#personally I dont like to use the word insane to describe myself or others
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Are you slowly going insane over your OWN ocs?
No, I've been infected by brainworms the entire time. Nothing slow about it.
But honestly, no... It's not really about my characters to me. I love my characters, of course, and I love telling stories, and I hope to keep making art of my characters every day until I die.
But it's not about them! They're not REALLY what I love, what I love is people! And I hope I can leave the world with a hundred different love letters so my readers can feel how much I love them for even one day longer than I am here.
My characters are a conduit through which I can give that to people. I want nothing more than to make someone feel a little more loved, a little more seen, and a little less alone. And my characters are the best way I know how to do that.
So for that, they're incredibly important to me... But they're not for me. They're for you!
So I hope you enjoy them
and I hope you can feel that I love you through them.
#personally I dont like to use the word insane to describe myself or others#I struggle with many things but when it comes to my characters#I am nothing but concrete#determined#and absolutely positively headstrong through and through.#I don't take myself too seriously#And I don't hold too much sacred that I do#I really just want to make the world slightly better#for even one person#anyways.#asks#izzy-fishy#oh this is also why I hate like... advertising#and locking anything behind a paywall#and just. all of that stuff#I wish I could just make money drawing whatever and everything I do were free with no issues#but the best way for me to pay my bills and make more art is for some of it to be for money... so.#unfortunately I dont get to truly live my dream#where I spend all day teaching people how to draw and making them art they love#ALAS!!!#capitalism
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hey. i dont like doing this. and i dont want to be a tumblr bitch who's wrote a callout before. but i cannot in good faith continue posting in the same community as this guy and allow him to pretend to not be genuinely a sicko. but @/bloomingduskk (who im sure will change urls after i post this is. a prosh.ipper radq.eer trans.d alongside a plethora of unfavorable unethical things. most of which being too personal to share, but enough left for me to be uncomfortable with my own silence.
tw for like fucking everything lol
I never wanted to be in this position, or ever have to be the author of something like this. I am not a confrontational person or someone who enjoys drama, i’m entirely someone who goes out of his way not to get involved in such things, but due to my past public friendships with this person, and his tendencies of covering his tracks and lying about me and my friends, i feel as if it would be cowardly of me not to at least issue a warning about this user, and hope my message is conveyed well. If this was solely a personal gripe, I would not come out with a doc publically, I have no intentions of being petty, and am purposely leaving out a lot of petty issues and things that have been done to harm me personally. I only intend to talk about the actual dangers he promotes, and provide counterclaims to the narratives he tends to enjoy putting out.
Before going further, i will be addressing him by his url, or nothing at all, as i will not be calling him by the japanese name he chooses to go by as a white person. It is against my morals. I hope that my decision doesn’t make this document more confusing than it needs to be.
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bloomingduskk uses Japanese names as a white person, and has done so for a while. He currently uses the name “maki” , and for the last half of 2023, went by Kaede, despite the fact that i firmly told him not to due to it being cultural appropriation multiple times, and each time he gave me an excuse, before continuing to do it. This is not a targeted attack against him, as he has said before in regard to being told not to use a japanese name, but something that i would condemn no matter who the person was. He identify(s)d as transracial. No matter the mental health issues you may have, the entire concept of “transitioning” into an ethnic minority is racist and entirely unacceptable. Here was his response to that.
And here is him self describing as transracial, and his pinned post on his old radqueer blog
^^ his discord at the time, which i and many others have personal dms with, matched exactly with his radq.ueer blogs. he cannot fucking say this isnt him i will go insane if he tries to deny this shit. He has spoken about me under the guise that I am stalking him, despite never having me blocked on anything but an old art account, and also the fact that I have gone out of my way, due to having severe morality ocd, not to scroll through or look at his content. All screenshots were provided to me secondhand, and not from my own devices, due to how severe this situation was for me, a person with ocd who he knew has ocd. At the time of these screenshots, i specifically requested my friends to block out his usernames so i didn't obsessively compulsively make myself feel sick scrolling through his blogs. (the screenshots in question here are not mine, i own a samsung galaxy, this ui does not match. I added my own annotations to the second image though.) VV his self identification as a proshipper + some stuff he had on his propara blogs (heavy tw)
^^ the first image here is in repsonse to an extremely long and thought out message my friend sent him during this period to this specific blog of his when it still existed.
his response to this was full of lies and empty promises and excuses, and plenty of vapid words he has taken back. i dont see a point in including what he had to say about this purely because he was lying through his teeth.
his twt account was probably the worst thing of his that was shown to me. i do not want to include screenshots of the things he would retweet as they were all sexually explicit imagery and posting of pedophilia, rape, beastiality, severe abuse, loli/shota content, and general dangerous and exploitative philias. i do not want to make that content more reachable to anyone than it already is . this account has been deleted. but i have been given screenshots of him posting his art there. along with the most tame thing i think he posted there. yeah
a lot of the harm he has done to my friends and i is extremely personal, far more personal than i feel comfortable airing out on a public blog that i've worked hard to distance a public personality from. so, i am not willing to spend time slowly outlining every single lie and harmful action he has done. that would make this post impossibly long, and i dont have the stomach to retrigger myself in this way. this has taken me two months to write, as i am deeply bothered by it and this entire event with him made me the sickest i'd been in a long while. do not fucking harass him. block him. im certain he's going to send himself anon asks pretending to be stargloom rabid fans or pretend to be my friends or whatever but all i want is for him to stay the fuck away from me and my friends and spaces where he pretends he isn't into vile shit. block him. dont interact. dont send him anything. just be careful of this cunt . i refuse to let him walk around as if he hasn't happily and enthusiastically promoted the most vile content one can enjoy.
im sure he's gonna scramble after this and probably start spewing revolting shit abt me which hes done at every single turn after me being upset. but he cannot pretend like nothing happened forever. thanks.
#long post#starspeak#jesus christ. now i gotta fucking trigger tag this shit#tw inc*st#tw pedophila mention#tw sh#tw zoophile mention#tw unsanitary#i already said this but DO NOT harass him please just dont interact w this sicko or engage w his work#i know he will send himself anon asks its his favourite game but genuinely. dont do that. thanks#this is rebloggable please do if u can i dont like how he slinks around in the dgr fandom all innocent#tw r4p3#bruh i cannot keep up w these censored tags#i will probs rb this throughout the week bc i want . this to be known#i am leaving this up because i dont want this to be ignored or forgotten about .
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i was looking through some dhmis qnas today and the way the characters are described and answer questions makes me insane (positively)
duck is completely insane. the way he sees the world and the people around him makes zero sense to anyone but him and hes so certain hes right because he thinks hes the center of the damn universe. i dont use this word lightly, because i myself have really bad delusions, but duck is delusional. although, can they even be called delusions if the window mightve actually been disrespecting him? its hard to tell. maybe he DID win a tournament, who knows?! can you really call him delusional when he lives in a world as strange as he does? personally, yes, i can. but even without delusions, i fully believe hes completely lost his mind. i think hes a smart person but his decisions are driven by his huge ego and the “rules” hes made up in his head. theres much more to say about duck, because hes very complex, but i just want to talk about this aspect of him for now.
i like this about him because of how he and red guy are so comedically different. the question joe pelling was answering in the screenshot above is “who is your favorite character to write” well baker terry and becky sloan had a whole discussion with joe pelling about how red guy is actually the best to write because hes refreshing. hes a break from all the nonsense, or at least he is most of the time.
baker terry said something about him that i’ll probably make a whole other post for, but for this post specifically i just want to highlight the heavy difference between duck and red guy. red guy at least tries to think reasonably, and he usually does. he might slip from time to time but duck is just completely off the deep end. that man is batshit. he literally has rabies. he grows teeth randomly. his organs just fall out. its interesting to me how the most normal guy in the series is stuck with this little freak. youd assume from these answers alone that these characters would dislike eachother, that theyd bore and bug eachother to death. but when you see them talk to eachother or about eachother that isnt the case at all.
i just think its funny, a little ironic, how cruel he is. and yet
love is everywhere, i suppose. its a place, its a thing.
#fluffybird#dhmis#dhmis duck#dhmis fandom#dhmis red guy#duck guy#red guy#red guy x duck#duck dhmis#dont hug me im scared
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i wanted to add more to that previous post, but a lot of people nowadays dont get what being autistic is like
its like failing every single social interaction, so you learn to copy successful ones from tv or the internet
its having a fucked up understanding of social rules, fucked up in the sense that you don’t seem to understand them until you play them through in your mind over and over again and it finally sets why they make sense
like, dont get me wrong, maybe no one can relate to what im describing, maybe im the only one that relates; but i have to replay scenarios over and over inside my head and through characters and situations to be able to rationalize them outside of “it gives you a higher score in being a good person”
its also a barrier in linguistics, i make up so many words that only make sense to me, i combine words all the time, i used to fail to communicate what i meant, and i got in trouble or upsetted people all around because what i want to convey and what my mouth says are two different things
its also a huge barrier in empathy, i either feel every single emotions or im unnable to relate at all, which sometimes makes me seem like a sociopath
its having insane insomnia fits, making me unnable to sleep, having to work through most days with half my tank in energy
its having an eating disorder because eating makes me feel nice, and since i cant properly regulate my emotions by nature, i end up overeating and making myself sick
its being isolated from most of the world, because you feel like no one gets you, and that you are so fundamentally weird that no one will ever get you
its so much more than just having strong interest!! its so much more complicated!!!
but yeah, i think social media has made it into just a flanderized version of what the experience truly is that most teens cannot differentiate it
and i get the why, society nowadays punishes you brutally for being weird, UNLESS you have a “get out of jail” card
so i do understand why people fixate so much in being diagnosed, because sometimes you might think that having a reason for your weird abnormal behavior will be enough to just indulge in it, without any guilt
let me tell you, it isn’t like that
i didnt asked to be diagnosed, i got refered by my psych after multiple sessions and my meds not working as intended
having the answer as to why im the way i am didn’t fix anything, because at the end of the day you have to find a way to fit inside society or endure eternal loneliness, you cannot force others to let you into their lives just cause you have a disorder
you will always need to be a social person if you want people to socialize with you
sometimes being weird is nice and you should indulge in it as long as you dont hurt anyone else or yourself!! you dont need an excuse, you just need to be strong enough to be weird for the sake of being weird!
