What I was about to say a moment ago was that Nancy is going too. I don’t want my daughter staying here after being involved with all this pretty much since the beginning. But, Steve, even then, you’re hardly adults yourselves- Nancy only just graduated high school last week. I don’t think you two should be left to basically parent seven kids all alone; it’s too much responsibility.”

(While she does have a point, and he’s certainly not opposed to having Nancy out of harm’s way, it’s also important to note that the daughter in question is currently busy giving shooting lessons to a sizable portion of the resistance. Nancy is no stranger to responsibility, but she isn’t exactly the motherly type, either. Regardless, Steve wants both roles for himself- at least on a subconscious level. He’s not quite aware of it yet, his rightful place as both mom and dad to the party, but… he’ll get there. He thinks of himself more as a glorified babysitter, really, but it is a position he takes very seriously nowadays.)

Mistaking Steve's spacey expression for something else, Dustin mutters smugly beside him, “I bet you would looove that.”

Steve rolls his eyes and shoots back, “Can it, kid. We’ve been over this. Nance and I are not getting back together.”

Nancy and Jonathan broke up after her graduation, for reasons which Steve has decided are none of his business. In some ways, this made the idea of rekindling their relationship- something his friends insisted he should try to do- more of an actual possibility. And yet, somehow, that in itself helped him realize that he doesn’t really want to get back together. And he knows she feels the same, even if there are some weird lingering feelings on both sides of the issue. They simply aren’t compatible, and that’s okay. It took him a while to get here, but now he’s happy just being her friend.

Thankfully, Robin joins in, interrupting that awkward train of thought and providing the solution to a problem Steve hasn't even considered yet.

“They wouldn’t be alone, Mrs. Wheeler. I can help out, too.”

“You would do that? Move across the country and play house with me and these brats?”

“Of course I would, dingus. Where you go, I go.”

The fondness in their exchange prompts some raised eyebrows from the others, but that’s irrelevant. Steve is just massively thankful that Robin is offering to come along. Having to choose between the kids and his platonic soulmate would have torn him apart just as badly as the bats did.

“And I’d say the same about Will and El,” Jonathan says as he joins the group. “So I hope there’s room for a couple more.” He glances questioningly at Argyle, who came in with him.

Argyle just shrugs. “I’m sticking with you, man.” Apparently, his parents turned him out to fend for himself when he hit eighteen, so he doesn’t have much to go back to, and he’s been content staying with the Byers until the blockade is lifted- or for the long haul, it seems.

Karen nods in Jonathan’s direction. “Good, I’m sure Joyce will feel better knowing you’ll be there.”

So that makes five of us. Considering I’ve wrangled most of these guys on my own plenty of times by now, that should be totally manageable. I guess it will be nice to have some guaranteed backup for once.

It looks like the gang is staying together after all, plus at least one new-ish addition.

But, speaking of "new-ish additions" to the group, there is still a six-foot deep hole in the entire plan, which is the question of what to do with a dead man when all his remaining friends are ditching town.

