#fucking sucky ass post to make

[aicosu]

Guys, I hate to do this.

Any of you who know me in any circle know that I'm a very professional, very private lady who hates any sort of disc horse breeds that might give me a headache. But this one is important, and my goal here is the integrity and reputation of artists.

For my credentials: I have been a part of five zines in the past. Two I moderated, and one I ran, created, laid out, printed, and shipped in its entirety.

So anyway:

HELLCHEER ZINE BULLSHIT

I joined Hellcheer and the Kindred Freaks Zine very late. Well, after sign ups, check-ins, etc. I saw it was happening in april-ish and shot a DM to the twitter to join. I did both a full art page and a cosplay page.

At the time, the server was quiet but kind. We got updates on the number of orders and books being made.

@Lawless is the runner of the Zine. They created and organized it. They are in charge of the main emails, the selling website, the orders, the shipping, and the funds. (To be clear, this level of sole responsibility is not ABNORMAL in a zine. And is not always an issue.)

@Valerie is the 'social media' mod. They are in charge of managing announcements and answering questions on Twitter and Tumblr. Please keep in mind: No one wants anything but a fast and easy recovery for both Lawless and their mother. Medical emergencies, heck—LIFE happens. It's always okay to put a hiatus on anything, even product with money, in order to take care of yourself and family. Every single contributor only wants them to be clear in what they need and how we can help.

So lets break down what's happening.

Back in May, Lawless went radio silent on the status of books and merch coming in. Another contributor and I, @Toguchin, start dming Lawless to make sure everything is on track. They come back after a week and apologize for being MIA, explaining that their mom got sick. We thank them for all their hard work and wish them and their mom well.

On July 15th, after contributors and customers inquire on delays to meeting the announced shipping deadline, Lawless makes a twitter post saying shipping has started and contributor copies will be happening. They proceeded to go MIA from the server discord and have been since.

The following week, contributors and customers discover that shipping HAS NOT started. Labels have been created and printed, but nothing appears to be in transit at all.

Toguchin and I started getting reached out to by customers worrying their packages are lost. We report this to the zine server to NO RESPONSE. Except @Ashlee, the discord mod who also has heard nothing.

July 20th to 22nd with customers complaining and theorizing a scam in mind; Toguchin and I propose that PDFs be given out to assure and apologize for delays.

We as a server discover a few things: 1. We cannot access the list of buyers at all in order to email apology zines because Lawless did not share the account information with anyone. 2. We cannot access the main email for the same reason. 3. Valerie, the social media mod, deleted discord and distanced themselves from the Hellcheer fandom and has not been checking the Twitter or tumblr, or discord notifications since May.

Ashlee and Ichikun contact Valerie to sign on.

I made a new email and said fuck it, we need to do something to assuage fears, let them send receipts to honor their zines. Valerie didn't know what to post or say or how to answer everyone, so I gave them a copy paste.

Still no words from Lawless but hoping for the best knowing the have a medical emergency, Ashlee and I begin answering the new email for PDFs, but cant help people change addresses or give them any update!!!

Throughout the weeks mods and contributors ping Lawless constantly asking if they need any help! Any help at all, answering emails, changing order addresses, heck a few of us ask if we can pick up the books and packages and ship stuff for them so they can hands off the project and take care of their mom. No response.

We send message after message saying if Lawless can share picture proof, that would be great cause scam theories and chargebacks are starting. BUT ALSO, we let Lawless know we and customers will ABSOLUTELY UNDERSTAND delays if they just communicate it. That if they post in server and on Twitter that shipping needs to wait a month or two, no one will mind. No responses.

July 31, Lawless makes a Twitter update with comments disabled that they are shipping ALL packages that monday with a picture of packages. They also call Valerie privately and tell the issue that USPS refuses to pick up shipments from Lawless has, and they can't leave their mothers side from the post office. They also claim they can only deliver ten packages at a time at the post when they go. *USPS has no such rules. Me and other mutuals who run shops have never had such a problem.

A week later, we realize that customers and our packages are still not in transit. Labels printed only. Most of us assume all packages are just label printed and sitting at Lawless' house.

We beg for updates from Valerie or Lawless. Valerie doubles down on Lawless old reasonings and also officially goes MIA until present day.

Throughout August, USA packages get delivered. A few more updates are made straight to Twitter and Tumblr with comments off. Radio silence in server.

As packages arrive, we all become aware from people's posts and pictures that random Stranger Things Art Stickers are included. No credit to any artist is given? No contributor is responsible for this art. These are suspected to be BOUGHT from Amazon. STOLEN arts amazon sellers resell in packs. NO contributor is okay with this!!! Valerie responds with no response at all.

As of now:

No response to missing digital copies. Ashlee and I cannot give out any without receipts because we have no access to buyers list. Nor can we answer missing packages inquiries cause we have no info. International packages unaccounted for. SCRUNCHIES FREE OR OTHERWISE UNACCOUNTED FOR. Zero word on contributor copies. Zero word on donation status. Zero word on generated profit or book and shipping cost. No way to verify funds at all. No word from Lawless to contributors since July 15. From Valerie since the 31st.

Some notes:

Turning off twitter comments was NEVER what any one of us wanted. A ZINE LAYOUT was never shared. So until people had them in hand or in PDF none of us realized that the credits DO NOT POINT TO ANY SOCIAL MEDIA. All of our usernames are handle-less? This was extremely disappointing. This one matters to me: Our FanEdit artist was not aware their work was not getting a full page. Again no pre-layout was shared. So their work is tiny and in the margins of the front and back. That's not okay. All of us wanted to help in any way we could. NONE of us doubt Lawless intentions or emergencies. But lying, misleading, non-communicating and turning off comments are all things we did not consent to. All of us only wanted a cordial, honest response. None of us actually cared about delays as much as we did communications. There has been many noticeable times Lawless has been online, posting privately or otherwise, even active on Discord and has not reached out.

Why make a post:

Customers should know contributors fought for them. That we did everything we could and our reputation as artists in the fandom shouldn't be tarnished cause two creators decided to disappear. Contributors should get their copies. Many of us BOUGHT bundles. I've been in five zines and every single one gave out free contributor copies WITH merch!!