im not saying to not get a diagnosis, you should get one if you feel the ACOMODATIONS will benefit you more than the drawbacks of having a diagnosis
i just think we should allow people to not be shamed for just being weird, because then obviously they will hang to anything that might be a useful way to defend themselves from cruelty, be it a diagnosis or something else
anyway, those were just my two cents
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i can tell the therapists in my program dont wanna use the word bpd nd idk. it just lwave s aweird feeling. like ik im not formally diagnosed and i also know bpd is incredibly hard to diagnose and also complex ans also u probably dont even rly want it written down but it was written down on my file for my past therapist. so its just weird my current ones dont wanna believe it. its rly confusing to me i feel ashamed to even bring ot up. i was talking abt splitting in individual session and she like corrected me kinda and said its trauma response. like yes splitting is often a trauma response too both can b true. its just really confusing but ik therapists have biases and the stigma makes it so fkn complex but i just feel really crazy and insane and like no one hears me. like maybe i dont present as someone w a personality disorder and also the way i describe past events i dont delve into all the ugly full details and its not oike im trying to lie and ill describe it but its like i subsconsciously water it down ig just so its easier to say? idk. idk im just crazy rn. but its making me feel rly bad honestly lol. ik diagnosis doesnt matter that much honestly when im already learning dbt skills and cbt and the program is stillhelpful bjt that aspect puts me off. and there's at least 3 other ppl in my group w bpd as well. I just feel like i cant eben bring it up around mental health professionals i feel like no one fucking believes.me. at leas tmy last therapist did and i still eben doubt her own opinion cuz she told.me "what were dealing w is definitely bpd" when i asked her and also said its on my file but she didnt tell me that til end of september so ive been sitting w that for a month and its hust confusing as fuck. ik i shld grt formally diagnosed maybe but i srsly dont trust mental health professions that way anynore and they r very hesitant to diagnose bpd anyway. that therapisf did think ihave it and say i did but yk im just really confused. And overall ik diagnoses r just labels so who cares ig but idk it does make it rly hard when i go thru smth that ik isnt normal and ik i split so its just confusing when everyone around u has some bias against u or disbelief i guess ik i sound paranoid idk. But ik most mental health professionals do nto take me seriously itfeels honestly. and imalso not great at advocating for myself so as soon as someone expresses doubt i just go w it i guess. idk
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I am grabbing fistfuls of dirt screaming, I am once again thinking about Dick Grayson as gender queer and how cool it would be to me
like hear me out guys
gender identity and expression are completely different things and I just think it would be so cool and epic if his gender was a huge confusing blob of things ok? like just for fun because I also know lots of people see him as just cis or maybe even a trans guy and those are completely valid! there are multiple ways to explore and enjoy a character! and its great! im glad people like him! im just really insane about him and gender, because my own gender is a fucking mess of a thing and hes a mess and god knows I love mashing things together. so like a Dick Grayson who's never felt quite right in his skin, like somethings are just off, while other things he wouldn't change is funky for me. maybe he tries on some more traditionally feminine clothes and has an oh shit that was actually super fun to wear and I liked it, or he wears some traditionally masculine clothes and feels cool in it, maybe he tries on either and feels off, maybe hes too tired to dress up but he loves bright and pattern filled clothing, maybe he tries on jewelry, and loves how it makes him feel pretty, maybe he goes out with makeup on and likes the way it makes him feel, maybe he tires different styles of makeup ranging from basic to showy, maybe he grows out his hair to try different styles, maybe he cuts his hair when he gets bored, maybe he tries dying it, maybe he doesn't get to do any of this maybe he only gets to think about it, maybe he doesn't get time to explore that maybe he can only think about it in passing when he passes by billboards and ads in the street, maybe he doesn't have any language to describe how he feels about his own body and the way he feels, maybe he doesn't need it, maybe hes longing for something to use, maybe he looks at himself in the mirror and sees all the things that dont fit right, maybe hes sees all the things that do, maybe it just feels like another thing thats wrong with him, maybe he feels like its normal and everyone feels this way, maybe he cant bring himself to look at certain areas of himself maybe he’s fine with them, maybe he wears baggy clothes to just hide from it for a bit, maybe he wears revealing things to show off, what if his gender was like a colorful mash of things, gestures, clothes, words, something just so full and alive trying to name it in all its being is too hard, its too vast. Dick Grayson being gender queer would be so neat to me, because like it gives me so many thoughts, how would he feel how would he react what even would he be? so many different things to explore with this, that and gender itself to me is like an overflowing thing made of a person its loud and colorful regardless of the identity because its part of a person and people are this loud and colorful tapestries of being. I got a bit artsy there but like it's so hard for me to explain why I like dick being gender queer so much, outside of being apart of the gender queer ball park myself. I guess it's part of the reason and maybe I want to explore him as a character and my mind usually jumps to queer shit gfbdhisnjefouf. anyway thanks for reading my insane dick rambles
#dick grayson#long text#I have so many thoughts#grem screams#gender queer#like I want to wax poetic about Dick Grayson he makes beautiful art in my head#the world is beautiful and shit and I channel my awe and wonder through fictional men lmao
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ok. i was gonna reply to ur comment but it got a bit too long of a rant HAHAHHA sorry😭
but girl i will never stop raving about ur fics istg like something about the way you write and your characters always seem to hit home for me like i always seem to connect with your characters. you make their emotions and the scenarios they're in so vivid and raw and IBFIWRFO i eat it up😭😭😭
i never used to like reading angst but you execute it so well that i'll literally love it when you do it (e.g. fics like two people, when nobody's watching, potential) IDK MAN it physically hurts my heart I FEEL THE EMOTIONS OF THE CHARACTERS MAN IDK
when nobody's watching: when the reader's looking at renjun thru the years from her perspective when the reader wants to reach out, I WANT TO REACH OUT LIKESJFGOWRG WHEN RENJUN SMASHES THE BOTTLE AT THE PARTY YK????
two people: the way you describe jeno and y/n's suffocating one way relationship, I UNDERSTAND THE READER!!! jeno is perfect, he tries to fix the relationship but IT JUST DOESNT WORK THAT WAY the relationship was way over before he tried to fix it and ITS SO REAL!!!! the inner turmoil the reader went thru and the slow changing feels for mark WAS JUST- UGH *chefs kiss
potential: man. where do i even start with this fic. it's a storyline that i never knew i needed to read in my life. like bar u don't understand, potential had me in despair for the next 4 days. i can understand chenle's pain, y/n's confusion, their complicated love for each other. i don't think words can describe how special this story is to me.
this.... became a lot longer than i anticipated and IM SORRY FOR RAMBLING ON ABOUT THE SAME THREE FICS OVER AND OVER OSBFOWRGO but seriously tho, i genuinely love everything you put out, keep up the hard work💗
(i think this is the longest ask i've ever sent lol)
i treat writing as my therapy session so maybe thats why the characters are always so raw- NO but omg this is such an honor bc i really focus more on the characters than the plot i think and i really try to develop them really well and stuff and i focus a lot on the feelings and emotions so >:((( i am so happy that you like that about my writing !!!
the paradox is that i HATE reading angst. like if its in a long fic where its mixed up i dont mind and i think its important to have angstier parts in a long fic too but if its a drabble and its angsty i just won't read it LMAOOO
when nobody's watching was such a spontaneous fic istg i wrote it in what. two days? at uni LMAO. i got the idea when i was like,, watching this guy from afar and then i realised i ALWAYS DO THIS like i always have those silly crushes on ppl and never tell them bc im scared but i care so deeply for ppl that dont even know i exist 😭😭😭 but also i find that i used to change myself a lot to fit into social circles and even tho uni was really lonely for me at first that i kinda let go of that the same way renjun did so it was definitely cathartic to write :,)
honestly to this day idk how i even managed to write two people. like i think its the only fic i have thats about adult mature ppl LMAO all my other fics are like college aus and shit. like where did all of that pain and angst even come from ???? but i am so glad u liked it, i didnt expect ppl to enjoy that kind of fic >:((
DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON POTENTIAL why are my best fics always the most spontaneous. its literally like in my top 5 fav fics ive ever written so i am insanely happy that you like it sm !!! <33 chenle's character in this fic is insanely personal to me also :,) the readers and his dynamic is also one of my favs ive ever written,, idk idk theres just something about this fic...
i am really honored to recieve this in my inbox its so sweet of you and i definitely appreciate it a LOT hope you dont mind me rambling about the fics i just enjoy talking about my writing :,)
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i want to be meaner to my mom but scared that i might make a habbit of it to the point of that spilling onto other people, so let's vent, near everytime i say something that challenges her belief that she's right about everything she always goes on about how i love debating her and how im always attacking her and saying she's wrong about everything, this bitch litterally fucking just told her child "you're always the villain to me" like i dont have a mountain of evidence saying that she's the one who's fucked up
look we disagree on things a lot, i disagree with her a lot, she seems to take everytime i point out she could be wrong (the first few times her response was "it's like your my mom mano po" ("mana po" is something people do to their elders) and "go work on your self first" in response to my room and my sleep schedule, like. y'know me sleeping late and being messy gives her yhe excuse to be a bad person.) now it's "you just love debating me don't you" "you always think im wrong about everything" and now recently "youre always the villain in my story" ("lagi kang kontrabida saking buhay")
because yeah sure im the villain, im the person who bullied ("idiot, lunatic, insane, you made yourself ugly, you look insane, you look like a lunatic") verbally abused (read the previous sentences, and what comes after this), hit (four times to be exact, also threathened to beat me up if i ever did that again, and later on said she was gonna smack me if i ever tried it again later on too) and told their kid they're insane and that tgey didn't care about anyone except themselves for botching their haircut
like this isn't my first time saying this within these last few days, it still holds true though, her words, the villain sentence specifically, should be directed at herself if anything, like girlie are you describing your own actions or
damn these last few days have been shit, like most days that have my parents in them aren't good, but these last few days have been horrendous, wonder if i should kill myself lol, atleast id have a botched haircut at the funeral, where a lot of the people whod know me would see, might botch it even more before doing it, just out of spite, it's just like id face the abuse that would com after anyways, i would be dead. also that whole haircut and these few days after said haircut have confirmed my theory that my parents treat me nicer when im pretty so! that's another thing! man!
like girlie really did just say her kid was the villain in her life despite being the one to hit her kid four times over a botched haircut, and verbally and physically abuse said kid for days afterwards (the verbal abuse was worse than what id written, basically just wrote a summary for the most part, just don't feel like translating it) i mean girlie really?
edit: also if you read the tags i almost forgot about that last bit, memory repression works hard ig. wonder how much shit i forgot that i never remembered.
also another edit: i think it's interesting how she used to so "oh so im the villain now" in response to me whenever i brought up her doing something bad, like that used to be a common occurance a few months near a year ago, but now she says "you're like a villain to me" after, reminding her she can be wrong, and botching my haircut. i mean. girlie at least isn't blatantly ripping off mother gothel now so that's fun.
#girlie litterally called her kid the villain despite being the one who bullied#(said idiot. lunatic#insane#you made yourself ugly you look insane#you look like a lunatic.)#verbally abused (read the previous sentences and what comes after this) hit#(four times to be exact#also threathened to beat me up if ever did that again and later on said she was gonna smack me if i ever tried it again later on too)#and told their kid they're insane andthat tgey didn't care about anyone except themselves for botching their haircut#girlie litterally called her kid the villain#it think it's interesting how fell back on using social media slang as a coping mechanism here because sm incites dophamine most times#anyways vent parents i mean wow really let's just fucking#go and jump off guess. i#am exhausted and quite frankly just want to sleep and never fucking wake up again an overdose might be nice idk.#me dying might be the only way to convince her that she's the one that's fucked actually.#or maybe she might fucking say im spoiled dramatic and overemotional in which case idc idc id be too dead too by then anyways#look explaining shit won't work ive already tried that and whenever get into fights with my parents#words and memories just fucking bail on me under enough stress#till i get my shit together hours later and able to pinpoint exactly why they're or in this case she's wrong fuck this#she also told me that ''since im so mature now to now have to rely on her anymore'' and said she wont attend or give me shit anymore#as part of said haircut thing#basically told me she wont be a parent to me anymore because of something that started from a botched haircut#but still doesn't think that actually She may be the villain here#vent#parents
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Growing up queer in the Balkans
Growing up and being aware that you are different in a way that, at the time, it seemed nobody else was, was insanely hard and fucking scary.