“What about... Eddie?”

~~~

{well folks theres the second installment of the prologue. as for the rest of it... youll get it when you get it. hopefully ill be able to start updating more regularly once i go back home for the summer. things are just kinda crazy right now hahahahaha <-(the deranged laughter of a person whose ass is not passing all their courses this time and is very seriously considering becoming a college dropout)

oh and yeah so eddies dead i guess. not what i had planned but sometimes the plot just does what it wants. you know how full house basically starts off with dannys wife dying in a car accident (offscreen and prior to the events of the actual show anyway)? and steve is like, very loosely the au's parallel of danny? well you might not have known that actually but i just told you. so. yeah. you get where this is going

also, to my unofficial beta readers and lovely mutuals @moreover-clover and @redley-of-many-noodles: i have seen your comments/messages and i appreciate your input, but ive decided im going to try not to take this project too seriously and just have fun with it rather than worry about how polished it is, so i think this is going to be a no beta project from here on out. thank you for the thoughtful commentary/critiques on part 1.1, and i do hope you continue to enjoy it <3

having said that, if anyone happens to notice glaringly obvious/simple typos that i could easily fix, or if any parts are just genuinely incomprehensible, feel free to point it out/ask for clarification if you want to}

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savrenim · 4 months

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not to be another donations post but you may remember how over the summer we had massive amounts of plumbing problems and other unexpected moving costs? well. after proceeding to work every single hour available to me for six months, take no holidays whatsoever, and budget the hell out of every aspect of my life, I was actually on track to pay everything back and maybe have a little bit of wiggle room by the time summer came around!

and then we got a call from the vet about routine labs saying that if we didn't take Suzy in to an emergency specialty hospital immediately, she would die within in a week, she might die anyways if we took her there, but it was our only chance to have a few more months with her. after an extremely difficult household discussion, we decided that we needed to do as much as we could for her. she's been a beloved member of the family for 18 years. we were not going to abandon her in her hour of need.

with two days at the specialty hospital, the prognosis was better than we could have possibly hoped! the most important thing is she does not have heart problems at all, which means that we can treat her chronic kidney disease with normal IV fluids and with careful treatment she could easily be with us for years to come. the timely intervention also may or may not have saved her from acute kidney failure too, we'll know when we go back to the vet on Wednesday to get her blood checked where her levels have stabilized at.

two days at the specialty hospital means we are also down $3652 , and no longer are on track to pay back everything by July when it comes due unless a couple of uncertain things going forward Go Right, I do not trust everything to Go Right, and we're also still uncertain about what long-term treatment going forward is going to cost.

I still have my ko-fi and my patreon, but honestly, I'm aware that everything is tight for everyone always and there are also a lot of causes that need money right now and in the face of that "hey my family went super out on a limb to try to save our cat and would love some help not falling off" feels kind of shallow. but like. not to sound dumb or like a youtuber or podcaster, but, like. honestly I think the Most Helpful Thing that anyone could do for me right now is take a fucking HelloFresh link that will send you a "free" box for cost-of-shipping ($7ish?) if you Sign Up For An Account that you can then cancel Immediately After The Box Has Shipped and Never Give Them Any More Money Than That and get Six To Ten Meals Out Of It, and for getting someone to "sign up", they will give me a free box too. like. if 13 people are willing to take a link then I don't need to worry about food for the next three months. which would be. HUGE.

so I guess.... dm me if you want a link? otherwise expect to see a lot of promotion of my writing/ patreon as I scramble the hell to try to make this money up

#my life #pet sick for tw #donation post #sort of #yes I am aware that Hello Fresh is problematique / union-busting #they are also currently the only easily accessible source of Free Food that we can actually eat/use #honestly if anyone Wants To Help but doesn't really have the $7 for shipping #I will freaking venmo you back the $7 after I get confirmation of account credit #sending someone $7 for $60 of groceries still means you have Gifted Our Household with net $50 of food #at no cost to yourself #I'm not in As Shitty of a place as last summer bc my mother is also deeply emotionally attached to Suzy #and has agreed to spot us in July for a bit of the money if we pay her back in September #it's just!!!! really FUCKING frustrating!!!!!! we had the money saved!!!! I have spent the last six months KILLING myself to have the money #and now we are back to nearly square 1 except with six months instead of twelve months to make up the difference #so. free food would be much appreciated. as that would also mean that no matter what bullshit the next few months throws at us we at least #know that there will be weekly groceries shipped to us #me @ my job give me overtime hours #legit might destroy me again to work a 240hr month a month or two in a row #but three months of THAT would put me in the clear and they've got free coffee and energy drinks at work #however in lieu of my job giving me the ability to Not Practice The Best Self Care in return for Ungodly Amounts Of Money #'hi friends and mutuals can I interest you in a HelloFresh box' is the best I can do #I swear I will never start a youtube channel or start podcasting tho

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safewavess · 5 months

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I present; 99 Castoff Incorrect Quotes. Don’t ask why

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3 (this one))

(67)

Rori: I'm quick at math.

Arianna: Ok, what's 38 times 76?

Rori: 24

Arianna: That wasn't even close.

Rori: But it was quick.

(68)

Vector: Am I in trouble?

Arianna: Take a guess.

Vector: No?

Arianna: Take another guess.

(69)

Frankie: Wow, it sure smells like wrong dog in here!

Vector: Oh buddy…

Frankie, already sobbing: ASK.

(70)

Rori: You can take away my rights, but can you take away my lefts?

(71)

Vector: What scares you guys the most?

Frankie: Werewolves!

Marina: Sharks.

Sage: The unstoppable marching of time that is slowly guiding us all towards an inevitable death.

Sage:

Sage: Arianna.

(72)

Arianna: We have to plan, we have to figure something out.

Frankie: Arianna, when have any of our plans ever actually worked? We plan, we get there, all hell breaks loose.

(73)

Frankie: Oh, hey, I didn't see you come in! You should have come by and said hello!

Arianna: Oh! Yeah, I uh...

Arianna: Didn't want to bother you.

Arianna: Or talk to or listen to or be around you.

(74)

Frankie: There are three ways to handle a difficult situation. The right way, the wrong way, and the Arianna way.

Vector: Isn't that the wrong way?

Frankie: Yes, but it's faster.

(75)

Arianna: We wouldn't last two minutes without Frankie.

Arianna:

Arianna: Don't tell them I said that.

(76)

Arianna: Why do you hang out with me?

Vector: You're the best thing that's ever happened to me!

Arianna: ...

Arianna: I feel a bit sorry for you.

(77)

Frankie: Oh, fiddlesticks! That really ruffles my feathers!

Rori: Please, just say fuck.

(78)

Vector, texting Marina: sends a voice message

Marina, texting back: I'm a little busy, is it urgent?

Vector: No, don't worry, just listen later. later

Marina: presses play

Vector's voice message: THERE'S A FIRE-

(79)

Marina: You need to stop swearing so much.

Arianna: Shut the fuck up.

Marina: Yeah, that's not how you do it.

Arianna: Alright sorry. It's just that it's hard not to swear. The words just creep up on me when I least expect it.

Marina: Now now, don't be like that. Just replace the swear words with 'beep' and you'll be fine.

Arianna: Shit the beep up.

Marina:

Arianna: SHUT, DAMMIT! I MEANT SHUT!

(80)

Frankie: I have a bad feeling about this, guys.

Arianna: Oh don't worry, you'll be fine.

Vector: Yeah, what's the worst that could happen?

Frankie, being bailed out of jail the next morning: I hate you all.

(81)

Arianna: fast-forwards all the way through the movie

Frankie: You can't just skip to the happy ending!

Arianna: I don't have time for their problems.

(82)

Marina: Do you ever want to talk about your emotions, Arianna?

Arianna: No.

Frankie: I do!

Marina: I know, Frankie.

Frankie: I'm sad.

Marina: I know, Frankie.

(83)

Arianna: When do I get my own gun?

TheStarfishface: I wouldn't trust you with my kid's lightsaber.

(84)

Arianna: Well, well, well, if it isn't the consequences of my actions.

(85)

Arianna: I keep a picture of all of us in my wallet. Whenever I face difficulties, I take it out and stare at the picture.

The Squad: Awwww-

Arianna: And I tell myself "If I can deal with these idiots, then I can deal with anything."

The Squad: Oh.

(86)

Rori: Ha! What are you gonna do? Stab mе?

Five minutes later

Rori, calling 911: HELP, IVE BEEN STABBED.

(87)

Rori: I'd roast you, but my mom says you can't burn trash.

Rori: slow-mo walks out of the room

(88)

Frankie: Hey.

Arianna: pissed off You... complete ... ASS, Frankie! You show up here after WEEKS, and you say "hey"?!

(89)

Sage: The dinosaurs didn't rule the earth they were just alive. Stop giving them credit for administration skills they didn't have.

(90)

Rori: Advice of the day kids, if you ever meet someone who calls Gatorade flavors the actual name of the flavor instead of just the color then they are a certified nerd.