I'm also attaching all server screenshots for integrity. I'm in half a mind to release the zine PDF publicly, for free, for everyone at this point. I personally think it's only fair since many are still missing just that. But I do not want to insult anyone who paid for just the PDF regardless of the potential contribution to charity. But it's really up to customers, not me.

#hellcheer #hellcheer zine #kindred freaks #fucking sucky ass post to make

[sirfrogsworth]

People are talking about not voting for Biden.

Again.

I'm just so tired of this argument.

I just can't do Trump again.

I can't.

His incompetence killed so many people. A panel estimated 40% of COVID deaths could have been averted.

One of those deaths was my mother.

She was killed because people didn't trust the vaccines and they didn't think masks were worth the inconvenience. That man could have gone on TV and said "This is the Trump vaccine and it is great." He could have sold fucking MAGA masks on his website. He had 100% influence over his dipshit followers and could have used that for the greater good. But he was too vain to wear a mask in public and bungled the vaccine rollout.

And now I worry some of my trans loved ones may not make it through another far right administration. They have this giant target on their back right now and conservatives seem determined to eradicate as many trans lives as possible.

I wrote a whole ass post about how I didn't care for Biden. I still don't. But when I try to imagine what a right wing administration would be doing right now... that seems like it would be a nightmare orders of magnitude worse than the current nightmare.

As someone with an untreatable chronic illness, I know the feeling of being presented with choices where all of them suck. And I have had to survive by choosing the least sucky option over and over.

It feels bad every single time.

I hate it.

And I still fucking choose.

It should be different. There should be better choices. I shouldn't have to choose the least bad thing among all bad things.

But there are people and things in this world I feel are worth sticking around for, so I continue to choose the least sucky thing.

[starry-eyed-psychopomp]

So Nimona’s trending, as it should, and I’m thinking back to three years ago when the cancellation announcement came out. I made a post about it, a really REALLY angry post that ended up blowing up a bit and being the way A LOT of people found out. The following year was really sucky mentally for me, and the Nimona cancellation was honest-to-god a sizable factor in that. The graphic novel was really important to me personally, and it remains one of my favorite books of all time, so I didn’t take that news well, and it certainly didn’t help that every time that post got a new surge of likes in the following year, I was reminded of all that anger. Since then, I’ve kind of gotten used to my favorite book adaptations being unceremoniously cancelled, though it still packs a bit of a punch depression-wise, I’ll admit. It’s unfair that innovative, diverse projects will just get tossed to the wayside over and over again because some money-hungry old fart decides it won’t immediately make tons and tons of money, and I’ll still get angry over that. But it has helped, in the past two years, to remember Nimona. To remember the ONE TIME where it fucking WORKED. Where a diverse project was FINALLY allowed to reach its potential and it paid off. In this day and age, it’s just really nice to have this kind of spark of hope, and I’m just so glad Nimona is finally getting the recognition it deserves.

And I’m also glad that Disney got their ass handed to them

#the ONE time I’ll give the Oscar’s credit ok show’s over boys. not happening again #nimona #annapurna pictures

[steviewashere]

Let Me Make You Soup, Let Me Show You That I Care

(also on ao3)

wc: 4,149, Steddie Tags: Post Vecna, Post Canon, Post Season 4, Sick Steve Harrington, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Vomiting (Though Not Extreme, For I am Emetophobic), Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Steve's Sucky ass Parents

(Also, I hope y'all don't mind me cross-posting some of my favorite one shots that I've put up on ao3. Figured I could push them to a bigger audience, especially those who don't use ao3).

--------

Steve gets sick often. Small colds, allergies, the dreaded flu. Maybe it doesn't help him that he's had so many concussions and injuries on top of that too. Left with debilitating migraines and aching sides and muscles that become overexerted too fast.

Safe to say, his immune system is now a pile of steaming dog shit.

He's become good at attempting to "take care" of himself. With his parents being absent nearly all the time, much of the recovery process and gentle care was left to Steve. His hands don't have the same soft and slim quality as his mother's did, though. Even if she doesn't make the effort to shove his hair from his sweaty forehead or massage vapor-rub onto his chest or squeeze his shoulders as he dry-heaves into the toilet. He can miss that.

It's also safe to say that Steve Harrington, best babysitter and lesbian protector, is absolutely terrible at asking for help. His idea is, Got myself into this mess, I can get myself out. His other idea is, I don't want to burden anybody; I've been that too many times.

He suspects that's why his parents aren't there now to tuck him into bed and check his temperature and read him a bedtime story. Even though, now, he's a nineteen year old "man." More like a bruised child trapped inside the buff body of an even more injured adult, left to his own devices and decisions.

Steve is miserable today. Woke up with a knocking headache, an itch at the bottom of his throat, tingly fingers, shivering limbs, and the need to massage his abdomen to elicit the vomit to come up sooner.

It's barely nine in the morning. Just cracked his eyes open. Which, are heavy with crust and too much sleep, yet not enough.

It's barely nine in the morning and all Steve wants to do is lay stiff on his mattress, a trusty tried and true trashcan on the floor, curtains closed, a heavy duvet draped over his legs, and the A/C set to sixty-eight degrees. That's what he does. Doesn't have the appetite for breakfast or water or Tylenol. He doesn't have the energy to lay on a towel on the bathroom floor, body curled around the base of the toilet bowl. And, he doesn't have the confidence to plead with somebody over the phone to "Take care of me, just this once and I'll repay you."

He's done that before to Tommy. The bastard never showed and Steve sobbed so hard at the thought of being left alone, that he hurled right onto the beige carpet of his bedroom. That's why the desk is stuffed into the corner. To cover what he couldn't even take care of.

Steve has decided to lay in bed today. Has already used the trashcan. Kicked off the duvet then whined then brought it back to his sweat drenched t-shirt hem, then said fuck this and ripped the shirt off his body.

The silk sheets against his rapidly heating body feels nice. Like laying on the kitchen floor, Steve surmises. And that makes him think of soup.