Realising you were something other than straight was so insanely terrifying that words couldn't describe how devastated i was. I spent my early years begging any god ,that maybe, just maybe could exist in this wast fucking universe to make me normal. Because I was never good enough, never normal enough, never just enough for anyone.
Realising i had a huge ass crush on one of my classmates was so heartbreaking. I pretended for so long that i liked the same popular boys everybody else did, but even then i was maid fun of for that.
I dont know what was worse for me , to be honest, the realisation and comming out to myself as a bisexual and a nonbinary person and finaly having the courage to put labels on how i was feeling , or my family , my parents, my grandparents finding out i wanted to look like a boy and kiss girls.
I knew i couldnt tell them, every fucking scenario i played out ended with me either gettting beaten to death or beaten and kicked out.
I planned my escape routs, i had a go bag that I maid for a , just in case they somehow finde out.
It was terrefing and scary and so fucking stress induing that I kept thinking im better off dead then being openly gay.
I never told anyone and it was eating me up inside. It felt like a huge part of me was just slowly dying from the lack of exposure, I felt i was dying.
Finally i had the courage after meeting a friend of mine who was also semi openly gay, to come out as bisexual.
I thought , ok i will just say im bi and the nonbinary trans thing im not gonna mention because what if they dont accept me.
Even now that i came out , and showed people who i actually am, i still feel reserved, and like i have to hide it a lot . Because Bosna is not a forgiving or an accepting place.
I came out in a bathroom of a psych word at 3 am to my mum, absolutely broken and fucked, because trying to explain to my parents that i was severely mentally ill was like trying to tell a fish that if they just try hard enough it can grow legs.
Suffice to say i had a huge mental breakdown and, i will spear you from the gorry details , lets just say it wasnt fun. I knew that this was my only shot at coming out to my parents, they werent there to hit me , i had the cover of a phone, i wasnt at home, and if it all went to shit there was a social worker who could help me get back on my feet.
I know, however stupid and sad and depressing it is going to sound, that my parents only accepted me because they thought i was going to kill myself. And i know that they love to deny it.
Even now they spew so much homophobic shit my way that i dont know how i can stay in the same room as them without crying my eyes out. I guess i just got used to it, even tho it still hurts like a mother fucker.
I mett so many lgbtq people in my country, and the first time i saw and mett a trans person who spoke my language and lived in the same streets and went to the same koffee shops as me, i wanted to cry out of happiness.
I wasn't alone, for the first fucking time, I wasn't alone. We talked about binding and testosterone and how to feel less disphoric, it was the first time THAT part of my life was understood by someone who was also trans.
I love my friends i really do, without them, i wouldn't be here, they are my found family, but they will never understand the trans part of me.
The discomfort and wanting to cut your body parts so you can look yourself in the mirror.
So i guess I'm writing this for that one person who lives in a country where it's absolutely fucked to be any sort of gay. Who, like me felt alone. This probably didn't make a lot of sense but it was just a brain dump so forgive me.
Have a nice day lovely humans. and sorry for the misspellings im disleksisk
Finn xoxo
#brain dump#lgbtq community#lgbtq#balkan#oh fuck i hate this#i dont know how to tagg#its 1 30 am and i cant sleep#so i wrote this#bc idk
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Chaos Magnet
Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)
Warnings: None :)
Genre: FLUFF, HUMOR, RPF (Real Person Fic)
Summary: When Y/N get invited onto a stream with the gang by Jack (Sean) she’s not sure what to expect but it’s safe to say that such chaos is not something she could’ve ever imagined.
Requested by Anon. Hi hun! Thank you so much for your lovely request, it really had me laughing and still had me be awe-struck by the adorableness of the idea. Sorry it’s been such a long time since you put in the request but I still hope you come across the fic and read it! Love, Vy ❤
“Alright people, silence in the call for a moment!“ Jack calls out when the lobby’s counter has finally reached up to nine, leaving room for one more person who is yet to join, but apparently he doesn’t care much that he’ll probably have to repeat himself when the tenth person enters the call and lobby.
“Jack, you should know by now, the day there’s silence in this call is when some supernatural force murders all ten of our mics. It just won’t happen, deal with it.“ Charlie, who was having an ‘intense’ discussion with Toast up until Jack’s interruption, says sarcastically, chuckling ever so slightly, enough for it to be contagious and make me crack a smile as well.
“There won’t be silence, I’ll be talking. If only the rest of you would LET ME.“ Jack replies just as sarcastically, getting Charlie to let out an actual fit of laughter. When his chuckling subsides along with the rest of the chatter in the call, Jack finally gets to have the speech he mentioned, “Right, ok so here’s the deal folks: today we have a guest addition to the stream, curtesy of mine because I’m obsessed with her channel. As you might or might not have noticed, there’s one person missing from the lobby but she’s gonna be joining us any minute now. As I said, I’m a huge fan so you better not embarrass me or I swear I’m gonna kill you first when I get to be an impostor.”
I don’t know what the others are thinking - probably something similar as what I’m thinking though: Noted, embarrass Jack to the best of your ability. Trust me, getting him flustered in front of his YouTube idol is well worth the death in Among Us he’s threatening us with.
“Also keep in mind that she’s of a different kind, not of our breed if you will - she’s an ASMR YouTuber. Not those who eat in the mic just because they think it’d be pleasant for people to hear.“ Jack goes on to explain, the way he’s described this girl’s craft is quite intriguing, especially when you consider how confidently Jack expressed his distaste with ASMR in the past. He’s always claimed not to be a fan but here we are, I guess people really do change.
“Thank you for making it seem like I do more than just cut up soaps, Jack. I really appreciate it but don’t bump the bar up that high, people will be disappointed when they actually visit my channel.“ An unfamiliar voice appears in the call out of nowhere. Though, unfamiliar is not the adjective I should focus on when describing this girl’s voice. I’ll list a few more but even they won’t do it justice: pleasant, awing, mesmerizing, unbelievable, out-of-this-world...I really could keep going.
“Oh come on, Y/N, you don’t just cut up soap. You turn them into bath bombs too!“ Jack laughs, earning him a playful scoff from the newcomer. “Oh yeah, almost forgot - Everyone, this is Y/N, our ASMR artist.“
“Please, some ‘artist’ I am. The people in my comment section would disagree with that description.“ She giggles after kindly responding to each and every greeting the gang sends her way, myself included. “The word I’ve seen people use most when describing my channel is ‘cringey’ so....yeah.“ She laughs, a genuine laugh instead of the bitter one I was expecting to follow such words.
“That seems to be the cool kids’ favorite word, don’t dwell too much on it.“ Rae tells her reassuringly, “What’s important is what word would you use to describe your channel?“
Y/N hums, sounding as though she’s fallen in thought but that’s only one brief moment before she answers. Or begins to, at least, “Well, if I were to describe my channel with one word it’d be....BEEFY!”
That one out-of-context word, screamed out by such an angelic voice has me breaking down with overwhelming laughter collapsing all my ability to hold back.
“Out of all the words, you’d choose beefy?“ I somehow manage to ask between fits of laughter that render me breathless.
“She’s a vegetarian, I think, I don’t know why she’d choose that word.“ Jack too is laughing his butt off but has a significantly better grip on it, “Y/N, care to explain your peculiar choice?“
There’s a lot of shuffling and random noise on Y/N’s end before her reply finally comes, accompanied by a weak meow, “Sorry guys, that was a classic cat of Mr. Beef Stronganoff seeking attention by being chaotic.” She says through laughter, her words followed by another meow which was a lot more clear, seemingly closer to the mic, “He took down my mic, and he seems like he wants to do it again....BEEFY NO!”
For some reason, even with that explanation in mind, I can’t keep myself from laughing. Come to think of it, I think the explanation only makes it funnier.
“Ugh, darn it! I saved my mic but he ran across my keyboard and turned my webcam off how do I turn it back on?“ Her voice dies down for a few secs before it reemerges from her end, “Ok nevermind I got it. Now I can answer...what was the question again?“
Recovering from his laughing fit, Jack manages to repeat the question, “What word would you use to describe your channel?”
“Oh that! Right, ok. Um, I’d call it aesthetically pleasing and BEEFY NOT THE ROUTER CABLE YOU DUMMIE!“
She’s insane. Or her cat’s insane. I can’t tell. Maybe both. Either way, I can’t help but feel like I’ve found a soulmate in this literal stranger. It’s safe to say us chaos magnets like her and I, we don’t only attract chaos, but also chaotic individuals. I’m so glad she magnetized me to herself. Or was it the other way around? We may never know - mystery is in the nature of us chaos magnets, you know.
@maat-the-prescriptive @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @itsminniekat @hacker-ghost @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 @chrysanthykios @maehemscorpyus @loraleiix @letsloveimagines @annshit @i-cant-choose-a-username-help @enigmaticmaze @divine-artemis @waterlilypat @idontknowwhatthisisfam @evi-ka @classyandfabulous00 @redperson58 @lilysdaydreams @solowheein @mythicalamphitrite @axen-gers @luckygirl144 @nj01 @buddyemily @the-albino-lioness @stardream14 @gdhdkfnn @nomadicgypsyy @preciousskye @fluffysuicideunicornsworld @o-kaelin @manacharlotte @awkward-youtube-trash @lolalee24 @bonky-beerns @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian @strawbrinkofdeath @teenloves @tams0527 @browneyespinkhair @starstruckllamapuppy @daisychains012 @y0ulooked @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life @jula-pauline @melodykitty @just-that-bi-girl @crazybutconfidentaf @lowellshade @alphakees @bellero @weallneednamjesus @starryhanji @boiled-onionrings @husherstan @fockingwhore @melaningoddessthings @prettypastelpetals @haleypearce @godwhyamiawkward @y-napotat @daisychainyoonmin @little-miss-rebel3 @free-wheelin-bi-sexual @redmoon261 @darkacademic2 @wiseflamingoqueen @into-the-end @namikhai-i @nastiablr @thelittleplantlover @mirktuan @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny @vintagegothlover @easygoingtheatre @itsrandombooklover @miiaivi @emmybaybee @befourgolden @jjk-is-my-shit @eternalteaaars @spacebadgerx @princesslunalight @acequinn14 @samm48 @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa @fo-love @marishimomura-blog @therealglenncoco @cinnamonbun332 @killtherandomness @sanshinexxxsan @fee-btheweeb @press-lay @cathleenpotgieter16 @jazzydoesstuff @moonlxghtbay @forestrain2000 @hyunjinhugs @blood-of-fandoms @lovellylies @ukiyolixx @simpforhpcharacters @chrisdylan17 @parkerjisung @pedernille @theodonyous @wineandionysus @malfoystilinskii05 @morbid-x @coryisagee @jessewa26 @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365 @raeanneinwonderland @indecisive-empanada @gluttonypalace @loriane2503 @btsiguess-kpop @khaoticbunny @lucidlycactus @smiithys @rottenroyalebooks @kpopgirlbtssvt @fangirl-tc27 @fr0z3n-1 @notmesimpingfortechno @shotarosleftpinky @kunoi-chan @idk-whats-wrong-with-me @yikeroonie @goldenstarofthunderclan @poetry-and-tea @ama-do-writing-stuff @wishbonewolf @emeraldxhope @t0xick1tty @kusuinko @speakyourselfloveyourself @sophia902103 @lo-manburg @classsykittykat @dmgama @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee @btsiguess-kpop @akaashi-baby @gun-jong-simp @geschichtenfee @yerapotato-wp @browneyedgirl365 @thysagclub @sparklycloudnight @helloatomicshadow @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal @lucy-bunny17 @aaliyahh0 @katluckybear @boyleanti @straybids @franchesca-791 @cosmicstorm19 @averyisbackinthetrashcan @aomi-nabi @xlanawriter @allensimpsforcorpse @sunnyrae-cessh @ladykxxx08 @meowiemari @renupf @booklover76 @sra-verissimo
#corpse husband#corpse#corpse fic#corpse fluff#corpse fandom#corpse fanfic#corpse fanfiction#corpse x you#corpse x y/n#corpse x reader#corpse imagines#corpse imagine#corpse husband x y/n#corpse husband fanficiton#corpse husband x reader#corpse husband fanfic#corpse husband fanfiction#corpse husband fic#corpse husband fluff#corpse husband is ruining my life#corpse husband imagine#fic#fanfic#fanfiction#fandom#fluff#x reader#requests open#request
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Lmaoo so there is this one tweet that actually describes what I really think the insane mauruaders stans and the tweet goes : some of yall heard one fucking word and now yall can't stop saying it (and it's like a reference to those fuckers who say gatekeep, gaslight, toxic but for everything and they act its profound or some shit). I think they um definetly saw those words and deadass went let's be eco friendly and reuse the same arguments and everyone else went yes. And when there was a genuine difference of opinion they go to their backup response : by supporting this element or seeing their pov you are ( anti Semitic /racist / homophobic) and it's just like :you are aware the same people exist in this community right???