Vector: Yeah but you have to specify, frost glacier or cool blue? You can't just say blue because there's more than one blue.

Rori: Blue and light blue, nice try nerd.

(91)

Rori: I will beat all of you in Rock, Paper, Scissors. You go first.

Vector: Rock.

Rori: Paper.

(92)

Frankie: Why's it called an oven when you of in the cold food and you of out hot eat the food?

Marina: ...What???

(93)

Marina: I hate to disagree with you, but-

Rori: Please, you love to disagree with me. Its your favorite thing to do.

(94)

Arianna: Underestimate me. That'll be fun.

(95)

Vector: What does "take out" mean?

Frankie: Food.

Marina: Dating.

Arianna: Murder.

Rori: It can be all three if you're brave enough.

(96)

Vector: I am very small and I have no money, so you can imagine the kind of stress that I'm under.

(97)

Rori: on the phone Hey Marina, do you know my blood type?

Marina: Of course, it's B-.

Rori: Oh, I guessed wrong. Excuse me, nurse-!

(98)

Frankie: Vector, I'm afraid.

Vector: Just stay close to Arianna.

Frankie: That's why I'm afraid.

(99)

Marina: What did you two do?

Rori:

Arianna:

Marina: You're not in trouble, I just need to know if I have to lie to the police again or not.

#castoff comic #castoff #incorrect quotes #okay i can go back into hiding now #howd you guys like the 99 incorrect quotes #hopefully they were good #if you wanna know i got them all from a website that made them and just surfed through as many as possible!#just search “incorrect quotes generator” and you should find it

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weixuldo · 2 years

Text

Enigma// ch 5

Anakin x Reader

(A/N: Hey guys!! I’m finally back from the dead! The flu was the worst, I literally couldn’t do anything. But I just wanted to thank you guys for being so patient and understanding!! also FYI the next chapter of unconditionally should be out soon too and ive been working on some other stuff too (Mostly the asks haha) AS always, thanks for reading)

Ahsoka’s out of town and you need to spend the night somewhere...

Warnings: alcohol, drinking problem, PTSD, mention of injury, the reader is kinda oblivious, cursing, bad grammar.

____________________________________

You hadn’t heard much from Anakin since that night. He occasionally texted you to make sure you and Ahsoka were being safe. Ahsoka was still mad about their argument and insisted on ignoring him.

A part of you wanted to be angry at him too, he basically called the two of you immature and irresponsible, but you just couldn’t. He was so gentle with you that night, not to mention he was drunk himself. The fact that he held it together to make sure you were ok was so attractive.

Maybe you were just reading into things, but you could have sworn he wouldn’t have done that for another girl. You found yourself wanting to go over there and spend time with him, but you kept chickening out before sending your texts.

Tonight was no different, Friday finally arrived after a long week and you wanted to find solace in something, preferably not the bottle. Some stupid part of you mainly didn’t want to drink because you wanted to show him you were responsible.

Sadly, Ahsoka was out for the weekend with her team for a local championship. Leaving you to your devices. Your roommate was getting ready for her three year anniversary with her highschool sweetheart, so the room was occupied for the night.

You sighed, you really didn’t have anywhere to go. You took out your phone and anxiously dialed his number.

Ring

Rin-

Hello?, a groggy Anakin answered.

“Hey, I’m so sorry to bother you but do you know if I could stay at your place tonight? Ahsoka is away and my roommate is using the room tonight, I can pay you for the time” you spoke, more nervous than you were two minutes ago.

He huffed and you heard him shift some things around on the other end.

I guess that’s fine. Give me an hour.

He sounded rather annoyed so you added, “If you're not ok with it that's completely fine, I don't want you to feel like you hav-”

Its fine

You thanked him and jolted at his sudden hang up. You set your phone down and grabbed one of your bags to put some overnight stuff in. Your heart was racing, you couldn’t believe he was actually allowing you over, and without Ahsoka no less!

You watched the clock as you waited for an hour to pass. That gave you plenty of time to overthink the situation.

What if he was just going to treat you coldly all night? What if he felt obligated? What if-

The alarm you set for an hour rang, alerting you it was time to go. Your roommate looked a little impatient as she waited by the door for you to leave. Your walk to the car was filled with anxiety and nerves, nevertheless you started the car and headed to his place.

___________________________________

Anakin hurriedly put on a sweatshirt and his gloves as he saw your “on the way” text. He got caught up getting himself and his apartment put together for your arrival. He wasn’t really expecting guests so he had been lounging around in a robe and some slacks when you called.

A part of him was peeved, because he knew he wouldn’t sleep well if he had to keep everything on, but it was you…so he was more lenient.

He took a beer bottle in one of his hands and pulled the cap off with his teeth, a skill he mastered early on in his drinking career. In one swoop he downed the bottle and placed it in the recycling. His nerves were going crazy and he needed some alcohol to help him out.

Before he knew it he heard you knock at the door.

Here we go.

He lifted himself from his seat at the counter and made his way to the door, hopefully you wouldn’t be able to see the light blush that dusted his cheeks when you looked at him.

_____________________________________

You knocked on the door and were prepared to wait a good while for Anakin, but surprisingly he opened it quite quickly. You were wide eyed as he pulled the door open. He looked a bit disheveled. You gave him a smile and thanked him for letting you stay with him.

He just brushed it off and closed the door as you walked further into his apartment. He followed close behind you and took the seat beside you on his couch.

“I really can’t thank you enough” You began before he held up a hand.

“Don’t mention it” he said as he took a sip from his bottle.

You gulped to yourself, you remembered what Ahsoka said… it seemed he may have had a drinking problem in the past. So should you tell him to stop? It wasn’t really your business though.. But what if-

“Hey?”

You blinked and looked at Anakin who was waving a gloved hand in front of your face.

“I’m sorry, I must have spaced out” you admitted.

“No kidding, princess,” he scoffed.

Much to your chagrin, you got butterflies at his little nickname.

“I’m kind of surprised you’re not out getting shit faced” he jabbed at you.

“Well, I really thought about what you said,” you admitted.

“Huh, well I guess that makes one of ya, I’m sure Ahsoka will be back in the club as soon as she gets back from her tournament.” he lamented, pressing the mouth of the bottle to his lips.

“You should have more faith in her,” you said, only half expecting him to hear you.

“Excuse me?” he raised a brow at you.

Shit.

“All I mean is that she really does care about you and your opinions, but if you keep expecting her to fail and return to habit, she will. I don’t think you realize the power you have over her, Anakin.”

He just looked at you for a moment before nodding to himself.

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t my place to say that”

“No, I appreciate your honesty,” he said, a small smile tugging at the end of his lips.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, he got up to fetch another beer every now and again, but he always returned to the seat beside you. You glanced over and noticed he was probably on about his sixth beer and you began to worry. You didn’t want to make him suspicious, so you tried a different angle with him.

“Hey, No fair! I’m not drinking so you shouldn’t drink either!” you playfully said as you reached over him to grab the bottle. Shockingly he let you take it from him without a fight.

“Fair enough” he smiled slyly.

He must mellow out when he drinks, cause he definitely wouldn’t have agreed to that sober. You felt a little awkward sitting here with him, without Ahsoka or alcohol in your system, but you wanted to talk to him so you tried your best.

“Hey, whats with all the army stuff? Do you serve?” you offered, trying to find something to talk about.

“Used to” he said shortly.

“You look pretty young to have retired” you inquired, “Or maybe you just aged really fucking well”.

He laughed at your comment. He actually laughed.

You smiled and waited for his response.

“Well thanks, but no, I was discharged about a decade ago”

“Do you mind me asking why?”

He shifted uncomfortably on his side of the couch. Maybe he had an alcohol problem, Ahsoka did allude to problems with drinking, or maybe it was anger issues..

“...Injury” he finally said.

“Injury?” You had noticed his limp and his constant winces, but nothing you thought would be debilitating. Curiosity sparked in your mind, nothing much in the house seemed drastically altered for a handicap, but if he were discharged, the injury must have been severe. Was it internal? Maybe he was burned…he did tend to wear lots of coverings. Your mind swirled but some part of you deep down felt ashamed of thinking of him as almost a spectacle.

“Yeah, don't tell me you seriously didn’t notice?” he half sighed half laughed.

“I really don’t understand what youre talking about?” you tilted your head.

“Wow, kids these days really are getting dumber,” he laughed, running a gloved hand down his face.

You chose to ignore his last comment and chalk it up to the alcohol, but now you were curious.

“I really can’t tell anything is wrong, I mean I guess I’ve noticed you limp a little, but thats all”

“So I’ve become that accustomed to this life huh?” he quietly spoke to himself before turning back to you.

“Well yeah, I used to be in the military, I was a pilot and a damn good one at that. Then some shit went down and now I’m stuck here in this shithole with all of these memories of my failed past” he lamented, motioning to the piles of military paraphernalia lying around the room.