A hot bowl of chicken noodle soup. Something he's made himself countless times before. A recipe that his mom never perfected. It's just Campbell's, the instructions are on the label, yet it was never made correctly.

She'd do that. When her motherly instincts were at an all-time high. That had to be when he was probably five? Six? His mom would make a bowl of soup so warm and soothing that she would have to warn him about touching the ceramic. She would bring him a glass of orange juice and say, ever soft and comforting, "It'll help you. Mommy promises."

The juice would sting his throat and he would cough so hard she would start to worry about doing the Heimlich maneuver.

That's what his mother's "sick care" turned into. A glass of orange juice that only hurt, never helped, just made him think about swallowing glass.

Soup turned into a heat-until-lukewarm situation. Juice wasn't bought for him. His parents elected to buy "fancy juice" instead. Another descriptor for Mommy's self-healing alcohol problem, Steve began to substitute. He remembers the last time she ever made him anything or gave a shit about his weakened body.

Steve was eleven years old.

He eventually learned where to buy the Campbell's stuff. From Mevald's. Now he keeps a hefty supply in the back of his family's pantry. Ready for a day like this.

A day where at eleven, before noon, Steve has a sudden mouth watering appetite for measly chicken noodle soup.

He hefts his body into an upright position, feet planted onto the carpet, fingers white-knuckling the edge of the mattress, a quick glance thrown at the trashcan, and a heavy breath burrowed into the stale air. Right before he scoots to stand, he hears the telltale sound of Eddie knocking on his front door. A simple three pattern.

The rapping startles Steve slightly. He forgot that Eddie was supposed to come over. I'll have to send him away, he thinks solemnly.

"Coming!" Steve croaks to the bathroom floor. With whatever strength the knocking has given him, he tucks the trashcan under his right arm, creeps to the top of the stairs, and ever so carefully floats down them.

The can is set off to the side before he opens the door.

In the glow of the daylight, energized and cheery, is Eddie Munson. Wrapped in a leather jacket, hair tied up into a bun, jeans replaced with jorts, and a grin the size of the moon.

"Hey Stevie," he drawls as his lithe frame leans against the doorjamb.

"Hey man, listen..." Steve begins before being interrupted.

"Whoa, what's going on with you?" Eddie shoves into the house. His grin is set into a small frown and his eyes are glazed with concern instead of the excited energy equal to a golden retriever. "Did you get enough sleep last night? You could've called me if you had a nightmare."

That's something him and Eddie do. When one has a god awful nightmare about floating bodies and squelching flesh and sterile hospital walls, they call each other. Sometimes to just hear that the other is alive. Other times for a trip to one another's house. The phone calls could be Eddie recapping a campaign storyline or Steve bemoaning over a wretched, hag of an old woman that demanded a refund on an R rated movie her grandson finagled her into renting. Or just breathing. Steve's fond of the soft puffs of air that signal Eddie finally relaxed enough to go back to sleep.

"No, weirdly enough I slept way longer than I was supposed to. I'm just sick today. But, I'm fine. Or at least I will be, got a good grasp on this. Y'know, trashcan, soft bed, canned soup. Was actually coming down here to send you back home," Steve rushes out. He's out of breath and feels lightheaded. The headache has turned into a pulsating mess and his stomach churns violently. Before he can warn Eddie again to go out the front door and leave him be, Steve finds himself hunched over his trashcan at the bottom of the stairs, trembling with the force of his grip. One hand on the edge of said bin. The other, wrapping tendrils of hair around his fingers and pulling with enough force to surely rip out some of his luxurious hair. Which, really, is a sweaty disgusting mop today.

He feels the hand in his hair loosen. A smaller, slightly cold hand replacing it. But this time, the fingers work carefully to sweep back any loose strands. Another hand joins the mix. This one squeezes at his right shoulder.

Eddie is behind him, whispering and shushing, "You're alright. I got you, let it out." His cold skin feels amazing over Steve's damp forehead. And equally, his touches are soothing.

Steve coughs once, twice, spits the same amount, and then leans against Eddie with a heavy sigh. "Thanks," he mutters. He shutters at being oddly exposed. Now that he's realized his torso is bare and he probably looks as awful as he feels and now all of his guts are in a bin in front of him.

The bin gets shoved over to the left and Steve starts to get up from the hardwood floor. Eddie lifts him up and leans him against his side. "How about this? I'll make you something mild, get some water into you, and divvy up a couple Tylenol tablets. Your skin is hot and not in the sexy way," he chuckles.

They make their way to the living room. Steve is deposited onto the couch with a cushion shoved behind his back and the can placed appropriately at his feet, within arm's reach. Eddie adjusts his hair again, this time with the tie from his own hair, and leaves to the kitchen.

Steve is dazed. Hot all over. Itchy in some places. Runny nose, aching stomach, watering eyes, and throat so itchy he wants to dig his fingernails into the skin on his neck. This predicament almost makes him embarrassed, more ashamed than anything. He gets his ass handed to him annually and has to have people take care of him during the concussions, until he's given the okay to go home and grovel in silence. And he puts himself in situations he can't get himself out of. He's tired of it, he realizes. Feels the need to apologize to Eddie, make him cookies or something, promise to never make him do anything like this ever again.

When said man comes back into the room with three extra-strength Tylenol in his palm and a cold glass of tap water, Steve wants to cry. It's not until Eddie is setting everything down to pet at his hair and shush him again doe he notice, he is crying.

"Sorry," Steve's voice rasps. He takes a gasping breath before choking out another nasty, wet sob.

"Nothing to be sorry for. It's what your body has to do," Eddie coos.

"No, I'm sorry you have to take care of me," he breathes. That's tally number two for decisions Steve is making today. Some miserable, lonely, somewhat pathetic decisions.

Then, Eddie pulls back. His eyes are the size of saucers. And that small frown from earlier has turned into a deep-set, terribly worrying downturn. "You don't have to apologize for that. Not at all. You need help, I'm here for you. It's what we do, okay?" he murmurs. Steve cries some more at that. Choking on his tears, practically. Enough for Eddie to say, "Hey, breathe with me. I don't want you to make yourself sick again."