(also I really find it funny that some of them literally don't think the mauruaders won't fucking hate crime them, no ma'am they will hate crime you and then proceed to get the slap on the wrist, they are the reasons your school has anti bullying week [also lmaoo pandering to them makes to be in the 'group' makes all of you Peter Pettigrew you know the same dude you all decided to ignore] )
And then I have to remind myself that there will be one of them who will raise kids and try to be 'jily' parents which I assume is living vicariously through your child because God you peaked in highschool and you won't shut the fuck up about it (and lack any fucking development) which is consistent with Canon so hey it does work out. Also like who's gonna pay for your child's therapy when they realize people who are dickish to you are simply just dickish and no why do you think this is an enemies to lovers trope (and also for their kids dry ass personality which they got from their parents because ik they would want them to be constantly involved but like gym teacher with a kid who's into slight sports and now the kid has to try to get in the national team lol)
Like I need them to have a snape attitude towards kids which was very much : fuck them kids ( and I honestly couldn't agree more to.)
Hey so if you're a fan of the m*rauders and this appears in the general tag, im sorry, i tagged the post correctly but sometimes the tagging system doesnt filter content correctly, but just so yall know, below the read more will be content that is very m*rauder critical which yall may not like or may be upset by. this is a fair warning
It's genuinely frustrating how often they repeat the same arguments as if we care. like we know snape isnt a kind person and we know he doesnt make the best or morally correct decisions, but they never hold other characters to a remotely similar standard that they hold snape to
they like characters due to popularity and how much they can add in headcanons, we know almost nothing about the marauders era, so they can make their own universe independent of the harry potter plot line, but they dont actually give a shit about the canon characterizations we already have
the m*rauders are not canonically progressive, their bullying of snape isn't coming from a progressive stance. they literally only bully him because they think hes weird. there isnt any canon evidence that they went after students who were actively causing harm to others, such as avery and mulciber (two boys who actively were attacking muggleborn students), they never went after regulus despite the fact that je was outspokenly supportive of voldemort to the point where regulus basically had a fucking shrine dedicated to him, there isnt any canon evidence that they went after any other junior death eater. there is canon evidence that they attacked random kids simply for annoying them. there is canon evidence that they used illegal hexes on students that had the risk of causing permanent bodily damage. and i think the real nail on the coffin for the idea that the m*rauders only went after snape due to him being a wannabe death eater is something sirius literally says
this means that even during the war, the m*rauders didnt suspect snape of being a death eater, let ALONE when they were at school
they also just think all snape fans are white straight cis women who obsess over the "always 🥺" line. like they dont take into account POC fans, lgbtq+ fans, nonbinary or trans fans, jewish fans, poor fans, disabled fans, neurodivergent fans. they paint us all with the "you never read the books you just want to fuck alan rickman" brush and call it a day so they dont actually have to engage with us despite constantly coming into our spaces
also it BOTHERS me how they'll call snape a n@zi and then turn around and say "awe james was just a bit of a jerk !! 🥺🥺" bestie he was an actual genuine sadist who got off on bullying and sexually assaulting kids he deemed weird. like sorry to the alt m*rauder kinnies, but if you're punk, emo, goth whatever james potter would've bullied the absolute hell out of you. canonically. sirius literally defends his bullying of snape by calling him an oddball, yall dont think you would've been on the other end of their bullying?
#anti marauders#anti james potter#anti sirius black#pro severus snape#severus snape#this got kind of rambly#also if this does find its way into the m*rauder tag id recomment filtering the anti general tags so that this type of content doesnt appea#in the search engines in the future
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So I came to W&H and B&E in an odd way. I'm a long time Dramione fic reader who like many of us doubled down on in 2020 to find comfort in a bananas year. I kept seeing W&H on everyone's rec list, but for whatever reason kept putting it off. Then I heard about the prequel and decided to wait for that to be finished, read it, then do W&H. But once it was finished, I saw you recommended W&H first so I was like okay I'll do that. I struggle with impulse control but am trying to do better so when I saw the audiobook for W&H I was like perfect, I'll listen rather than read that way I won't gobble it up in a day. Ha well that did not work, I listened to the first 3 chapters (at that time those were the only chapters they had recorded) then instantly ran not walked to A03, reread said chapters, then continued on. At Chapter 4 of W&H, I thought hmm maybe I'll read them simultaneously. I continued that way maybe through Chapter 13 of B&E and Chapter 7ish then fully committed to W&H first. I cannot imagine reading these fics in real time because reading them in full, back to back was the most intense glutenous binge and it's taken over my life in the best way. I have been living in your fictional universe for the past two weeks. I started a list of all the parallels and callbacks and eventually had to call it because they are innumerable. I'm awed. In literal awe. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Your writing - the individual words of your vast vocabulary, the way you string said words together into hilarious, heart breaking, heart stopping, beautiful, and visceral feelings is astounding. It's hard to explain but even good writers (and/or an intriguing plot) sometimes do not create an overall immersive feeling. But the feelings your words evoke are all encompassing and truly universe building. Like it's not just the wording or the plot or the charters but all of it together come to make something even greater than the sum of their parts. Your writing, your universe of W&H, S&S, and B&E live in my mind and heart and in an embarrassing amount of screenshots of passages on my phone and in voice memos to myself as I don't have anyone irl to fan girl with. When I think of your words and the world you built, I'm reminded of a Taylor Swift lyric: "it cut deep to know you, right to the bone". That is how I'd describe your writing's effect on me, but in the best way.
Your brain's capacity to plot, plan, and flawlessly deliver W&H THEN B&E? Idk how you kept all the threads and plot points and moments and timelines in check. My head aches just thinking about how you wrote these stand-alone but also inextricable works of art. Like how does one's brain function in such a level? And it's especially telling in B&E because we knew where we were going but I still gasped, screamed, squealed, giggled, had to put my phone down, clutched it to my heart, fist pumped, stopped half way through just for a minute to breath and take it all in, and overall looked and acted as an utter idiot during each and every chapter because while I knew where we were going I also had no idea! I'm just floored you managed to keep us at the edge of our seats with a prequel? Who does that? You do!
The texts in the final chapter of W&H devastated me, literal chills. I think about that daily. It's exactly what H and we needed. Just like a reminder of what they went through. It reminded me of Chapter 41 of B&E. Like a summary of where they had been and where they are now.
The other thing that rattled in my brain is the motifs of choice and time, life kind of boils down to those two things huh? But choice especially. It's funny because choice is so prominent but at the same time how W&H and B&E give off soulmate vibes even though this is not a soulmate fic (also are the rumors true...?!) because despite time turners, breakups, and lost memories, they always come back together. But more on choice: it's just as Draco says - in a million scenarios he'll always choose her and he feels lucky she chose him just once. But of course with W&H, she does it twice. And she does it in both timelines of B&E, and of course that's the problem when Draco realizes he has not done the same hence heartbreak 1.0. And just god - he wants her to have a choice with the potion, a choice with her memories, and stops the timey wimey madness by realizing he's taking her choice (and in a way H started it by taking away his choice and leaving the first time). And then those parts about how he chose her, she chose him, but they could not chose each other. This motif, these callbacks. I'm flabbergasted. It's just hitting me now that you extend the choice to us as readers - we get to choose whether H get her memories back or not.
Theo in all your Wait and Hope universe, but especially S&S broke me. Blaise asking who is taking care of Theo when he's taking care of everyone else? Theo's literal and figurative demons? Yikes. Those were unpleasant looks in the mirror for me. I'm glad Theo has his Blaise. Where's mine haha? Also just shout to your underrated Blaise. The fact that he might be my favorite of the Slytherians in your stories says a lot since he doesn't say a lot haha. But he packs such a punch in all your works.
Okay, after singing your well deserved praises and fan girling and marveling at your works (god this is so long, I'm so sorry!), at long last my ask. I still cannot get this out of my head: what did Theo mean in Chapter 1 of B&E when he suggests to Draco “I know that. Maybe you could—tell her some of—” some of what? I zeroed in on this as soon as I read it and it's been rattling in my brain ever since.
um. hi? holy shit. i dont know how to process this. i am resisting the impulse to cringe away from the level of praise happening here because i really need to learn how to take a compliment but oh my god? i am not...this is just...wowzers. you are very literally too kind to me. i have melted into a puddle of feelings in my reading chair here.
so, first things first: thank you. these are some of the nicest things i’ve ever heard about my writing and i can guarantee i will come back to this ask when I'm feeling like i suck and need a motivation boost. i can’t deny...it feels really nice to know that at least one person out there caught and appreciated some of the insane attention to detail i forced upon myself lol. so thank you. truly, thank you so much for saying such amazingly kind things that have short circuited my brain!
and im sure my friends at @etl-echo-audiobooks will be over the moon to know that their recording work was such a hit! your trajectory reading these stories is so fun and hilarious and probably the most unique reading experience i’ve heard so far xD
also, please be advised that your analysis on choice in these stories is probably going to live in my head rent free for the rest of my life. i feel seen, you know? you just...picked up what i was putting down and it feels really nice to know that it worked for you!
and ok. your question. that little dash of ambiguity i was planning on leaving open ended. but let it be known i can be plied with compliments. i can’t just *not* give you something in return for such a lovely and kind and thoughtful dose of joy you had absolutely no obligation to give me today.
so, in my mind, after draco’s house arrest ended and before he went abroad for his mastery, he and theo had an extensive (most likely drunken. also blaise was probably there too) night of reflection where they kind of just looked back at their childhoods and the war and the history of blood purity and just sort of went: “what the fuck?” i imagine draco probably confided in theo that when he went abroad, he planned to just try and pretend like none of it mattered, to see if that was really true. and draco probably kept him updated via owl (even though draco did not write enough and theo had feelings about that) so that by the time draco returned and we have theo asking that sort of trailing question, the implication at the end is “what if you told granger some of your realizations about it all?” so...not all that exciting? but there you have it!
in conclusion: thank you! you are too kind! i appreciate your thoughtful commentary SO much! i’m so happy you enjoyed these stories. and i hope the explanation of what theo was going to say wasn’t too underwhelming.