“I don’t think you failed,” you offered.

“Hah, You don’t know anything about me little girl” he scoffed before crossing his arms.

“I guess not, but I’d like to” you added, feeling bold.

His blue eyes caught yours for a moment before he flickered them away, “I’m too sober for that”.

You were about to ask what he meant but he stood up and headed for his room. He brought a blanket back out and a small pillow.

“There, That should be good. I’m gonna turn in, feel free to watch the TV, just not too loud ok?”

You nodded and watched him slip into the cover of his room before shutting the door with a loud click.

You didn’t really know what you were expecting, but you were left feeling unsatisfied. At least he didn’t kick you out though

***

(a/n: THE injury bit is vague, but it will all be revealed in due time. I will say that realistically his injuries would be way more noticable but im gonna pretend since he was really healthy before the accident, he recovered in good time.)

taglist: @dnamht @sxoulohvn @angeelcoree @wtf-andys @httpeachesblog @katsukiswrld @jetiikote @poisonedsultana

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fandomfluffandfuck · 11 months

Note

hi!

im soooo happy you're unflagged now, slutty chris as your pfp was something i missed a lot when i opened tumblr haha 🫠

anywayy, i was wondering what tips you have for finishing WIPs? like, i have about 6 of them that are pretty long already but each time i open one i write about a paragraph and get unmotivated againn

i really wanna post this multichapter ive been working on since january (it's a dad's best friend trope, if you're wondering 👀) but im writing one last chapter and nothing will come to me :(

do you have any tips for getting motivated or just general things that help you stay focussed?

Hey!

Same! It felt like such a long time 😫 (I mean, it was almost three weeks, so it kinda was a long time, but you know what I'm getting at)

Your wip sounds super interesting. I'm sure they're all devine. Sending you all the ✨️motivation✨️

I don't know if I have tips as much as I can tell you what I do (or what I try to do, at least lol), but anyway, here goes--

I usually don't have more than one "actual" wip at one time, I obviously jot down ideas when they come to me, but I'm not writing multiple full-fledged fics at once. I'm writing a fic, and maybe I'm working on some writing for Tumblr at the same time. Other than that, I just don't. I'm VERY tempted at times, but I force myself to take it one at a time. Even when it might be painful, lol.

(And I'm aware that I'm very privileged to have a brain that works in such a way as to let me write like that.)

Plus, as weird as it sounds, I've found the more I write with a single wip at a time, the more moving onto the next idea I have becomes a reward in of itself.

As far as finishing what I'm working on currently, usually I start with an outline, literal jot dots, for what I want the fic to be. Obviously, it doesn't always follow what I first put down, but there's an outline at least. Then, I go back and fill in that outline where I know nothing is permanent. I literally write the full fic in jot dot form. It just might be missing bits and pieces. It's still in jot dots. After I finish through the whole outline--expanding the ideas into actual writing--I go back, and I go section by section, removing the jot dots while reading for things I might need to change, things I might want to add, etc. After I get through the whole thing that way, I re-read it as a normal piece of writing. Again, changing or adding or removing things or whatever as I go. Then, I usually run it through a program like Grammarly or some shit to catch stuff that I can't catch (thanks dyslexia). Finally, I copy and paste it into AO3, reading it one last time, in a different font.

My schedule for writing on the weekend (soon weekdays, too... almost hello summer 👀) is to write for an hour after I eat breakfast. I'm a morning person, I get up at 6:00 am, then I sit on the couch with my laptop and type for an hour. Usually like 7:00-8:00am. Then I'm done. I'll come back to it tomorrow. It's a routine that's been my routine for a couple of years now, so I don't even really think about it. I just do.

(Also, obviously, if I'm in the middle of a scene or something, I write down what I will need for later, but I have shit to do, so I have to stop.)

When I'm in the middle of writing and I get stuck, usually I scroll back up to what I've written earlier and do some rereading. Or I scroll down and freshen my memory of where I'm trying to take this thing. Then, I integrate back into what I'm trying to write, thinking about the feeling I want to create, what picture I want to paint, what the internal world of the character I am writing is like (what is their "voice"), etc. When words won't come, I think about things other than words--if that makes any sense, lol.

If that doesn't work, rereading, I might take a breather. I drink a lot of tea, so I might go make myself some tea, sometimes thinking about what I'm trying to write, sometimes not. Usually, I get a lot of ideas the second I set my laptop aside, lmao. Or it comes to me when I'm pacing, waiting for water to heat up. Usually, because I write for an hour, I feel pressure to write the whole time, but I don't have to. No one has to do anything. It's all good. Take a breath.

A breather.

I also always listen to music when I'm writing. Almost always music with words but not always the same genre; I'm not just listening to horny music or whatever when I'm writing, so if I'm stuck, I might swap to a new playlist. Maybe one that is intentionally matching for what I'm writing--a more sexual playlist for smut, a softer playlist for romance, an upsetting playlist for angst, etc. Or maybe one that clashes, that always shakes something loose in my brain.

(Listening to straight fucking screamo when writing an intimate, quiet, fragile scene is objectively hilarious, too, so I entertain myself.)

Usually, when I write in the morning, I don't have as much trouble with my dyslexia because I haven't exhausted myself reading and processing the bullshit that letters and numbers do all day, but if it's just a bad day for whatever reason... I might swap fonts and try to keep at it. Usually, I write in Verdana, but I might swap to Comic Sans or something for a while.

Or, if I'm stuck because of dyslexia or anything else, I might just stop for the day. As a perfectionist and workaholic and, just, someone who you could not pay to sit still and not do something, I'm trying to allow myself more times where I can just stop. A lot of the time, I push through, though. I tell myself 10 more minutes, then you're done. A tangible goal can be good.

What really motivates me is getting the fic out. Not even necessarily getting it out and publishing it to AO3 and seeing people's reactions to what I create, although that is undeniably an incredible thing to experience. I feel compelled to write. I like the process of writing. And because I've accidentally created this rule for myself where I have to finish one thing before the next, I have to get something out to start the next. Editing is the WORST, but I will do it to move on to the next. That's just my workaholic nature.

It'll probably kill me one day... it's not the best. As a consequence, I will readily admit I forget what I've written CONSTANTLY. I don't re-read what I write once it's finished. I move on to the next idea so fast that I forget what I did prior until other people bring it up. I'm propelled forward with very narrow vision. Again, it's not the best, and I should learn to stop and appreciate what I've done. It's hard, though.

Also, talking to people about your ideas is always a good way to go. I should do it more, too. I find myself being a very selfish creator. I create from this place of compulsion. I have to get it out. I don't know why, I just do. It's the way I am. And I create alone a lot. I'm an introvert and a highly independent person, I like to be alone, and I like to make things alone. So, it's easy to fall into the same pattern of being private and only showing off what I have when it's fully finished, complete with a sparkling varnish. But that doesn't have to be the way it is. Share bits and pieces, talk about what you're doing, let other people tell you you're doing it! You're doing a good job! They're excited to see the next update, no matter how small!

If you can't/don't want to share, though, a fun way to bounce ideas around is going, okay, I have to make a list of [whatever number, 20, 50, 100, etc.] ideas. They can be absolute fucking garbage, all of them, but I am going to list out as many as I possibly can. If none of them are good, great! They're no longer taking up space in my brain. They're on this list. If one or two are good, great! You can build on those or warp them to fit.

I hope some of that helped, lol. I just tried to explain the way my brain works, and it isn't pretty, lmao.

#whiteglovemanor #asks #writing tips #writing

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forestryfae · 5 months

Text

but yeah. basically ive been sleeping during the day a lot and it sucks. works not going as good as i wish it did. balancing work and homelife isnt easy, and homelife is lacking.

i have an important letter i need to send, gotta call teh dentist, im supposed to be taking meds for rosascea but im not allowed to keep the meds in my room and noone is helping me remember the medication (which is stupid as fuck cus when im late to work once or twice theyre IMMEDIATELY on my ass asking if i need someone to come wake me up. hello??) i also have to call whoever gave me my drivers license for practicing or else i might have to take the whole course again.