So they sit for a few minutes. Breathing. Steve keeps his eyes on Eddie's mouth, watching him count. And Eddie stares at his eyes. Trying to piece together all the little details about this version of Steve. The one not picking fights and towering over unlucky underclassmen and spitting venom instead of backing away when he's supposed to. This Steve that looks like a small, terrified, lonely little boy. Who feels the need to apologize for being a human being. Somebody that makes sure everybody is better off and happy and swooned over before taking an assessment of his own body, the injuries stitched into his side, and the possibility that someone also wants to make sure he's doing alright.

God, who is Steve Harrington, Eddie questions to himself.

Once the tears have subsided and breathing has been placed under control, Steve feels exhausted. Eddie seems to notice because he suggests, "Why don't you lay down for a while? Maybe snooze some while I make soup?"

Steve nods with slight hesitancy. "Can I—" he stutters, "Can I lay down in my room?" To Eddie, this is the quietest he's ever heard his friend. And that doesn't sit right with him. A man—bulky and toned, loud and sassy, bark with no bite—now sitting with his shoulders slumped, skin blotched in various shades of pink and red, breathing ragged, and looking at Eddie with terribly timid eyes. He's just a little boy, some part of Eddie whispers.

"Yeah man. 'Course you can. How 'bout you get yourself to bed, I'll follow behind with your can, give you your medicine, and leave the door open just in case you need something?" The nod Eddie gets back is so energetic, it's as if Steve wasn't sick to begin with. That part of him that's been whispering and wondering is now aching. All he wanted was to be looked after.

Where are your parents, Eddie wants to ask aloud. Who was here to take care of you, Eddie wants to dig.

In mere moments, Steve is tucked back into bed. The curtains are drawn to be almost completely closed. His door is left unlocked and gaping. There are soft snuffles drifting through the house. And Eddie finds himself in front of the Harrington's fancy electric stove.

Before he came back downstairs to cook, Steve whispered something about there being Campbell's in the pantry. "If you want to heat it up on the stove, that's what my mama did when I was really little. It's what I do now."

Eddie glances at the cans and makes a decision for Steve, He deserves better than a piss poor attempt. Homemade it is.

When he was little, Wayne used to make soup on sick days. Still does. During the recovery time when Eddie's sides were still sore with stitches and itchy with stretch, Wayne would bring him a bowl of soup and a tall glass of orange juice on a little tray. He makes a mean bowl of tomato. "Something my mamaw taught me and now I can show you," he had told Eddie.

As much of a bare wasteland as Steve's kitchen is—What does he eat, Eddie wonders—he manages to find all the ingredients necessary. After a couple cupboards are ripped open and some miscellaneous drawers sifted through, he finds himself stirring a simmering metal pot of something he hopes Steve can keep down.

Eddie wants to chastise Steve for even thinking about being sick alone. What a misery sentence. Was probably going to call Robin and say something about, "You don't need to worry. It's not bad. I'll just be out of work for a couple days." Then he would've trekked back upstairs, slow like molasses, and locked the door behind him. Would've laid in bed shivering and crying and barfing. Probably would have passed out by the time he was finally hungry.

Steve even apologized earlier for being taken care of. As if he was a burden. Made himself smaller and tighter and quieter, that's for sure. So Eddie won't do any form of chastising. That'd only make him disappear on himself more.

As the soup is being dished up with plain toast and a cup is being filled with pulpy orange juice, Eddie hears Steve startle awake upstairs. Goes from snoring almost as loud as Wayne in the winter to dry heaving, hard.

Eddie sets the made tray down onto the counter. He makes his way back to the front door and chucks his shoes to the side and hangs up his jacket. Then, tumbles upstairs just as Steve is breathing raspy again.

One. Two. Three knocks on the open bedroom door. And in the blink of an eye, Eddie is over at Steve's side. He's crying again. Nothing like the nauseous sobs from earlier, but sniffles and silent watery blinks.

Steve's hair is pushed back again. "What's goin' on Stevie? What happened?"

"N-nothing," he spits frantically into the air. Like a kid trying to hide a lollipop behind their back. A teenager caught with a lit cigarette in hand. The family dog with a sneaker in it's mouth being told to drop it.

"Okay. Okay, I won't push. But I brought you some soup and orange juice. It's not the best because there's so much pulp in it, but it'll do for now. Oh, and—" Eddie sings. He digs around in his jorts pockets for a small container. As he brandishes it just in Steve's line of sight, he says, "Found some vapor-rub in the medicine cabinet downstairs. Now it is a few months out of date, but that just means more will need to be appl—honey, what's goin' on?" he questions softly.

Steve's sniffles have turned into thin-lipped, eyes glazed and bloodshot, muffled sobs. He has a streak of snot dripping down on his upper lip and his chest keeps stuttering. Eventually, he chokes out, "You brought the soup to me."

And what a statement.

The sentence slaps Eddie across the face, causing his head to rear back. It confuses him, that's what it does. Obviously I brought him soup, what the fuck, he asks himself incredulously.

"Wha—of course. That's what you do when somebody is sick. You help 'em out, bring soup or crackers or whatever and make sure they're better," Eddie supplies as he wipes away the sweat and snot with his banana. There's a brief moment where the only sound is Steve crying. The room is dim and he seems more comfortable than when the door was initially answered.

Eddie thinks back to the apologizing. The making himself smaller and quieter. His hesitancy about wanting to sleep in his own bed. How his mom used to make soup. And the statement, "Got a good grasp on this." Pieces start to click, sirens sound off, door number three has opened and behind it is a shiny new car.

A horrifying realization. The easy solution to Eddie's childlike curiosity over where Steve's parents are. And that in itself makes him want to hurl into the trashcan or pull full force at his hair or sob.

His parents aren't here and haven't been in a long while, Eddie accuses.

"Oh, Stevie." He pets again at his drenched hair. "I'm not going anywhere, alright? You don't have to worry about that with me. Let me do what I need to do, but I'll be right here if you need anything."

"Okay," Steve whispers.