#thegirlwhowatchedeverything#asks#death by kindness#my death#i am dead#oh also yes#they rumors are true#im writing a soulmate story next#i intend to hurt you#you being ALL of you#*evil laughter*
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1, 2, 7, 8, 9. (Sorry, i know that's like...all of them)
1. what themes would you like to write about that you feel don’t get explored very often?
i love writing coming out storylines. it’s not really that they’re uncommon, i just find a lot of catharsis in them.
2. what are some common elements of stories you are tired of seeing? what would you avoid writing about?
i tend to avoid writing sibling dynamics bc i’m an only child and therefore not really. qualified. i love reading it though!!
7. favourite description in your WIP?
it was really hard to pick one so i have a few answers for this bc i love to talk about myself so. (under the cut bc JESUS this got long but spoilers for and i’ll do anything you say (read it here!) ahead!!!)
- from chapter 2:
Sokka looks at him, a fantasy come to life, and takes off his stupid sweatpants.
He throws them at Zuko’s head, and earns himself a short burst of that real laugh, shocked and unguarded.
“You asshole,” Zuko says. He sits up and grabs Sokka’s hand, pulling him down on top of him. Something comes alive under Sokka’s skin where Zuko’s fingers graze his wrist. He calls it lust and ignores the fact that it feels nothing like it.
Zuko kisses him, his mouth still in the shape of laughter, and the alive thing screams for his attention. Sokka buries it and hopes it won’t deafen him before they’re done.
im very fond of this whole chapter (i think it’s probably my favourite? it was definitely the easiest to write) but i really love looking back on this part particularly now that we’re in the angsty part of the story bc this is where it all started. yes technically it started in chapter 1 but this is when sokka starts to fall for zuko. this is the beginning of all those pesky non-casual feelings that he’s going to pretend don’t exist until someone else calls him out on them.
- also from chapter 2:
He’s forty-five minutes late already, and when he knocks, a woman made of pursed lips and sharp angles answers the door. She looks elegant and expensive the same way a skyscraper does. Or a cache of medieval weaponry.
“Oh,” Sokka says, digging into his pocket to find the map on his phone. “I must have the wrong place, sorry -”
She looks him up and down, her eyes narrowed in a way that feels violent and practiced, and her smirk turns distasteful. Sokka risks a glance down at himself, at his torn up jeans - not distressed, just torn - and the Madonna t-shirt he’s pretty sure actually belongs to Katara, and thinks she might have a point. The bag in his hand feels heavier when her eyes land on it.
“Zuzu,” the woman calls into the apartment, “your dinner’s here.”
“I didn’t order -” Zuko appears in the doorway, bitter frustration in his expression as he looks at the woman.
His eyes fall on Sokka, though, and his face clears into a light-pollution smile.
this is technically two so i will start with: i love azula. i haven’t found any room to bring her back yet but believe me i am LOOKING. she’s hot and mean and gay and i LOVE HER. oh also insider scoop but suki’s date from earlier in this chapter.......WAS azula. they probably won’t see each other again because once azula met sokka and connected his face to the Best Friends Forever picture frame on suki’s desk she stopped answering the phone.
pt 2: i’ve had a couple of comments mention the “light-pollution smile” line specifically and i am always so happy to read them bc yeah. YEAH. i’ll admit it. that line HITS.
- from chapter 4:
He sets his phone down - only, he doesn’t. He misses the table by a mile, and in his scramble to catch his phone before it breaks on the hardwood floor and wakes Momo on the cushion beside him, his hand finds the lip of his cereal bowl, and then that’s falling, too. He manages to catch the phone, but something in his head gets lost in translation on its way down his arms, and he ends up with a boxers-only lap full of soggy Cheerios.
Momo gets a splash of milk on his back and hisses at Zuko for his crimes, and somehow that’s the worst part of it.
haley @fruitysokka said that this passage reads like an action movie and i think about it all the time. (thank u haley i love u)
- lastly this extended metaphor from chapter 6:
The soup is good, once the heat of it clears him up enough to taste it. It’s thick and warm and there’s enough pepper that Sokka gets a kick from it even in his condition. He feels it all the way down his throat and into his stomach, where it mixes with the prickly nervousness he’s feeling from Zuko’s attention.
He sets the bowl down on the table and asks, eyes stuck on his hands in Momo’s fur where he’s climbed into his lap, “How was the date?”
“It was good, actually,” Zuko says. “Jet seems like a nice guy. He’s very - uh - passionate, I guess you could call it? He’s a climate and human rights activist.”
The spines of Sokka’s nervousness turn to daggers.
...
“I said yes. We’re getting lunch on Sunday.”
The daggers are swords now, and Sokka’s heart sinks down, down, down, right to the hilt.
...
“I’ll text you when I’m home,” Zuko promises, and Sokka’s heart skewers itself on a second sword.
Zuko’s smile when Sokka says, “Thank you for the soup,” is a third.
The door closing behind him is a fourth.
The silence as Sokka shuffles back to bed is every single one that remains.
something something canon swordsmen something pride comes before the fall something chivalry fell on his sword from eden by hozier. you guys get it i dont have to explain myself
8. favourite dialogue in your WIP?
ok so i cant share my actual favourite dialogue bc it's a spoiler for chapter 8 and i technically haven't written it yet (it's in my brain just.....plaguing me) but it's GOOD i SWEAR so. once again i have more than one answer bc actually? i love this fic and im proud of it. deal with it.
- from chapter 1:
“Hey, stranger,” Sokka says, still watching him in the mirror. The corner of Zuko’s mouth ticks up.
“You’re not following me, are you?” Zuko’s tone is seductive, endlessly so, and Sokka wonders while he dries his hands if he has to put it on or if he just sounds like that.
“You give a guy one compliment and he thinks you’re stalking him,” Sokka mutters, and Zuko laughs, low and enticing. Not the genuine, endearing laugh of this morning, but one with an agenda.
Well. Sokka always likes a plan.
“Are you following me? ” Sokka asks. He spies a miraculous dry patch on the sink bank and tries to be casual about the way he hops up to sit on it.
“I might be,” Zuko says, and at Sokka’s raised eyebrow, he continues, “I saw you at the bar and I wanted to talk to you. Sue me.”
“You wanted to talk.”
“Amongst other things.”
as a chronically awkward person i am INSANELY proud of the flirting in this fic. no idea if it would work in a real life situation. excited to never find out bc im not about to use lines from my fanfiction on real women.
- from chapter 2
“You must be Suki,” Zuko says. He meets her gaze, and his fingers go still under Momo’s chin.
“And you’re Zuko,” Suki replies, her smile all different shades of intimidating. “I’d shake your hand, but I know where it’s just been.”
i wrote this entire scene just so i could have suki say this. im not even joking. suki is my favourite part of this entire fic and its not even ABOUT her.
- from chapter 3:
When Sokka crosses the room and slips under the covers beside him, Zuko says, “I can leave, if you want. I can go home.”
...
He asks, still barely hovering over Zuko, “What if I don’t want that?”
Zuko swallows. “I can stay.”
“So stay,” Sokka says, and lays his head down on Zuko’s chest.
i just think it’s sweet. i like it a lot. makes my heart hurt a little when i think about it.
- from chapter 4:
[Suki // 15:13] there is a LOT of chmpagrjn
[Suki // 15:13] cahpmhagne
[Suki // 15:13] chsanpghn
[Suki // 15:14] alcohol :)
once again: suki is the best part of this whole fic. i love her so much. she is the reason the word bestie exists. im really proud of the texting in this fic bc it’s my first time actually including it in fic and it’s turned out really well!!
- ok last one bc i just realised this is turning into a novel. from chapter 4:
“How’s my baby?”
Zuko glances down at Momo, batting at the untied laces of his shoes with one determined paw. “He’s doing just fine.”
“And how’s Momo?”
“He’s - what?”
are there better written, more narratively important and emotive lines in this fic? yes. is this the best part of the entire thing? also yes. i invented the jin/yue wedding because i needed a reason for zuko to have a key in what became chapter 6, but sometimes i think the entire fic exists just for this exchange. best dialogue i have ever written.
9. what scene was the hardest for you to write and why?
the start of chapter 6 of aidays was difficult. i kept wanting to skip ahead to the meaty parts - i.e, zuko and his soup - but i didn’t want to do sokka a disservice like that. it was also really hard to maintain the balance of accurately describing the delirium of illness while still being coherent for the reader? so that took me a couple of days to get right.
#dreamrena#ask game#this got AWAY from me#anyway.#theres.....that#asks#mine#and ill do anything you say#might as well go in the tag since its all i talk about in this#uhhh. enjoy?#i have more thoughts on literally all of aidays so. at the risk of sounding even more in love w myself than i do in this already.#if theres anything else anyone would like to know more about (excluding spoilers obv) i am MORE than happy to talk about it#sam winchester voice The Lore
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chapter one - original story (i havent come up with a title yet lol)
okay so here it is!! if anyone actually reads this i love u :) please leave feedback if u have any!!
TWs:
death, drugs, medication, mental illness, references to sex, swearing, alcohol
wordcount: 8.2k
(also i dont think anyone will but im paranoid of people stealing my writing so obligatory dont copy/post to another site or steal my work in any other ways etc)
There were five of us; 4 boys and me. In hindsight I realize from the outside our group probably seemed a little predatory, but it was never really like that. For the most part they were like brothers to me. Of course, being the only girl in a small and isolated club of mainly older boys, things were bound to happen. We were in high school and it was summer, can you blame me? Regardless, however much I loved them, it was not quite in the way my father always assumed or my mother always warned (during our uncomfortable monthly visitations before I managed to get rid of her for good).
The months everything went down, which I often referred to only as ‘The Worst Summer of My Life’, (quite melodramatically but not without reason) were somehow still full of the best moments of my life. Moments I often find myself wishing I could repeat, as nothing has or will ever come close to the way I felt, sitting amongst my boys day after day, somehow light as the warm July breeze that blew past us. My entire body weightless, as non-existent as the time that passed us by. Despite the depression I’d found myself plunged into during the days after my only brother’s death, I truly believe I will never again be as happy as I was then. Laughter seemed to flow freely from our mouths, smiles plastered onto our faces no matter the circumstances, content to just exist. I don’t think I can ever forget the day it was raining so hard the entire city was flooded, but we walked around uptown well past the point of being absolutely drenched, our clothes dripping so heavily the security guard denied us entry into the public library. Something about that day made me feel so free, like we were invisible. Completely apathetic to the whims of the real world, somehow existing only in our twisted minds and intertwined fantasies.