i also have to go home for 3 weeks and im not looking forward to that. and i need to go spend christmas with mom which like. free food ig. family will need christmas presents but like im broke and i just dont see why. they fucking suck. why am i wasting money on people who care so little about me that they treat me like absolute dogshit. no basic respect or common decendy, talking down to me and treating me like shit all the time, literally anything that can be criticized will be critizied, no respect for boundaries and throwing fucking temper tantrums if i get mad that they trampled over them, just doing whatever the fuck they want and expecting me to be okay with it. nothing is ever good enough but if you dont try youre a lazy brat with no willpower. mental illness exists but its never the root of the problem, its always you. also everyone around them are mindreaders and if you didnt predict what they wanted youre an asshole and you lack common sense.

and i have to spend the next three weeks dealing with this shit with no chance of escape cus they can just show up with no warning at my house. she doesnt care if i was asleep or busy, that just gives her an excuse to be bitchy about it. the world revolves around noone and dont think youre something special except for if youre her. fucking bitch.

but yeah ill be spending 3 weeks mostly trying not to go insane. i need to clean the kitchen, bathroom, hallway and bedroom. i need to go through all the stuff in the kitchen so i dont have a million things i never even touch in there, plus i gotta actually cook every day and i have to go shopping atleats once a week, which wont be easy. the bedroom is a emss so i really want to clear out as much of it as possible, especially w the writing desk i have. its enormous and swallows up the whole room, and i have just a bunch of stuff and garbage lying around that i dont know what to do with.

then theres the bathroom, which is easy enough, but the cats been pissing on some of my clothes on the floor in there since noone in my family understands the concept of closing doors and not letting the cats play in insulation. like the doors dont. magically open by themselves. they were left open. theres also a fuckton of laundry and cleaning off the dryingracks since moms been fucking with those again, and she absolutely has been messing up my sorting. i went through my clothes and decided on what i want to keep and what not and now i 100% guaranteed have to go through that stuff again.

and like. i also have to look at what i have and what i dont have. cus i got some plastic boxes that i was gonna put stuff i wnated to keep in and i never got around to it so i have to just hope i can find it in me to bother going through verything in the house and packing what i actually want i really want to ask the people at the thriftshop i work at if they want like 4 or 5 boxes, if not more when im done, of just garbage. but at the same time, i KNOW theyll clean everything before selling it but i dont want to touch any of it and i dont want it anywhere near me. im so tired of cleaning and bad vibes. im so tired of stuff just not working out.

also. have been considering moving my bedroom to the livingroom. like it just seems easier but at the same time i dont want people in there or people going through my shit when im not at home. idk. its more like a bandaid in an attempt to deal with a broken leg that isnt healing cus its not in acast or getting medical attention.

#talkies

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sidhewrites · 6 months

Text

15! This one got long, it may end up being trimmed into two chapters. For now though, here's some exposition and research! Slight warning for suggested animal illness at the end, but I'll preface it with saying Renfield is fine and remains fine if a bit shaken throughout the entire book.

Project Info

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Magnus Sunthorpe, as it turns out, has a long history of paperwork that was only preserved due to negligence on the part of whoever cleaned out the archives. The file folder was stuffed full of moldering, century-old slips of paper, each in their own yellowed folder that had been stamped with date range of the contents inside, as well as a much more recent note that they had been digitally preserved.

"You think the old Librarian forbade anyone from throwing them out?" I ask, waggling my brows at Josie before, once again, being forced to contend with the fact that, actually, the Librarian could do exactly that. I bite back any discomfort, and force myself to say, "She seems the type to hoard everything."

She shoots me a distinctly unimpressed look while we request copies of each page from one of the living librarians back up on the first floor.

"What kind of research project is this supposed to be?" he asks. His name tag reads Carter.

I give Carter a smile. "A weird one."

"A biography," Josie clarifies.

He raises an eyebrow at me, correctly deducing that Josie is the brains of this operation. "These are gonna be due in two weeks, same as any library book. You need an extension, you gotta come in or call us so we can make a note." He takes us to the research stacks just past the children's library, and pulls two three-ring binders down, each labelled meticulously with dates and information. Carter deposits the binders in Josie's arms, and she promptly hands them off to me. "Is this for a class or something?" Carter asks.

"No." I barely manage to keep myself from adding that Josie's cat is possessed, and instead manage to stumble into a different, less suspicious line of conversation, "I think the lady who works downstairs doesn't like when you throw things out."

Carter pauses before placing the third binder on top of the other two. "Not in the least."

Josie's eyes gleam. "You know who she is?"

"I think I'd know my coworkers, yes."

"Don't you love this time of year?" I ask. "The weather is cooling off, the leaves are all red, and there seems to be spooky shit everywhere you turn. Especially in old creepy libraries."

"It's an old building. We're lucky the wifi works. Asking for things not to be spooky in the basement levels is just getting greedy."

"So you agree. The basements are spooky."

Josie kicks me lightly.

I give her my most innocent look.

"I just work here, ma'ams," Carter says, but he holds my gaze long enough to get the point across.

I nod, and Carter nods back, but there's too many people around to talk for long. He helps us check the records out and sends us on our way.

"So am I the only one around here who apparently sees ghosts, or do you think he's just imagining shadows and shit?"

Josie shrugs. "I'm sure you're not the only one. I wonder what the cause of it is."

"I had a near-death accident when I was fourteen. I was doing track and field after school and tripped over a hurdle. Nearly broke my neck. I was in and out of consciousness until I woke up and saw myself lying in a hospital bed hooked up to a hundred different machines and an IV. It was terrifying. I looked around and saw my parents there, red eyed and tired, and I looked out the window and saw this bright light, and a woman's voice telling me it's not my time yet. Go back, there were still so beautiful girls to woo and so much stupid shit left to do in this world."

She listens intently until i get far enough in to remove any doubt that I'm making everything up. "I can't believe you still don't -- I mean -- believe. You're literally dating a ghost."

"I'm not--" I start, and stammer. I mean -- I kind of am, aren't I? But my face flushes, and I get indignant regardless. "That's not --! We're not putting labels on anything yet!"

"So you're in a relationship. With a ghost."

"I..." I start. If I hadn't been carrying binders just then, I'd have thrown my hands in the air or gesticulated or something to burn off the sudden nervous energy building up in my limbs.

"It's okay, I'm not judging. Well -- I am, but it's not my place to tell you how to live your life anymore."

"It wasn't in the first place either," I mutter, and shake it off. We're almost to the edge of campus. "Lucy can only come out at night, so we've got some time until she can look things over. Should we...?" I shrug vaguely, not sure where I'm going with this.

[Transition]

Over the next few hours, Josie and I go through the bulk of the documents. Okay, she goes through the bulk of the pages, and I sit there and color code things with sticky notes. In my defense, research has never been my strong suit, no matter how interesting the subject, and I'd like a bit of praise for not giving up entirely and going on my phone.

The documents come together to form the story of a deeply unpleasant man. He brought his birth certificate with him when he came to Sutton, tracing his family back to a farm in Kentucky. He was one of eight kids, and moved in to town in [year]. He started keeping a journal a month in, which seemed to show him finally happy with his surroundings, surrounded by trees and peace and few people. Magnus hated everything about the people who lived in Sutton -- loud, friendly, often covered in sweat and sawdust, but he liked the solitude.

And then came the pages upon pages of formal noise complaints submitted to the mayor from [the year after he moved] all the way up until his death in [YEAR]. Seems like nothing got past him -- not a neighbor's hog farm causing a ruckus during feeding time in the morning, nor a colic baby being rushed to the doctor in the middle of the day. And if a party ran late in the bar, damn anyone who thought they could have a bit of fun on the weekend without there being trouble.

And then, finally, in [year], he faced his demise doing what he loved best -- being a dick. Magnus had come out on New Years Eve, lantern in hand, shouting to the good loggers who dared celebrate with drinks and music and shouting in town. He was shoved out of town and tossed into the stables -- which, the obit writer made sure to add -- hadn't been mucked in a few days.

A horse panicked and kicked him in the head. He was pronounced dead in the morning, presumably when everyone's hangovers became tolerable enough to leave bed.

In our search, we found a report someone put together of him back in the 1960s titled Sutton's Most Miserable Man by Oliver Proust. It seems, so says Oliver, Magnus was the reason Sutton created municipal complaint forms in the first place, as an unsuccessful attempt to put him off of whining so often to the mayor. He was also the main reason Sutton imported so much paper from a larger town before the mining boom caused the population to grow a decade or two after his death.