Within just a couple minutes, Eddie has Steve propped back up on a mountain of pillows. Some from the hall closet, the stale bedroom of his parents, and the ones from his own bed. He's changed the bag in the can with a call of, "It's alright, no big deal," after Steve's cry that Eddie didn't need to do that. A bedside lamp has been turned on. An ice cold wet rag has been situated over his neck. There's a thick layer of vapor-rub in his chest hair.

Then came the aforementioned lunch. It smells divine. As if God himself started a soup kitchen in the Harrington's desolate house. What's even better is that it's definitely not chicken noodle.

"I don't remember there being any cans of tomato in the pantry," Steve notes.

"Oh, well. I thought you deserved better than that crap. Made something Wayne usually serves up. Family recipe," he sings again.

"Oh," Steve breathes. His eyes feel wet again, but he fights every part of him that says to cry. He's done enough of that. "Y'know, you didn't have to," he says quietly.

Eddie makes the wounded sound of a shot dog. He finishes setting up the tray on the stiff mattress. Then, situates himself to sit on Steve's left, rubbing down his bare back. "I wanted to. That's all that matters. Now eat up before it gets cold."

And he does just that. The bowl is hot to the touch. Its contents still fresh from being boiled. Even the gulps of orange juice don't burn as bad as when he was little. Steve feels five years old again. He's anticipating the late afternoon lunch from his mom where she'll show him vapor-rub and a spoonful of Pepto-Bismol. In the living room, she's going to lay down, with him on top, and they'll watch reruns of his favorite cartoons. The curtains are closed and she hums lullabies as he drifts off to sleep.

Eddie rubs his back and hums songs and kisses his forehead gently. Which, Steve hasn't been given that amount of affection in a long while. And he honestly doesn't mind.

There's something that's been sitting between the two of them, a thing the size of a ten pound medicine ball. A word shaped like love and comfort. The space where Eddie shares stories about Uncle Wayne and his hibernation snoring when the temperatures drop and how he acquired every single mug on their wall. And in response, Steve listens and drips a couple droplets of how his mom would read Goodnight Moon and kiss him on his cheek or on summer days where they'd splash each other in the shallow depth of the pool. Before it became a graveyard. Or the loosely sketched outline of a mom and her child. His dad wasn't as close, but he'd play catch when Steve was still learning about baseball or share facts about his car that intrigued little eight year old Steve in a way no sport has ever done before. How he acquired the bowling pin from the one time his parents took him out for his birthday. The car painting being something his dad did in his spare time, not bought from some general store in the next town over.

Even in his sick state, Steve thinks about pecking Eddie on the lips. Wonders how smooth they are. If he uses chapstick. What flavor it could be. His mind supplies days in the future where they make soup for each other and shout about how excellent Hellfire was or Lucas' basketball game had been. Mornings shaped by soft snores and gentle touches and steaming cups of coffee. Nights wrapped around each other, cooing sweet nothings when the nightmares become bloody again, and sex that's slow and drawn out. Or the quiet moments where Steve needs a shoulder to cry on. And open arms so that Eddie is encased in comfort, even after everything.

At his final spoonful and dip of toasted crust, Steve whispers, "I love you." As treacherous as his mouth has been in the past, this final decision isn't as daunting as the rest from earlier today. Some part of Steve knew that it would come to a head and the words would spill from his lips like the soup on his chin.

Eddie hums beside him. He kisses Steve one. Two. Three times on the forehead. Then he sets the tray aside with all the empty dishes and the vapor-rub with three finger divots. He strips down to his boxers and a simple t-shirt. And he tucks Steve in as he scoots on top of the duvet to hold him.

"I love you, too," he responds. "And I'll be here when you get up. So get some rest and the next time you're awake, I'll go get some new orange juice and more ingredients for tomato soup and a container of unexpired Vick's."

Steve drifts off to sleep with his body curled around Eddie's side.

In the morning, the curtains are open and soft sunlight streaks in the bedroom. Eddie has left the house to do a quick grocery run, leaving behind a note of "Just lay back and relax. I brought the phone upstairs if you want to keep yourself entertained."

He calls Robin to muse aloud how excellent Eddie is. Their dance around each other now concluded over a simple bowl of soup. How nice it is to finally get the care he wish he had when his mom started to go away. Him kissing a guy before she could kiss a girl and her shriek off, "The next time I see you, I'm gonna give you the nastiest, biggest wet willy this world has ever seen. Trust in it, Steve Harrington."

The threat isn't an empty one, but it makes Steve chuckle anyway. Even though he still feels that encroaching violent twist of his stomach and a cough that could send him flat on his ass.

And when the phone call ends and Eddie is back inside with soup being made on the stove? Steve feels like maybe it's alright to rely on his true family when the time comes. He makes a promise to himself too that he'll learn how to make the best goddamned chicken noodle soup this world has ever tasted. All so that he can dote over Eddie the same. Make sure that he really knows just how much Steve loves him.

"I love you," Eddie breaths into his tussled hair later on the couch, where they're watching cartoons.

"Love you, too," Steve slurs as his body becomes heavier with sleep.

#stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #post canon #post season 4 #angst and hurt/comfort #sick steve harrington #sick fic

[boofindoopin]

I really hate it when people act like it’s a crime that I/a lot of other Greek myth lovers think that PJO/HOO/TOA aren’t good Greek myth adaptations.

People have different opinions, and I’m all for that! I chose to be a fucking Ares stan, I’m use to having “weird” opinions. But, it’s really silly to get like ACTUALLY mad at someone for having a different opinion then you.

I personally think that the PJO franchise fell into the same thing that a lot of popular media does to the Greek gods, and they are as followings.

Ares is big, scary, evil, misogynistic dude bro

Aphrodite is a hoe!

Underworld gods are mean and scary oOoOh

And to all the people that are like “Hades got better!” Not by much!! Still a sucky ass dad :(

The other Greek gods ALSO got reduced like, they painted Zues and Hera as one dimensional evil villains, Athena as this cool person who is better at war than Ares, and every else in the standard ones!

And I’m not saying that you can’t like this series, go ahead and love all your heart out! I personally love some of the characters Rick made (my grievances with some characters would take up a whole two posts).