Maybe if I’d had my head screwed on a little tighter, or if we’d met under different circumstances, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. I used to go down that line of thought every night before succumbing to a fitful but heavy sleep (under the direct affect of 25mg of Quetiapine, working to counteract my Concerta and Lexapro). Those types of irrational thoughts were ones my therapist deemed as my habit for rumination. In regard to the death of my brother she called it ‘bargaining’, one of the stages of grief. I never liked it when she spoke about those stages as I’ve always felt them to be wrong. Maybe because I never quite moved on to the final one, no matter how many years pass. ‘Acceptance’, coined as the “Re-entrance to reality”. Maybe it’s different since I was never really grounded to reality in the first place. I still wake up some mornings, thinking I’ve heard his voice in the other room, ready to beguile me with tales from his day of retail work. Other times I swear I’ve walked past him on the street. Some people may relate to my experiences, with reasonings of ghosts, angels, apparitions, or insanity, among many other causes for the apparent viewing of a loved one long gone to the other side. I never shared these beliefs, but I am not one to deny. Rather, I always take these instances as an omen. A warning. I have come to this conclusion not without evidence, at least circumstantial, given the many occasions over the years – and especially that summer – where I found my hypothesis to be true. All I can say is that I am glad I’ve never been met with the same chimerical visions of my mother; one can only hope that is because she ended up where she belonged. Maybe I’ll see her there, though I hope at the very least they could keep us in separate rooms of Hell if the situation does arise.
From what I know of the others now, which is admittedly not much – majorly due to my own neglect, as opposed to theirs – they share the same prescription for rose-coloured glasses as I. We always were too engrossed with our own romanticization of nostalgia and sentiment that it clouded our view. I often think this was one of the reasons we seemed to fit so well together. Not quite like puzzle pieces, too self-absorbed to hold a candle to that analogy, more like complimentary colours. I wish it could’ve stayed the way it was. We did try, and I never found myself able to fully disentangle myself from James, nor he could to I, but for most of us we could recognize an ending when one arises. I used to find myself using the word tragedy a lot while reminiscing, but I no longer think that word is appropriate. Fate is a more fitting term in my opinion, regardless of if one believes in it or not. “(A)n inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end,” as reported by Merriam Webster. I don’t think there’s a word in the entire English language more accurate in describing how everything ended up; and if there is, I am yet to find it.
Chapter One
A Dead Brother
I have tried to erase the day my brother died from my memory so many times I lost count decades ago. I still find the image seeping into my unconsciousness quite dreadfully on the nights I neglect to take my pills and catch myself waking up with a steady flow of tears that dampen my pillow along with the drool that always seems to pour from my sleeping mouth. The dread that pools in my stomach sometimes being heavy enough for me to lose my lunch. I frequently wonder how people managed to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault; the most painful lie I’ve ever been told and one that seemed to stream from people’s mouths as easily as the mini sandwiches laid in the living room of my brother’s wake were stuffed in. The worst part about being told it wasn’t my fault was how obviously one could tell they didn’t believe what they were saying either. His death was my fault; a fact so uncontestable I wanted to kill myself every time I was reminded of it.
My therapist often tried to remind me that even if his death was “partially” (she always used the word partially, refusing to acknowledge the truth that his death was entirely my fault) my fault, there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent it. This was another lie I despised being told. There were a million ways I could have prevented his death or saved his life and yet, here we are, with him dead and me wishing everyday that I won’t wake up tomorrow. “Begonia,” she’d tell me – she was the only person who called me by my full name, I usually went by Nia, but a nickname felt too personal and I didn’t like her very much – “You mustn’t keep torturing yourself with these scenarios. He’s dead, and there is nothing you can do to change that. I am starting to wonder if you are going to let yourself move on. This isn’t healthy.” That was a line she liked to use a lot, “this isn’t healthy”. As if anything I do is.
Barb, my therapist that is, liked to go over the details of my brother’s death a lot. She often called it a ‘trigger’, which is why she always seemed to want me to talk about it. “Trauma is a horrible thing, Begonia, and you must learn to move past it, process it. I can see you still haven’t managed to do that on your own, and that’s what I’m here for, to help you move on.” Barb was big on the idea of “moving past trauma” and “learning to cope”, she often sounded like a broken record of a motivational speech. I found myself comparing her to school guidance councillors without realizing it, they were about equally as helpful (read: not helpful) in my opinion.
Sometimes I blame my inability to forget and “move past” my brother’s death on the way Barb constantly brought it up and made me go through it. I never quite understood how that part of my therapy was supposed to help me. I asked her once, what good was it doing rehashing the worst day of my life?
“Well, Begonia,” I hated the way she said my name, always so condescending and sour, like even the idea of me questioning her in any way was as impolite as shitting on her desk.
“You have to understand that I only want to help you. You seem to be unable to process your traumas on your own, which is why we need to go through these things. As you are aware, this PTSD,” she always left strange pauses after each letter, her slow tone grinding on my ears, “you have acquired has left you unable to function normally in daily life. I want you to get to a place where you can have a normal life (Ha!) and cope without these meetings. It’s what your brother would’ve wanted.” Barb liked to tell me what my brother would have wanted at least once every session. Putting aside the fact she knew next to nothing about him aside from the intimate details on how he died, I always thought it was an inappropriate thing to say as a psychologist specializing in grief counselling. It never particularly bothered me, I was reasonable enough to realize she was just trying to comfort me, but I never liked the phrase. “What your brother would’ve wanted.” What he would’ve wanted was to not die but we’re past that, aren’t we Barb, as you so often enjoyed telling me.
I have always been quite averse to my diagnoses, ADHD at 14, Persistent Depressive Disorder at 15, PTSD at 16, issues with alcohol and drugs that landed me in rehab more than once. I’ve been on a concoction of different medications since I was 13, even before I was diagnosed with anything officially. Sertraline, Lexapro, Prozac, Ritalin, Concerta, Adderall, Quetiapine, Ambien, Zopiclone, a healthy mix of off brand and branded medications. Sleeping pills, antidepressants, stimulants. I can’t remember a time before monthly trips to the drug store and side effect surveys that I’m not sure if I ever told the truth on. It’s a wonder that people didn’t see a slew of addiction issues coming from a mile away.
I think I’ve always had the most contention with my PTSD diagnosis though, I hate it because I know it’s undeniably true. I wish it wasn’t because maybe that’d mean my brother was still alive, but he isn’t. And I’m left traumatized and bereaved. Sometimes it feels like it hurt me more than it ever did my mother or father. Maybe it did. I should feel selfish for saying that, but I can’t, because they didn’t have to look at him while the life left his body, praying to God for the ability to turn back time. See the moment his eyes glazed over, knowing I’d never get to hear his obnoxious laugh, or make fun of his dumb face ever again.
❈
“Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.”
It was a cool evening in May, the end of spring brought with it the promise of summer and the air had the familiar aroma of daffodils and petrichor. I had decided to go to a party with my friend Faun, my dad having been out at his girlfriend’s place for the weekend and me having nothing better to do. I wasn’t one for partying, but I did like to get high, so I usually just hung around with the rest of the potheads and pill junkies until someone dragged me home or I fell asleep. That night Don, a friend of a friend of a friend, had brought coke and E and we were all determined to get as fucked up as possible. Faun only ended up doing one line before running into a bedroom with some guy whose name started with an M – was it Martin or Marvin? Maybe it was Mickey – and left me sitting on the couch beside a girl who was about 1 more shot of vodka away from passing out.
I had fully intended on doing some coke, but the E seemed to be hitting harder than I was used to. I was sure my Ritalin had worn off by then but maybe I was wrong. As I stood up to get a glass of water I nearly fell over and decided to sit back down. Turning to face Don, I tapped him on the shoulder trying to get his attention.
“What was in that molly?” I was vaguely aware of the way my words were slurring, but I felt weirdly energized. I was aware my heart was beating a little too fast, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I knew what ecstasy felt like, this was not nearly my first time doing it, but I felt really wrong.
“Don!” He turned to look at me and I felt uneasy. His eyes looked a little crazed – not that out of the ordinary but given the circumstances I was worried – “What the fuck did you give me?” It felt like I’d done 5 lines of coke in the last 2 minutes and I knew that E had been spiked.
Don’s face had an unmistakable expression of guilt written on it as he leaned down and whispered in my ear, his voice shaking, “I think it was cut with meth.” Fuck. My stomach dropped. I have to get out of here. I quickly shot up from the musty couch I was sat on, carefully holding onto Don’s shoulder so I didn’t fall, my legs still feeling unsteady. I opened my phone; the screen was too bright, and I had a hard time maneuvering it as I attempted to exit the house. Clicking the green Messages icon, I sent a text to Faun – e ws cut w meth im lesving – with shaky hands and burst out the door into the fresh air. I clicked my brother’s contact and pressed call.
It rang four times before he picked up.
“Nia? Why are you calling me it’s like 1am?” I could tell from the smooth tone of his voice he’d been drinking. He didn’t very often but he had an appreciation for cocktails and enjoyed getting buzzed now and then. He still was a year from being legal to drink but his friends we’re all 19 and 20 and bought alcohol for him. I found him fun when he got drunk, becoming talkative and giggly, but right now I wished so badly for him to be sober.
“Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.” I was slurring, my voice a bit too pitchy to pass as anything but high. I knew he didn’t like it when I did this, but he never ratted me out. Sometimes I wish he did, maybe I never would’ve been able to go to that party in the first place.
I could hear a door shutting on his end, I assumed he was going into a different room. “What’s wrong?” My skin was bubbling with anxiety at the prospect of having to tell him what I did.
“Fuck, uh… I did something stupid. I’m at Emily Goguen’s, y’know up in Champlain Heights. Please pick me up.” I rarely used the word please.
“Nia, what the fuck did you do?” I almost started crying but I found my eyes to be bone dry.
“Please don’t yell.”
“Okay, really, tell me what is going on or I won’t come get you.”
“I accidentally took meth.”
“You what? What the fuck, Nia! Fuck this I’m on my way and I’m fucking telling Dad.” I cringed but I knew he was going to before I even called. The pit in my stomach grew deeper as the buzzing of my skin grew stronger. I could feel myself getting higher, everything was so clear and standing around was making me grow restless. Ray huffed on the phone and I heard him entering his car.
His tone was softer the next time he spoke. “I’ll be there in 5, just stay put, please. Do you want me to stay on the call or can I hang up?”
I felt like a child, which I was really, only 16 at the time, a whole life ahead of me. Still, I was grateful for the way he spoke to me, reminiscent of being 6 and getting a scrapped knee after falling off my pink Razor scooter. The high made me edgy, and my voice was sharp to my ears, “No, you can hang up.” I heard the click to indicate he’d done just that, and started pushing my cuticles as I waited, the task somehow greatly interesting me, and I did not realize until later I had managed to pick off all of the skin around my pointer and middle fingernails during the five-minute wait.