"Oliver was right on the money," I surmised, nodding resolutely at our handiwork. The pages had been sorted -- scanned diaries over here, municipal complaint forms over there. "The most miserable man in town, probably in all of history."

"See what Lucy has to say about it. Maybe she knows him?"

"What, like they haunt the graveyard together? You think they're ghost buddies?" Unfortunately, now that I say it, that sounds plausible. They may not be friends per se, but with how long and how sociable Lucy seems to be, I don't doubt that she knows some of the other ghosts in the cemetery. "I'll ask her tonight," I say, and then groan. That's going to mean breaking in. I'm getting frustratingly casual with breaking rules surrounding my job lately, and that's definitely going to spell trouble for me later.

While waiting for night to fall, I pace around my apartment, clutching my phone like it owes me money. I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this. It could cost me my job. It could ruin any future chances the graveyard might have of working with public figures. Mr. Ngo could be angry at me. A thousand worst-case scenarios play through my head, over and over again, but I just keep looking at Renfield, curled up next to the space heater.

At six, he doesn't get up for dinner. When I try to pet him, he lets out a quiet low growl.

I can feel him there. Magnus. Whenever I look away, I hear a rustling behind me, and I turn to see Renfield's head up, eyes open, pupils narrowed to a sliver. I know it's Magnus in there, watching me. Waiting to see what I'll do. There's no other option. I need help.

I pick up my phone and dial.

The number goes right to voicemail, but I plead my case all the same, begging for help. Or at least for half an idea what to do.

Come nightfall, I'm in the graveyard again, spreading the pages out on a bench for Lucy to look over as she stands off to the side.

"Does any of this look familiar to you?" I ask. My flashlight catches on her, and I have to remind myself that she's a ghost. Ghosts are real, and my kind-of-girlfriend is one herself. Even knowing all that, however, it's still so easy to forget. She looks as solid as I do, her face pale but catching the light like it should. There are such subtle signs of wrongness that, even looking for them, they're easy to miss. But her veil doesn't move in the slight breeze, and the grass below her feet remains undisturbed. Even the mud clinging to my shoes is nowhere to be seen on her outfit, the hem of her gown as spotless as if it was freshly cleaned.

She pores over the pages, either unaware or uninterested in my staring as she scans the pages, eyes darting back and forth from headline to municipal form to obituary.

"No, not a thing. I could ask around, of course. I'm sure someone from his time would have more answers than myself."

I nod. Magnus died thirty years before Lucy was born.

[conversation about ghosts and the different kinds? Lucy has vague acquaintances.] "But ghosts don't socialize in quite the same way. We're not...all here, not all the time."

"Like when the sun's out?"

She nods. "For me, yes. But the rules aren't wholly clear, and they seem to be shifting all the time for some spirits."

I shift my weight and wrap my arms around my knees. "What do you mean?"

[Orbs vs spirits with no corporeal/visual form, sometimes they're more aware of where thye are sometimes its just emotions or detached intentions of going home]

She stands and looks at the old tree, skirts rustling in a nonexistent breeze. It's like she has her own weather sometimes, the wind wherever she is entirely detached from the wind where I am.

"Do you ever miss it?"

"Miss what?"

"I don't know. Life. Touching things? Eating. Changing your clothes. That kind of stuff."

She presses her lips together, gaze falling away. "I'm not sure. I've been dead longer than I was ever alive, and the world is so...big. There's so much to it now. And my memories of my life aren't always..." She pauses, trying to find the right words, but I think I understand this one.

"Yeah," I say, and rest my chin on my knees. "Like they're right there in front of you, and you know they're there, but you can't quite reach them anymore. You don't know where to look for them, right?"

"Exactly, yes."

"I get that sometimes. I mean -- I don't know if mine is the same as yours, but I have that sometimes."

"But you're alive."

"Eh." I shrug. "My brain's broken, but it's less broken now than I was when I was a teenager. Caffeine helps though." I lift my coffee in a toast.

"I don't follow."

"You want a brief history on psychiatric advancements of the 20th century?" It's a joke, but Lucy [looks at me like she'd like nothing more.] "Okay, sorry, that was an exaggeration. Basically, I have issues reliably paying attention and remembering things, among a whole slew of other stupid issues."

She nods, but I don't miss the hint of disappointment in her expression.

Before I realize what I'm saying, I blurt out, "I'll get a book from the library tomorrow. We can read it together, and I'll turn the pages for you. Deal?"

"Deal." Then, after a moment of deliberation, she says, "But why does coffee help?"

"Stimulants calm my brain down."

"Why?"

I shrug, and take a sip. "Because it's broken."

When I put my cup down, however, Lucy is looking at me, a crease furrowed between her brows.

"What?" I ask.

"Is it really?"

"Is what really?"

"Your brain. Is it really broken?"

"Oh. Nah." I laugh. "I'm just being dramatic. I'm fine now. Or, mostly anyway. Nothing too much coffee can't fix." Just to prove a point, I tilt my head back, and chug. I am the epitome of feminine grace.

Her concern doesn't let up.

I feel my smile falter under her gaze, and shrug. "It's fine, really."

"Kaz..."

I don't want to go into this. Not now. Not with her. "Look, I'm okay now. Really. I have some issues, but they're miles better now than when I was a teen."

Lucy makes a show of sitting on the bench, not even disturbing the papers I've set out, and patting the space next to her. Reluctantly, I gather the pages up and set them in my lap before sitting next to her. She doesn't talk first, just waits for me to be ready.

"Look...I mean it when I say I'm fine now, okay? There's problems, but it's manageable now. When I was a kid, you know..." I shrug. "I don't know when they came up with the term, but I had a major depressive disorder. I lay in bed for days on end. I fought with my parents because it was easier than pretending to be okay. When they learned I liked girls ..." I frown. My dad's words never left my memory, fallible as it could be some times. "It got worse. I got worse. My parents got worse. I had the grades to go to an ivy league school in junior year, then by senior year it was a miracle I graduated at all."

I don't look at Lucy, instead focusing on my calloused hands, fingers gripping the library pages tightly. "I had to skip a year before coming here, and I just barely got in." My fingers won't stay still. My knee bounces. "I'm better now, though. Away from my family. I have people I love here, and Renfield makes sure I get out of bed in the mornings, if only to feed him breakfast."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lucy's hand. She doesn't touch mine, but rests it gently next to it, our pinky fingers less than an inch from touching.

"I promise I'm doing okay, okay? I don't really mean it when I say my brain's broken. Other people have it worse. I just like to be a shit sometimes."

"Sometimes," she echoes, and there's a smirk in her voice, though it doesn't last long. When I look up, her gaze is distant. "When my husband passed, I thought I was dying. I don't remember his face, but I remember that...painful numbness. Like I was being torn apart at the seams, and yet like I was feeling nothing at all." Her brow furrows, mouth curving into a frown. "I lay in bed for days, not eating. I think I slept. And then..." She sighs. "I died. I woke up here, without him. If I saw my own funeral, I don't remember it."

I want to take her hand. I barely move my pinky out, feeling the icy static of her ghostly skin against mine.

"Do you miss him?"

"I loved him more than anything. I moved from the city to be with him." She pauses. "He was going to buy me a camera the second he had enough money. Every day he'd kiss me goodbye and promise that we'd have a million photographs -- of our home, of our family... Of us." She shook her head. "The only photo left was our marriage photo. I don't even know where it is anymore."

"I'll find it," I say without thinking.

"Kaz --"

"No. Listen. I'll find it for you, okay? You're a huge star in paranormal communities. If it's out there, someone has it, and probably posted it online. I'll find it."

She looks me dead on, the corners of her mouth starting to pull upwards once more. "I believe you."

"Believe in the internet," I say.

Lucy shakes her head. "I believe in you."

I'm still walking on air when I return home. I hum to myself, jingling my keys before putting them into the lock and opening the door

I stop dead in my tracks as soon as I step inside. The apartment has been turned upside down. Textbooks thrown off the table and shredded, dishes shattered on the kitchen tile. All my knickknacks and things litter the floor, chairs knocked over, couch torn to bits. Even the floor lamp has been knocked to the ground, the remains of light bulbs glittering in the carpet.

Renfield sits on the table, surrounded by his destruction. His fur is paler, pupils narrowed to a thin sliver in his yellow eyes.

"Have you had fun tonight?" Magnus asks. Black bile drips from Marius's mouth, and he launches himself at me with a wail.

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whumpinggrounds · 2 years

Text

Firmware Update

CW: male whumpee, male whumper, lab whump, light gore, blood, cutting, surgery ish? vivisection honestly sorry T

It’s early when the door swings shut behind Wagner. T is in the gym, regaining muscle he’d lost in the weeks he spent lying on his back, gasping for air. The clock built into his system rouses him every morning at five, at least an hour and a half before any of the team straggle in to test or observe. Usually, he has that time to be alone, to complete whatever assigned list of tasks the team has left him with. Today, clearly, he will not be so lucky.