Also if you are trying to get into Greek mythology, and your learning through those series,I’m so so SO proud of you for learning about other peoples culture/history. Just make sure to do some read historical texts as well.

But, if you read the series and think your a myth expert, chances are you probably aren’t. It’s ok to learn from those things, thats how I got into this! But, please don’t act like you know more than someone who devoted their time to be good at it.

Just please, for the love of all that is good in this life, don’t fight Greek myth fans for pointing out the flaws in the PJO myths, and don’t fight us for not thinking it’s the best retelling

#PJO is not all hot stuf #Greek myths #Ares #Zues #Hera #Aphrodite #cthonic gods #stop arguing with people who devoted themselves to history about Athena #you will loose #it will not be pretty #it will be as pretty as a bloody battle can be

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

I want to quit a03 and just delete all my current fanfictions, i haven’t updated any of them in months. I’m tired lol. The main reason why is I haven’t been getting a lot of interactions on my recent stuff and Ik that’s not the point of writing fanfics but idk it’s a nice from motivation. I’m an attention whore, sue me.

What i’m asking i guess is how do u stay motivated??? I have a lot of ideas for things but no drive to make them a reality.

(You probably can tell who i am from this lol but its kinda embarrassing so i wanted to keep it anon)

Oh dude I absolutely get it, for real. While we ultimately write for ourselves, a lack of engagement is REALLY discouraging! I’ve said before that I went through a REAL mental struggle writing The Webs In The Rafters specifically, and that still stands. I had a lot of super nice commenters, and that helped a lot, but it was so, so, sucky to see no engagement other than the same six people. As grateful as I was for them, I really wanted more interaction. I’d see the comment count go up, but no new kudos, and I’d feel like I was failing.

I almost dropped that fic. The only reason I didn’t was my dearest boxwinebaddie regularly doing cartwheels in the comments and messaging me about the story. Encouragement from an author you admire helps SO MUCH and I want to be that person to someone someday!!! The community of ao3 can be toxic, for sure, but it’s so kickass to see the same handful of people in someone’s comms every time you read something from a certain writer!

And man, I am absolutely an attention whore. I thrive on attention. I may be an agoraphobic asshole with no friends other than my partner irl and I may literally panic so bad that I faint when I get spoken to, but we are HUMAN!!! Validation is fucking NICE!!! Being a person sucks absolute ass and confirmation that we’re doing something right helps a lot!

The only advice I have on staying motivated: I’m just fuckin insane. And I’ve said before that the ONLY reason I started writing was bc I had an extremely specific set of tags I wanted to see. I wanted to see more style injury recovery and at the time, a lot of the style fics out there were literally just boring high school aus or Stan being suicidal and I was like helll no let’s switch it up! So I assumed my mission of renovating that ship tag. I wanted sot style h/c with an ungodly amount of comfort? I was gonna have to write it. And that expanded to all aus. I developed the OrangeJuiceVerse specifically with the message of healing as the central theme. And it means so much to me. What I’m getting at is that your work really does have to have something there that’s important to you. If it’s just all random drama with no reconciliation, it’ll be really draining on you and fall flat in your mentality surrounding it.

Another thing is: if you don’t feel like updating, DONT! It’s fanfiction. It’s something you’re putting on the Internet for free. If you aren’t 100% happy with a chapter, there is no obligation to post it! Also, if you aren’t feeling up to working on a wip, mentally or physically, you don’t have to! Come back to it when you are!

On obligation, something I struggle with is my own self imposed habit of daily updates on multichapters. I usually go really wild when I start a new au, and I’ll write for it every day. But for instance, right now, it’s been a couple since I’ve posted a new chap on In The Truly Gruesome. And I have felt some guilt about that, bc I’ve sort of garnered this reputation as someone who updates frequently on multichaps, but I haven’t been feeling so great, so writing isn’t my top priority. A couple lines here and there are what I can manage, and that’s okay! Again, it’s fanfiction. Ultimately, it matters to us as the author, the story can mean the world to us, but we shouldn’t feel obligated to update, because above all we are PEOPLE with LIVES!!!

It’s also important to remember not to treat ao3 as social media. Yes it’s kickass to form a community of like minded authors who all support each others stuff, but it isn’t something that should be expected. And I CANNOT stress enough how important it is not to feel obligated to work on something just bc someone wants you too. I’m a hypocrite, yeah, considering I had no intention of continuing my TFBW oneshot “We Did It We Are A Good Team” until I had someone commenting on my unrelated works asking for a second chapter. I don’t regret writing ch 2, btw, like im really happy with it, but I did cave under pressure to some degree. And that’s not something we should do when writing. Write for YOURSELF and (unless you’re doing an ask book or something) NO ONE ELSE!!!

That’s what I got my dude. If you feel strongly about what you’re writing, by all means write it. If you don’t, don’t feel obligated. I hope this helped!

#asks #south park #fanfiction #ao3 bs #ao3 shit #fic crap

[thestarseersystem]

Systems, you can do whatever you want, forever. I don't care anymore. And if I care later, that's someone else who pilots this meat body.

Syscourse is stupid. I may scroll through the tag of my own curiosity and outrage, but getting mad over how another system does or doesn't operate is stupid.

I do the following:

Roleplay and make picrews and do silly videos with my alters and dress up

Romanticize my symptoms as a coping mechanism because that's all I got

Edit my shit and constantly fight in my head, because who's actually right here

Take shit personally. Hey what the fuck you looking at??

Thinking about committing and constantly threatening violence. Because evil alters are poggers actually

Half of the system is hypersexual. Including the littles. I've been hypersexual since I was bodily 5 years old. Whatcha gonna do, give me therapy about it? I need it.

Have a lot of problematic behaviors. So what. Who doesn't. You aint pure, bitch

Using names that I wasn't born with. Because apparently people get mad about that. I'm not elaborating. Y'all just wanna trigger ppl with OCD all day, huh.

Etc etc etc.

I'm unpalatable. DID, OSDD and other dissociative disorders aren't pretty or happy or easy to deal with. It's dark and dirty and grungy and sucky and I become an asshole sometimes.