Ray pulled up exactly five minutes later in his ugly, blue 2011 Ford Fiesta he’d gotten the year prior after passing his driving test. What I wouldn’t do now to smell the inside of that car once again, a distinct attar of pineapple car freshener and Old Spice deodorant mixed with stale black tea, faintly present due to his ever-growing collection of empty paper cups from various different fast foods and coffee shops.
I stumbled into the car, feeling the strong impulse to clean the space, but attempting to push it down. From the passenger side overhead mirror I could see my blown pupils and sweaty forehead, pieces of my copper red hair sticking to my face. My freckles were showing through my concealer that had mostly worn off and I wanted to cover them back up. My skin was pale from winter (and probably the drugs in my system) but my cheeks were flushed like I was drunk. My high cheekbones made my face look gaunt in the lighting, but my face was wide which balanced it out, so I didn’t look completely skeletal. Ray was looking at me, the worry apparent in his eyes, but his face was flushed as well, and I could tell he’d been drinking a bit too much to drive. I had my license as well, but it was clear I was in no condition to take over on that front, so I didn’t bother saying anything. I wish I had. There’s a lot of things I wish. I wish I hadn’t gone to that party; I wish I hadn’t taken that E; I wish I called someone else; I wish I waited it out at Emily’s; I wish I walked home; I wish I took a cab; I wish I waited for Faun; I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish.
“Are you okay?” He didn’t take his eyes off me as I shut the mirror in front of me.
“Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine. Please just take me home.”
“Is Dad there?”
“No.”
“Maybe I should take you to Mom’s.”
“No!” I’d moved out of my mom’s completely just over 6 months ago, barely seeing her once a month. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. She never liked me much anyways, the feeling was entirely mutual. Ray seemed to have a close bond with her for some reason despite how she treated him like shit. I never called him out though, he no longer lived with her, so I didn’t really care what their relationship was as long as she wasn’t hurting him. She did treat him significantly better than me, however, so I figured maybe he managed to forgive her the way I never could.
“Okay, but I’m staying with you until Dad gets home. I’m not gonna lie to him about this shit. Fucking meth, Nia? Seriously?”
“It was in the molly.” He sighed and started driving.
My brain felt like it was filled with butterflies, or ants, some kind of movement that was itching at my skull. The paper cups scattered around were making me anxious and I needed to clean his car. I began picking at my nails again, but I needed to pick up those cups, you see. I turned around and started gathering the ones Ray had discarded in the back, filling up an empty plastic bag from Best Buy. I was fully switched around in my seat, nearly crawling into the backseat to reach the trash my brother had left. I felt him tap my side, I looked over at him and he started to scold me.
“Nia, stop that will you, you’re distracting me.” But I needed to finish gathering the cups. The car was dirty, and my skin was itching, the traffic lights burning my skin. I was elated and I didn’t want to listen to him, he was just trying to get in my way. I continued to lean over, not registering the swerve of the car as he looked over at me.
“Nia – ”
He turned over to push me back into my seat, his eyes leaving the road for no more than a few seconds. This time I felt the swerve as we broke into the next lane.
This is where I have a hard time piecing together what happened. From what I was told, we ended up running directly into a 2015 Dodge Ram 2500. In case you understandably have a lack of knowledge when it comes to cars, that is a very large, sturdy, and expensive pickup truck which I would probably consider the last vehicle you’d want to charge headfirst into while going 70km per hour. I don’t recall the actual incident of hitting the truck, whether that be from the drugs, the position I was in, or hitting my head on the roof of the car, I don’t know. What I do know is that when I woke up, we were in a ditch on the side of the road, with the car flipped upside down, and my entire body was screaming at me to Get Out!
I felt blood oozing sluggishly from my head and noted some indistinct pain in my right wrist where it had scraped something pretty badly and gotten twisted, but I otherwise felt alright. I couldn’t tell if the cloudiness in my head was from a concussion or the earlier events of the night, but I figured it was probably good I was awake, regardless of how dazed I seemed.
I turned my head to the left and was greeted by a view I will never be able to forget, it having been branded to the insides of my eyelids, scorched in my mind. Ray, with his left arm twisted in spectacular fashion, reminding me of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, after Lockhart spells away Harry’s bones. My brother had always been squeamish with broken bones and I hoped he wasn’t aware of how his limb looked at the moment. His head was bleeding quite profusely, and I was alarmed despite how many times I’d heard in movies that headwounds bleed a lot. His eyelids were fluttering, irises appearing glassy and unfocussed. And then I saw it. A piece of glass was stuck in the left side of his neck. The windshield apparently had broken with the impact and my brother was lucky enough to get a piece lodged right in his trachea. It was thick, bright red blood – that I could’ve sworn was sparkling in my current inebriated perspective – was gushing out the side, so heavy I could smell it, taste it, in the air. I was frozen once I realized.
Do something, do something! Put pressure on it! Call 9-1-1! My mind was screaming at me, but it was all I could do to sit and watch the blood stain his clothes. He was wearing the corduroy jacket I’d gotten him for his birthday and a white button up, the red seeped into them until it was as if they’d always been that colour. My voice was caught in my throat, but I managed to push some sound past.
“Ray?” It was weaker than a whisper but in the silence that seemed to envelope us in that car, completely independent of the outside world and sirens that could surely be heard from blocks away, I knew he would be able to hear me.
He looked up, eyes focussing slightly on me, and a tear slipped down his face, only it went the wrong way since we were still upside down. He mouthed the words “I love you”. We never said that to each other. As close as we were, our relationship had always been more comparable to that of a best friend than sibling. We weren’t overly affectionate, never hugged or said I love you, hung out for enjoyment rather than as a punishment. Most people didn’t know we were brother and sister until we pointed it out, we never really looked alike and were absent of the traditional distaste and rivalry usually present between siblings. I knew, as he looked me in the eyes and said those words, this would be the last time I’d ever see him outside of a morgue.
I sat in my seat next to him with dry eyes, wishing desperately I could cry, needing to express the feeling of utter horror and despondency that completely overtook my body and mind, but I couldn’t. Barb told me time and time again that I was in shock, there was nothing I could’ve done, but I will never be able to believe that. I still remember the moment the final tear slipped down his face. He smiled at me, pain evident in his eyes. His entire body was covered in the metallic smelling red, and I wanted to vomit. I wish I could say the crash had sobered me, but it didn’t, not really. I was still entirely in a daze as I saw his muscles relax, smiling falling from his face, eyes not quite rolling back all the way but enough to give me nightmares for the next 20 years. The life had been absorbed from his body, leaving a heavy shell. I was told afterwards this all happened within the span of 10 minutes, but it felt like years. By the time the first responders had appeared I was an old woman. Grayed hair, and arthritic bones. Mourning for the brother I’d lost oh so many years ago, when I was just a girl. I think in a way I died in that car with him, I never was really the same. But who would be? Best friend and confidant, older brother, idol, dying in front of your eyes as you do nothing, knowing for the rest of your life that his death is – was – your fault. Knowing you could’ve done something, anything really, to prevent his untimely loss of life before the paramedics arrived. If I’d been the same after that night I would have to be much more disturbed than I ever thought.
I sat in that car beside Ray’s corpse for 3 more minutes before I heard the sirens closing in around us – me. I thought I might pass out, either from the toll of what I’d just witnessed or from my concussion, but I remained upright, probably from the adrenaline. I couldn’t move so I just waited, and hoped I’d die too before anyone reached the scene. It would be much preferrable to any other outcome I could think of at the time. I could vaguely register the pain in my wrist, but I felt so numb I’m sure you could’ve shot me in the foot and I wouldn’t have blinked.
A young fireman named Walter ended up getting me out of the car. The door was smashed and stuck which meant I’d been trapped in there either way. I was happy I hadn’t bothered trying to escape as I'm terribly claustrophobic and finding out I couldn’t would have thrown me into a proper panic attack. The fireman was incredibly nice, saying reassuring things the entire time they were opening the door with the “Jaws of Life”. I ended up seeing him again in the hospital actually, or at least that’s what my father told me. He wanted to check in on me and left me some hydrangeas in a vase. I always preferred chrysanthemums but I'm not that picky when it comes to a floral arrangement.
After the door was busted open I was carried out by Walter. I was shaking and apparently babbling nonsense but in my head I was trying to tell them to save Ray. I wasn’t really aware of all that much, completely blind to the crowd of spectators that had rudely gathered to witness the violence – wasn’t it supposed to be taboo to stop at a car crash? Wondering vaguely about what happened and wishing you could get a better look as you drive past the scene. My head wound had made me a bit incompetent and the meth in my system was really not helping the entire situation.
I was laid on a gurney and rolled onto an ambulance. I don’t remember much about the ride; the sirens, the bright lights, a paramedic named Alice who spoke softly, smoothing out my hair while the other put an oxygen mask on my face (which I wasn’t entirely cognizant enough to question though now I'm not really sure why they did it) and splinted my wrist. Alice asked me if I was on drugs and I nodded but was unable to speak when she asked me what ( I would find this a common occurrence after the accident, my voice seemingly stolen alongside Ray’s). She just nodded and said something to the other ME that I didn’t quite pick up. She asked if I could tell her my name and I shook my head. She must’ve noticed the iPhone in my pocket and grabbed it, turning to the medical ID page.
“Is your name Begonia?” I nodded, though the name sounded foreign on my ears. I liked the way Alice said it though, she had a light Spanish accent and a matronly tone that made me feel safe. I wondered if she had kids of her own; she looked young, but my own mother had me at 19 so who could say? She told me her name after complimenting mine. “Begonia is a beautiful name; I love the flowers. I’m Alice, okay? We’re gonna make sure you’re alright and take you to the hospital.” Her voice was sweet like syrup and I became sleepy as she spoke.
“No honey, you can’t fall asleep yet. Just stay awake a little bit longer and I promise you they’ll let you sleep at the hospital.”
I don’t remember anything of the rest of the ride to the hospital. I was dropped off at the Emergency Room at the Regional, head still too foggy to allow me to recall anything before I was sitting in a white bed, in a white room, with white sheets and a light blue hospital gown on. It was morning and my father was sitting at the end of my bed in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his eyes bloodshot and moist. He’d very obviously been crying for a long time and my chest panged with guilt. I reached up to feel my head and realized there was a cast on my wrist. With my other hand I touched the cotton that covered my forehead, wincing when I felt the sting of what had to be stitches in a nasty gash. I would spend the next 5 years of my life with a variety of diverse haircuts that attempted to hide the ugly scar that served as a reminder of the worst night of my life. Even now it is still extremely obvious, but I can’t be bothered to try and hide it, I so rarely look in the mirror that it wouldn’t matter if my skin turned blue.
My dad hadn’t looked up, so I attempted to gain his attention but once again found my voice failing me. I tapped on the bed a few times before he seemed to realize and face me.
“Nia… how are you feeling?” His voice was raspy and thin. He reeked of cigarettes and stale coffee, though this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I remained silent as he looked at me, searching my face for something I'm not sure he found.