“T. Here, now.” Wagner snaps his fingers and points at the floor, and T attends to him, obedient as a dog. Looking him up and down, Wagner’s lip curls, and T imagines that’s a reaction to the sweat running off him, gluing his tank top to his chest. He doesn’t comment on it, just barks out another order. “Follow me.”

Once more, T obeys, following Wagner from a featureless room loaded with exercise equipment into a featureless hallway. Both of them have been down here long enough to know what lurks behind each closed door, and the farther they walk down the hallway, the more nervous T becomes. They’ve passed his room. They’ve passed three testing arenas, including the maze room. They’ve even passed the airless, humming closet where the team keeps massive monitors and drivers and servers, different things to hook up to the mechanical parts of T, so they can look at the insides of his circuitry, make his body hum with borrowed electricity.

The only things left ahead of them are the showers, the surgical suite, and the door to the outside. When they pass the showers, T comes to a stop.

Wagner isn’t checking his progress, so he keeps walking until he arrives outside the surgical suite. Then, he looks back to find T a good few paces behind him, and he scowls. “Get over here.”

T’s lips are dry. He wants to gulp down the lump in his throat, but Wagner would see that. “Team member Daniel Wagner not cleared to remove asset from secure containment level-”

“I’m not removing you,” Wagner snaps. Despite his irritation, a smirk manages to twist his face. “You’re due for a firmware update.”

This time, T can’t help swallowing. He knows it’s visible, and he sees Wagner’s eyes widen at such a prominent sign of nervousness. T isn’t supposed to feel things like nervousness. “God, you’re getting soft,” the tech scoffs. “Get over here, robot. Now.”

“You…sir, Doctors Zhu and Pool perform firmware updates-”

“Yeah, well, I know all the theory.” Wagner shrugs. “How hard could it be?”

The smile he sends T’s way is eager and cruel. Moving like a condemned man, T walks slowly toward him. He steps past Wagner, through the door, and into the surgical suite.

Elsewhere in this underground warren, the walls are plain concrete, no time taken to dress anything up. In here, the floor is tile and the walls are coated in some kind of slick white plastic. It’s easy to disinfect. It’s also easy to spray down. There’s a sink, and a hose nozzle, and a drain set in the floor.

Next to the drain, there’s a table.

It’s also white, so that anything spilled on it will show up, stark and visible under fluorescents. There are restraints in each corner. There’s an IV pole standing by, trays of instruments. Everything gleams, slick and clean like new, under the glare of bright and unforgiving lights.

Behind T, Wagner shuts the door.

Little harm has come to T in this room. Dr. Zhu and Dr. Pool, and all the doctors who came before them, are experts in their field. They work quickly, efficiently, minimizing damage, minimizing discomfort. Most of the time that T is in this room, he’s unconscious. His brain has a sort of sleep mode, apparently, that doesn’t even require anesthesia. They knock him out with a line of complex code, and then there’s no struggling, no change in heart rate, when they cut into the meat body or make additions made of metal. Afterward, when T wakes up, there’s discomfort, sometimes. What Freddy would call pain. But the surgical suite itself is nothing T has ever had cause to fear. After all, he hardly knew what fear was.

But now he’s alone with Wagner inside of it, and he’s never seen quite this look on Wagner’s face.

“On the table,” Wagner orders, and silently, T obeys. He begins to strap himself in, slightly proud of the steadiness of his hands, but then Wagner growls at him, and slaps his hands away. “I’ll do that.”

He tightens the restraints until the leather creaks. T reminds himself to breathe, deep and slow. That just deepens Wagner’s scowl.

“I’m not scheduled for any firmware updates.” T doesn’t know why he’s trying, but the words slip out, almost unintentional. “You are not authorized to perform unapproved firmware updates-”

When Wagner slaps him, it’s not unexpected, but it still knocks T’s head to the side. “You never used to argue with me,” hisses the tech, as he tightens the final restraint around T’s wrist, so tight that T can feel the blood flow cut off. “Fucking wonderboy Freddy Taran and his big fucking ideas. He’s ruined you, you know that? He’s ruining you, and no one else sees it.”

Strapped down, back pressed against the slick metal surface of the table, T heaves in quick, hard breaths, because he can’t control the heave of his lungs anymore. Freddy, ruin him? He thinks about the tech, his feathery brown hair and easy smile and eyes so constantly concerned. He thinks about Freddy talking about emotion, the way he moves his hands through the air when he describes something he can’t find the right words for.

Freddy couldn’t ruin anything. Least of all T.

“Giving you ideas.” Wagner is still muttering under his breath. “Contradicting your programming. The only brain in your head is the one I put in there, you got that?” He glares down at T, teeth bared in an ugly scowl. “Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Sir!” Wagner smacks him so hard upside the head that T sees stars. “You used to call me sir.”

“Sorry, sir.”

They can both hear the false note in T’s voice.

Lip curling, Wagner snatches a scalpel, seemingly at random. T’s entire body is tense, held rigid against the restraints, against the metal table beneath him. He takes deep breaths, reminds himself to breathe deep and even. He relaxes his body slowly, intentionally, with great dedicated effort.

None of that helps when Wagner cuts into him.

The scalpel is sharp enough to slice through his skin, but not sharp enough that it doesn’t sting. T draws in all his breath in a hiss through his teeth, and Wagner grins, all teeth and too-bright eyes. The scalpel presses in just above T’s breastbone and then draws down, down, toward T’s bellybutton. The feeling is hot, searing, a tearing pain that has T tense and gasping against the metal table. Wagner frowns.

“Not deep enough,” he mutters, mostly to himself. He sets the point of the scalpel back at the top of the wound, prepared to press the blade in again. That’s when T passes out for the first time, the world fading into dizzying black spots.

He comes back quickly, fully alert, to the feeling of pain washing over him in huge, ripping waves. “Welcome back,” Wagner smirks. One hand is still holding the scalpel – and he’s not even wearing a glove, not properly scrubbed in. Dr. Pool would have his head.

The other hand holds an iPad. There’s a cord attached to it, one that snakes toward T’s head. It must be plugged into the port in the back of his neck. Which means that Wagner has a direct line to his brain. He’s stimulating nerves to wake T. Whatever surgical procedure he has planned, T is going to be awake for it.

Gritting his teeth, T tries to brace for the next stroke of Freddy’s scalpel. The pain comes in a wave so overwhelming he feels nauseous, and then dizzy, and then nothing.

He blinks awake again. “Stop doing that,” Wagner chides, but he sounds amused as he does. Tossing the scalpel aside, he scoops up a probe and then he’s digging it into T’s chest.

Blackness again.

The bright fluorescent lights, and T blinking through so much pain he can’t help catching his breath, crying out.

“Don’t be a baby,” Wagner lectures. He keeps probing, and T keeps succumbing to the seductive blackness. When he wakes – and every time, he wakes – it’s to unending, unendurable pain. For a while, T bears it, the way he bears everything, because it’s his only option. Lights, pain, helplessness, black. Lights, agony, helplessness, black. It cycles so fast he can’t catch his breath, barely has time to recognize what’s happening. Lights. Confusion, terror, unbelievable agony. Realization. Horrifying understanding.

Black.

It feels like it will go on forever. T will cycle and cycle until he loses what little sense he has from the pain and the fear and the goddamn helplessness. He just takes it, and takes it, and goes on taking it.

Then, abruptly, he no longer can.

There’s a river of red flowing out of T’s chest onto the table. Out of the corners of his eyes, he can see the flash of metal circuitry and the pink of viscera. Bile rises in T’s throat, and he thinks he’s going to pass out again and get just those few dark seconds of blessed relief.

Instead, his heart rate ticks up. His breathing comes faster. All over, his body begins to itch as he starts to sweat. He’s – he’s lost too much blood.

The realization comes slowly to his meat brain. His mechanical components have already gathered this information, processed it, set off audible alarms in T’s ears. There’s one beeping, steady and slow, out of a speaker set into his shoulder. It’s a warning. A dire one. Still poking around in his chest, Wagner waves one hand distractedly at T.

His hand is soaked in blood. It’s running past his glove and onto his wrist, long crimson trails bright against his pale skin. T’s blood is running straight down Wagner’s skin, and the tech doesn’t seem to care. Horrified, fascinated, almost hypnotized, T watches the blood drip. His breathing comes faster, faster, faster. The beeping in his ears is hard, fast, insistent. Climbing slowly into a wail.

“Stop doing that.”

Wagner’s voice is distracted. T keeps hyperventilating. The edges of his vision are going dark, and his body is starting to tremble against the table. The discarded scalpel rattles.

“T, I said stop.”

T opens his mouth, not knowing what he’s going to say. An explanation? A plea for mercy? The only thing that comes out is a strangled gasp. Glancing up sharply, Wagner takes in T’s pale face, wide eyes, the beads of sweat that stand out on his forehead. Startled, uneasy, he drops the probe, reaches for T’s face. He stops before his bloody fingers can make contact, and they hover there, inches from T’s forehead.

“T?”

He sounds far away, echoing.

“T!”