Stop expecting systems to be perfect or having perfect labels and perfect names or perfect existences. We had to do whatever we could to survive, and that means doing morally questionable shit. That means taking up space. That means stop judging people when they do something you don't like. Because they probably are not in recovery or in therapy or getting the right treatment or wanting to get treatment or needing everything you needed.

Systems have no set way to be. Yes, I'm mainly anti-endo and do think all systems come from trauma, but do you know what I'm not gonna do? Go and harass people about it. I block people, constantly. I constantly question if I should block people on my side of things because of their stupid fucking opinions. I stay in my fucking lane and try to mind my own business.

But sometimes I'm a nosy bitch, sometimes I'm curious about what's going on. Because there's no positive or neutral system content most of the time. But there's always some crazy drama going on. And that's what I assume some of y'all are doing when looking at this post.

So, just take a step back and ask yourself, are you willing to die on this hill and keep shitting on other fucking randos on the internet, for shit you have no right to question, or are you going to log off and touch some fucking grass? Because honestly, I don't care anymore, and you shouldn't either.

Live authentically, even if that means being a little punk ass bitch or mauling a stranger.

I'm done with keeping up appearances and masking in this community. I don't need a crumb of validation or acceptance, I'm just throwing this out there to anyone in the trenches. Don't give a shit for a moment. Eat some grass instead of being online.

#post.txt #discourse.txt #syscourse #system anarchy #syscourse unaligned #i know i am anti-endo but this post sits firmly into anyone can interact as long as i didn't block you #the system may get angry at me for posting this but nothing in life matters #be as fucking weird as you want #systemhood isn't pretty but mine sure is

[rubakans-watermelons]

Here's something funny (not)

I was getting sick over food and had to stay home from school , so I scrolled through Tumblr

I saw some gimmick blogs I adore posting about Palestine and Gaza. I didn't really pay attention at first ( very rude on my end , I apologize) but soon later I decided to read it. I was pretty pissed , I mean , several countries (including mine, the USA ) that claim to be "peaceful lands", condoning and SUPPORTING MURDER? You , Joe fucking Biden , are evil . More GENOCIDE on INNOCENT WOMEN , MEN , CHILDREN , AND EVERYONE ELSE THERE ,is being caused by a dying , incompetent, old man , who is STUTTERING OVER EVERY FUCKING THING HE SAYS ,WHO SOME ONE LET IN OFFICE. THIS IS HORRIFYING. HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING IN YOUR 81 YEARS ON THIS DIETY FORSAKEN WORLD?

I THEN LISTEN TO THE TV IN THE LIVING ROOM , AND LOE AND BEHOLD , NOTHING ON THE SITUATION CAN BE HEARD AT THE MOMENT.

I didn't hear this from SCHOOLS , THE PLACE THAT SHOULD FUCKING TALK ABOUT THESE THINGS , WHEN I ASKED MY FRIENDS WHEN I GOT BACK , NOTHING , THEY DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT ANYTHING RELATING THESE INNOCENT FUCKING SAINTS. WE LEARNED ABOUT STUPID FUCKING POEMS IN A CLASS THAT SHOULD'VE HAD TAUGHT US ABOUT WAYS TO HELP THESE INNOCENT PEOPLE.

I learned about this because I was sick , and in pain , bawling my eyes out in silence ,at home , which is just fucking poetic , in a sense. I had be in a state of pain in silence , to learn about people in a state of infinity times worse pain, in silence.

The world is cruel to some but hell for others ,when the ones making it that way are the ones who should burn. When I have to right a sucky-ass poem at school, I know what the fuck I'll write about. I know my pain is small and unimportant in comparison to theirs but without it , I could've not been as ready to fight for strangers on the other side of this world as I am now. Fuck the people who think they can do this innocent humans and think they own the world. Whatever rage the people there feel , you deserve to feel angry and every single punch you've thrown , is a legendary accomplishment, your all heros.

#free palestine #free gaza #STRIKE #rip

[mogai-sunflowers]

the way people on tumblr act like everything is some huge moral failing like…. i just saw a post screenshotting someone’s tags and all they did was say “I thought most people liked (x media)” and the notes of the post was just thousands of people calling them names, being cruel, and it just makes my autistic ass so fucking uncomfortable like all they did was say they thought people liked a piece of media and because it’s popular to hate it they got thousands of people just being cruel for no reason???? genuinely if you do that you are not the kind of person I want to be around like that could easily have been me because I don’t get a lot of social queues and there have been several times I’ve asked that specific question. y’all will say cringe culture is dead but y’all don’t really believe it and it shows. EVERY post I come across on here is like turning everything into “this is right or wrong and you have to pick a side” and I can’t stress how exhausting that kind of environment is for nd people. hell it’s probably sucky for the three nts of this website too like. I’m sorry but I don’t want to randomly see a post on a topic I’ve never heard of before acting like I’m the worst person in the world if I don’t suddenly have the exact right opinion like oh my god that is not how social media should work. and i hate when people say they’re making fun of something because it’s associated with x majority group because it’s like. okay? being cruel and making fun of people who did nothing wrong just because they’re white/cishet/abled is still not okay and it STILL hurts people not from those groups like????? stop trying to find an acceptable veil for just being a mean person. it’s not cool or trendy you’re just fucking mean.

#reign rambles #sorry I’m just so pissed like #if I had seen that post and it had been about a media I actually like #i would be full on spiraling rn why are people mean for no fucking reason like #being a bully isn’t a personality it’s just bullying

[pinkandblueblurbs]

wait this is your side blog…what’s your main? that is wild to me how did i not know 💀

it’s @pinkandbluereplies lol the only reason its like that is bc i a) didnt think this blog would become such a big thing so i just made it a side blog to post my silly little stories and b) i didnt fully understand just how fucking sucky the sideblog feature is on tumblr so i didnt think it’d be a big deal

so now i just have a stupid ass useless main blog that makes everything more confusing and difficult than it needs to be 😭

#❥ you’ve got mail!