“Nia, I, I'm not sure how to say this to you.” Here it comes. Almost worse than watching my brother die, the confirmation. “Ray, he’s, well dead.” I saw my father’s eyes begin to tear up again as I stared straight ahead. I couldn’t feel the sobs that racked my body, nor the hot tears streaming from my eyes. I saw my dad start to move closer but sit back down when I flinched. Of course, I knew my brother was dead; I had front row seats to watching the event happen, but somehow I still didn’t believe it until the words left my father’s mouth. According to my dad, who many years later described to me how eery the whole event was, my sobs were completely silent, and I was entirely unaware of everything happening around me. This dissociation lasted the first few days after the accident, and the entirety of my hospital stay. Leaving the blissful gap in my memory I have now.
Barb told me this was my mind’s way of coping with the tragedy and stress of what happened. I was honestly just happy I had an excuse to skip some of the dreadful retelling she forced upon me.
❈
The funeral was of course a depressing and solemn event. I was still yet to speak and found myself thankful for the way people gave up on trying to get me to communicate. I dressed in a black skirt with a black short sleeved button up. A dark coat thrown around my shoulders as the cast on my right hand was too big to fit through the sleeve. I looked terrible, barely a week out of hospital before I watched Ray sink into the ground. The wound on my forehead was still quite nasty, though it looked better than it did before. I tried to cover it up with my hair but was unsuccessful. I got bangs soon after.
The matter was very traditional, taking place in a church even though none of our family was really religious. It was only the second time I'd ever been in a church, the first having been for my cousin Julie’s wedding when I was four years old. I don’t remember anything of it aside from the material of my dress itching at my neck and making me rather miserable. Of course, not nearly as miserable as I was the day of the funeral, sitting in a pew at the front of the church, listening to a priest claiming Ray would’ve wanted us to celebrate his life. I knew this not to be true; Ray was extremely dramatic and would’ve cherished the thought of everyone he’d ever spoken to moping around for weeks after his death, beside themselves with grief. He sometimes referred to himself as “Romeo” after having been broken up with by another girl he was supposedly in love with, stating he better just stab himself in the heart now if he couldn’t have her. On the rare occasion he broke up with a girlfriend, he’d lounge around, eating ice cream, pretending to not be upset and comparing his cold heart to that of Richard VIII. The concept of him being any different over his death was almost comical; Ray was nothing if not predictable.
I sat beside my father, who sat beside my mother (it was an extremely awkward arrangement that neither I nor my father cared for) and seemed to have the idea that I could evaporate if I thought hard enough about it. Unfortunately, I did not evaporate, or even come close to it, instead finding myself exactly where I'd been the whole time. I mostly tuned out the service, only really paying attention when my father and Ray’s best friend, Jake spoke. I managed to escape the duty of having to speak that day thanks to my fragile mental state and mutism. Though I'm sure I would’ve been forced all the same if I had been able to talk in any capacity, regardless of where my head was at.
Faun was sitting in the pew behind me, feeling quite guilty about the whole ordeal. Or friendship dissolved soon after, I think she blamed herself for taking me to the party. It didn’t bother me too much though; we were never the closest and I sometimes thought her to be extremely annoying. An endless stream of shitty boyfriends that she only acquired so she could further repress her sexuality. When we were 14 we kissed at a sleepover and she admitted she was in love with me. I felt bad for not returning the feeling and our relationship had been on rocky territory ever since. I don’t understand how she thought she was in love with me since she barely knew anything about me, but either way she never brought it up again and soon after the monsoon of boytoys had begun.
My brother’s friends and ex-girlfriends also attended the event. I didn’t approach any of them, far too scared they’d blame me for the death of their friend. One of them, Alex, went up to me to say how sorry he was about everything that happened. He was crying quite heavily (I later found out he was the friend Ray had been drinking with and the second last person to see him alive) and I could smell alcohol on his breath. I stood there while he spoke, telling me about how great my brother was as if I was wholly unaware. Body waving side to side as he stood with his hand on the wall beside me. He offered me some bronze liquid in a flask, and I obliged, savouring the burning sensation that followed in my throat. Alex’s voice was steady and deep, reminding me of my father’s. I’m not sure how long we stood there, him spinning a fantastic web of anecdotes and stories about my brother, some entirely new to my ears. We passed the beverage back and fourth until it was empty. My head felt lighter and heavier somehow simultaneously, and I found it much easier to listen to Alex talk. Later he tried to kiss me in my bedroom during the wake. His mouth was sour, and his tongue seemed too big for his mouth. I wondered how he was able to talk so much without it getting in the way.
We moved in procession to the cemetery after the service. The grass was a vibrant green colour, and I didn’t understand how the world kept turning after Ray’s death, for mine stopped the moment his heart failed to beat. The sky was a lovely shade of cyan-blue, with clouds so perfect they seemed animated. Pink carnations were planted near the outskirts of the yard and I could smell spring in the air; a heavy, floral aroma that never failed to comfort me. I thought it should be raining, it felt inappropriate that the weather refused to match my despair. My mind wandered as we approached the empty grave and I considered what it would be like if Ray was here beside me. He’d probably be making jokes, telling me to lighten up for a minute or my face would get stuck that way. He’d mock my silence, saying how I never managed to shut up for a minute before but suddenly I'm as proper as a nun. I'd smile, ruffling his hair to piss him off and try to refrain from laughing aloud. The absence of him only felt stronger as I imagined this scenario, so I shoved it out of my head.
The casket was lowered into the ground, my father was a pallbearer and I often think about how he must’ve felt carrying his son’s body before watching him being buried. My mother sobbed loudly which annoyed me, it felt a bit exaggerated. I had a few tears falling from my eyes but mostly, I just felt numb. Incredibly and absolutely empty inside. To onlookers it may have seemed as though we weren’t very close, my reaction being similar to that of his ex-girlfriends’. However, this didn’t account for the loss of my voice, or the broken state I was in mentally. Maybe it was better that my reaction was rather dulled. It meant people didn’t feel the need to approach me as they did my mother. Less concerned given she was the one playing up her emotions to the point of embarrassment. My father cried, more than I but far less than my mother. He didn’t cry very often – I'd actually only seen it once prior to the whole event – and I figured he probably needed it. At this point I felt as though I'd shed enough tears to last a lifetime so Ray wouldn’t mind if I was a bit subdued in comparison. He never was a crier anyways.
As I sprinkled soil onto his casket I imagined he was right beside me, watching, ready to criticize as usual. The dirt stained my hand, clutching the sweat and turning my skin a muddy brown colour. As I wiped the dirt on my jacket I could hear him nagging about how I better go wash my hands, what was I, a six-year-old? He was in denial about me growing up and took every chance to remind me I was still just a kid. Not that he had much on me, but I enjoyed it. I never was one to shy away from attention; at least not before. Little quirks and inside jokes between us were always some of my favourite things, the type of humour you could only get from living with someone your whole life. No matter how much his memory will fade there are some things I can’t let myself forget. His mocking tone when he’d make fun of me is one of those things. If I ever managed to let go of that sound then I must be dead as well.
The sun beat down on my back, my skin burning in my black clothes. I wasn’t sweating yet, but most of the men around were – suit jackets aren’t exactly known for their breathability. My nose was dry and aching red, sore from how much I'd been wiping it the last couple days. Still the sweet seeping tinge of flowers and spring managed to crawl into my nose, settling underneath my skin, the buzzing from before had returned, I could feel my heartbeat loudly in my throat and had the desperate urge to just run. Instead, I just followed the rest of the party, sitting down in the passenger seat of my dad’s car. The silence that settled over us was uncomfortable and stale. He turned on the radio, Led Zeppelin filled the air around us, thankfully relieving some of the tension. I felt in my left pocket for one of the carnations I’d picked from a nearby grave earlier. The flower had begun to wilt, heat taking effect on its delicate composition. When I got home I put it in between the pages of my oldest copy of Romeo and Juliet. Ray would have found it funny if he was around to see.
The drive to my mother’s house was short and minimally awkward. We sat in silence – aside from the music – only because there was no alternative. My hand remained clutched around the dying flower in my pocket as we left the car and entered the home. Other people had already arrived, clustered in the living room, picking at tiny ham sandwiches and various desserts my mother had undoubtedly stress-baked the day before. I wasn’t hungry so I sat as far away from the food and people as humanely possible while staying in the living room, not wishing to hear my mother’s scolding about how I need to socialize more. Eventually I managed to slip away into my old bedroom, where Alex was sitting on my bed drinking a mickey of Smirnoff I assumed he swiped from my mother’s freezer. He offered it to me, and I accepted, the weird repetitive déjà vu like act, mirroring earlier and making the whole day feel like somewhat of a dream.
When I went over this part with Barb she always felt the need to emphasize that it wasn’t a dream. I knew this, obviously, which I told her every time, but she was inclined to disbelief when it came to my denial over my brother’s death. “Begonia, you must realize he’s gone. Dwelling is helping nobody, especially not you. This isn’t a healthy mindset for you to have. Always comparing living to your dreams. I want you to tell me you understand this isn’t just some dream you can wake up from.” The first time she said that to me I was thrust into a bout of wordlessness, as it struck a bit too close to home. The next time she brought it up I just told her of course, though even now I still cannot say I fully understand. How can I when all of my assumptions have been constantly disproven time and time again. How can I ever say this isn’t a dream when I'm not even sure I'm real? James always tries to reassure me, “Bee, I'm telling you, if you can feel this beat, the pulse in your wrist, your neck, your chest, you are alive,” he’ll say while pressing my hand to my wrist, but we both know it isn’t that simple.
Me and Alex made out for a few minutes until I managed to excuse myself. He was a bad kisser and tasted disgusting. I left him sitting on my old bed while I went downstairs to find my dad. He was sitting at the counter with a can of root beer, blank expression sat upon his face. When his eyes met mine he sighed, grabbing his keys out of his pocket. It was obvious neither of us wanted to be here, for numerous reasons, so we left. And if the radio stayed off as we drove home we didn’t acknowledge the silence that time. In my hand was the crumpled carnation, and for some reason it made my chest hurt. A deep ache of dread. I could feel my heartbeat, hear it over the drum of the car engine, and I crushed the flower further. I was careful not to rip it though, as if that was crossing some kind of invisible line my mind had set for me. My fingers felt waxy when I finally let go.
Back home, I opened the copy of Romeo and Juliet. I retrieved the deteriorating plant from my pocket and placed it in the center. Closing the book, I stacked it under a few dictionaries, a magazine under it so it was trapped on either side. I sat down in front of it and cried. Not the huge gasping sobs my mother seemed to fancy, nor the quiet weeping of my father. No, I cried the tears of a child who just found out their grandparents died, the soft uncomprehending grief that overcame them as they first learned what death really meant. How long forever was. My legs pulled up to my chest, hands loosely hung around knees, unable to clasp together because of my cast. I closed my eyes and I swear I could hear the sound of Ray sighing behind me, but when I opened my eyes I was alone. I went to bed, earlier than I ever had in my life, still believing it was a dream and I'd wake up like Alice after her adventures in Wonderland. But when I awoke, I was met with the slow, oozing perdure of my reality. The one which I could not wake up from, and the one where my brother was dead.
#my writing#writing#original writing#original content#original fiction#creative writing#dark academia#tw death#tw drugs#tw mentions of sex#tw swearing#tw mental illness#tw medication#alo writes
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