Now he sounds alarmed.

“T! Robot! Stupid fucking thing-”

There’s a stinging in T’s neck, a whining in his ears. Wagner must be trying to force-wake him using the port on his neck and the hardware in his head. It isn’t working. The room grows dimmer and dimmer, and then, like closing a door, T’s world goes entirely, finally, blessedly dark.

@whumptober, @whumptober-archive

@stab-the-son-of-a, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @redwingedwhump, @ocean-blue-whump, @impalasexual, @i-can-even-burn-salad, @sadcatjae, @whump-cravings, @kawhump, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @winedark-whump, @whumpingmydarlings, @maracujatangerine

#whumptober #whumptober2022 #repeatedly passing out #going into shock #no.19 #no.20 #oc #fic #freddy and the robot #surgery #vivisection #kinda #mild gore #blood #cutting

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dissociativediscourse · 2 years

Note

Today I got told by my therapist that if I want to schedule bi-weekly sessions rather than weekly, shes either going to “help me find another therapist within the practice to discuss my treatment plan with who MIGHT be ok with bi-weekly sessions” or shes dropping me as a patient, strictly because I have DID. She told me that she sees it as unethical on her part not to do weekly sessions, and that for some of her DID patients, she says them three times a week. Forgive me, shrink, but I dont want to focus on trauma recovery every single week when I JUST got out of a constant fight or flight state for the first time in my whole life recently. Why do I have to become trauma to get care? Why am I not allowed to have a busy, functioning life and DID at the same time? I was desperately looking for a great therapist that would specialize in trauma and dissociation, and she does, and I got that, but now its under the condition that I bring everything that I dont even have access to to the surface every single fucking week, something I dont have 1. time for, 2. energy for due to being chronically ill (which is where most of my fucking trauma and dissociation came from in the first place), 3. the space to fucking care about it when Im busy being able to look outside and know its not a literal firey apocalyptic wasteland out there. Theres grass outside. Theres trees and forests and wind and bubbling water and cold things and hot things and all these wonderful plants (I love plants) and animals and so many lovely things, and Im seeing all of that for the first time, and she wants me to see the earth burn again every week? Im not fucking Prometheus and she cant make me do shit. I fucking abhor how DID is somehow synonymous with such intense suffering it renders you either clinically inept or clinically insane. No, motherfucker, I survived. I fucking survived, you think my brain would do all of that just to leave me with dementia-like behavior? Fuck you, how dare you.

This just seemed like the perfect blog to send something like this in, I just had to get this out and I feel so alone with dealing with this shit. Trauma recovery should never mean removing the survivor from their present moment and bringing them back into trauma, especially WITHOUT CONSENT which is all Ive been fucking getting no matter how blunt and upfront I am about controlling my own care. I just want her to see a person, not pain. Why is there no nuance? Why cant I be a person in pain sometimes and a pained person other times?

I am glad you sent this here. I’m sorry I’ve taken so long to respond. The way October is for me has just made me step back a little.

It sounds like this is a blessing in disguise. (Signaling you to RUN!!) Because your therapist is doing so many things wrong I doubt they should be treating anyone with DID. I mean, the fact they’re trying to get you to do trauma work multiple times a week when you do not want to or threatening to drop you is one of the biggest therapist red flags I think I’ve ever seen. And it sounds like a tactic an abusive parent would use. Trauma therapy can be and is retraumatizing if it is not done right, and this is especially the case with DID. That’s why there are phases to its treatment.

You are supposed to be *reasonably stable enough to be able to handle any of the consequences that occur and to be able to cope with what you go through* when you start to deep dive into trauma. The VERY FIRST phase of treatment is stabilization. And it sounds like you are just being forced straight into constant… This? No!!! This is not how you do it!!! This is not therapy!! This is forcing someone to have flashbacks at your will and threatening them if they don’t!! How is that okay?? It’s not!!

And this isn’t even to MENTION that if you are not ready, or say you do not want to do trauma work that day, or are severely uncomfortable or a host of other things— the therapist SHOULD NOT be either making you do it or even allowing another part to try to force you into it for self harm purposes.

I’m so sorry. Please find another therapist. Let her drop you. That threat was a blessing in disguise. This is a situation that cannot end well, and I worry about her other patients if she acts like this is standard. She needs to deal with her own issues before she should be anywhere near others’. If you need resources for help finding therapists, please send an ask or a message my way letting me know or and I’ll help you out. There are also some in my #advice asks tag.

Trauma therapy should not torture you, it should not hurt like this. It hurts, but it should not be this way. And there are good therapists out there, it just sounds like you haven’t found one yet. And I’m really sorry for that.

If you’re an adult and you want someplace to gather resources for finding therapy/advice from others/to chat about any of this, it seems like you might have some use for the Survivor’s Network? It’s a discord server and it’s in my pinned. I know a lot of members have been through similar therapy situations, and when you are going through that, it’s nice to have a purely recovery-oriented space to help out. (Not trying to plug, just seemed helpful, lol.)

#advice asks #advice #asks #dissociative identity disorder advice #osddid #osdd advice #therapy advice tag

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bumblebeerror · 2 years

Text

My teeth hurt sometimes, just. In general. They’ve done this a while now, mostly when the weather changes. It starts in my jaw and creeps up my teeth until I can’t chew very well because I don’t want to move my jaw or put pressure on my teeth. It also means sleeping’s difficult, and just. Most things weirdly become a lot more difficult when you don’t want to chew. My jaw’s been like this for a week or so now? I think. I mostly don’t notice it starting until sleeping gets harder.

Anyway, all that to say it’s been a Rough day when it comes to my body and brain working correctly. I woke up when I usually do, took my adhd meds, and then fell asleep for another three hours. I streamed today after talking with some friends, and about a hour after my two hour stream, I just hit a wall. I’m already tired enough to go back to sleep now. Everything is shaky and tender and it’s… such a slap in the face. Sometimes.

Especially because I don’t register pain like this. It doesn’t occur to my brain to interpret it that way. I get tired, I feel pressure more sharply, but I don’t feel pain unless I stop to check in. So if you asked me today what I was feeling… I’d tell you Im tired. I’d tell you I feel shaky and maybe kind of feverish, that my legs dont want to work at any faster pace. I’d tell you my body feels weak and that my neck and head ache, because that’s about the only pain on me that’s sharp, that changes, that waxes and wanes.

And at some point today I finally registered that I was feeling pain. That my hands are shaking because every nerve in them is sending a constant signal. My arms feel heavy and my legs feel wobbly and my joints feel unstable because every nerve is sending a message I can’t read. Its kind of funny, in a way - if I stop focusing on reading that message as pain, it stops registering that way again. Like Francis Freeman, the villian in the first Deadpool movie? One of his powers is not feeling pain.

I’m not sure what my point here really is? I don’t share often, and I don’t enjoy being pitied. I don’t want to feel like someone who needs saving. Your princess is in another castle, all that. I just wanted it written. I keep hitting dead ends and my pcp doesn’t know how to help me. I can’t get disability and I can’t work enough to support myself, so I don’t have much of s choice on whether I stay with my mum - and she can’t afford to pay for my car. And I can feel my body degrading, even if I don’t look at the hours I used to be capable of. I used to work nearly 40hrs a week closing s daycare, keeping up with kids and cleaning the place. Then 25, cleaning a clinic. Now I work 8 cleaning an office, and can’t afford gas to get there. I won’t lie, if I let myself think about it too long, it gets frightening.

I don’t know. I hate dwelling on things I can’t fix, and I loathe feeling sorry for myself. If I can’t make a joke about it, I don’t want to deal with it. But a part of me also doesn’t want what’s happening to me to be forgotten. A part of me wants a record. A part of me wants to be convinced that I’m not… insane? That I’m not faking it, somehow, that I’m actually in pain that I can’t feel anymore. That other people don’t feel this way all the time. That what people told me as a kid, dismissed, that it’s wrong. That they didn’t know I was feeling something bad.

I wish school had taught us practical things. Like how much pain the average non-ill person is every day (none). To this day I still pose questions about it to one of my friends who has an old shoulder injury but no widespread issues like this, just to check.

Ive rambled enough, I think. I’m gonna shower and sleep. Have a good timezone, if you decided to read all that for some reason.

#i am only asking you to not call me an inspiration #if you think you’d rather die than be me kindly be inspired to help fix the bullshit I have to go thru to get treated for anything #bumble rumbles

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