[masternest]

I feel like blogging again. Not like any of my friends read these even though I’ve told em about it. But hey, if you’re a friend of mine and you happen to read what I put, then thank you and let me know ^^ drop a hi as I’d truly like to know who’s invested in trying to get to know me

So back to the blog. This 2024 has started out sucky. Where the hell do I even begin. Worst part obviously is going back to the US. In the Philippines, it always seemed like I was treated like a prince but here in the US, I feel like a peasant. Especially with San Diego being the most expensive city to live now? Fuck my life. Thanks god for that. I can’t even be near my kids so just add on the taxes why don’t cha. I can’t even be near her or Matt. So a lot of the times, I’m just -_-

So what other horrible thing happened you say? Well I’m glad you asked random stranger. This is just me venting now to the void lol XD so after a long ass flight, I needed to figure out a way back to SD by bus. I had forgotten though that after the bus, I’d need to use a trolley. But after that, I needed to drag my luggage all the way up the huge hill. In hindsight though, it was a good workout for the arms. Exhausted, I come back to my apartment which is now locked by a fence gate which is usually unlocked but because my bud wasn’t sure that he locked the place, he called maintenance to make sure that it was indeed locked with a key that they never provided me. I shit you not when I tell you that I literally had to break in through my own place. I won’t say how I did it for security reasons lol but my supposed genius level intellect finally kicked in and with a bit of acrobatics, I got in

Next day, the chikas that live above had the place inspected since they were smelling gas for weeks? Weird they only did something now but glad that they did actually as there really was a problem. Kwang while I was away had mentioned that our gas bill seemed to more than double so this was now the true culprit. So to fix it, they shut off the gas. So no heat for a few days. Just great. Add on that my bud became mega sick from his NY trip. But at least we both don’t have Covid. Add on that the kids don’t respond back anymore to me through FB. The ex is back to her old ways it seems of blocking access to me even though I literally pay everything on time and pay in full mind you. I didn’t even do anything to anyone. This is bullshit

But I need to focus. This is an important year. She’s been working hard so I should too. Not that she’ll care too much but we’ll see. I’m so close to accomplishing my goals that have been years in the making. I’m proud of myself for getting Discord back on my phone again so yay. So many people I need to reconnect with but I promised myself I would. So yeah let’s do this. If you’re still reading, what the hell stop stalking and tell me who you are XD but if you’re interested, I’ll try to blog more about my progress on Game Development in the future apart from posting memes that I find funny. If I even remember to. Or maybe this will be my last word post for the year lmao we’ll see

[duplicate-bones]

Just saw a take that basically was “make people pay a price to use any online platform” which is just very?? white middle class?? How do you think people who can’t afford that are going to express themselves?? Post about inhumane work conditions??

But also it got me thinking, at one point I was raging about the price of gas going up to my dad and he said, “good. It will discourage people from driving, and eventually the industry will die.”

Which, is basically another form of this same argument, which is basically, remove access by making it inaccessible to those who can’t pay.

Does it mean the resource gets used less? Well, I’m not an economist so I don’t really know, but my guess is no— because the bulk of its use to begin with is by the rich anyway, so the lower class dipping out most likely will have a small effect, but will ultimately be drowned out by the price increase. Also, they will simply still rely on it and be poorer by this strain, because our entire society is fucking built on the oil industry ffs.

Social media is becoming (or maybe already is) a core part of the way our society communicates and formulates beliefs and values. It sucks, yes, but we have to face the fact that this is what is happening whether we like it or not. Even if you don’t place value in social media for moral direction, an increasingly high number of people do and turn to it for news, opinion, and life choices.

Given this modern role of social media, it disturbs me that this argument is being presented as such a reasonable and level take, as marginalized voices are already so ignored and outright mocked on the internet. If the internet becomes something only accessible to the upper classes, the disconnect between these realities (rich and not rich) will rapidly increase. While I know this is already in practice via algorithms and other features, you can at least still find content if you look for it. People can call elongated muskrat a piece of shit and he will SEE it. If a paywall is raised, expression on social media will become a privilege, just like having an entertainment subscription or any other paid thing.

It especially concerns me when talking about social justice online, and how the internet has been a tool for empowerment for poor communities that would not be able to protest inhumane treatment otherwise.

I dunno this take just pissed me off a little like I know this is a capitalist society and all that but the goal should not be to make things less accessible to the poor because you want your cute little site to be ad free. Like no it’s not perfect hell it actively sucks but making it a premium service?? Not it!

Also would be irresponsible not to mention how sucky data mining is and how it can put people at risk if involved in social activism. Like yes I get it the current system isn’t perfect but just like the gas issue, raising prices is not going to make anything better until the abusive systems at play are burned to the ground.

Ugh anyway I guess what I’m trying to say is capitalism sucks ass and like, a take that encourages MORE cost/price barring PISSES ME TF OFF

In a perfect world the internet would be free and housing would be free and food would be free and healthcare would be free and all basic human necessities would be FREE and I could BUY SOME MOTHERFUCKING ART FFS

#just pissy #grr #no the answer to capitalist hellscape is not more capitalism ffs

[17isrighthere]

heyyy so this might sound a lil aggressive depending on your viewpoint but i truly have no inkling of an idea of how else to say it cus i lack social skills but i just wanted to make you aware that you might or might not literally be mutuals with someone who accuses random people theyve never met of shit they have no proof was ever done and (from the information ive gathered from my own mutuals at least) doesnt even try to look into the matter before they post their empty unbacked claims all over the internet :| the person im talking about literally almost made a kpop fic network admin they accused shut down his writing network because of a post they made which in my eyes literally aggressively fucks over a bunch of innocent writers in the network that literally never did anything to this person or anyone theyre friends with which is lowkey a lil fucked up ._.

if you felt attacked or upset about this im really sorry that wasnt my intent :( this just really pisses me off as you can see and i really wish people would just get out of the business of people theyve never met irl (yes this goes for certain kpop stans too i see you there| |: ) or at least fucking look deeper into shit and get more information before singlehandedly fucking over a whole-ass network of writers that literally did nothing to them ever in their lives 😭😭😭

hey 😭 dw i literally don't mind if u ever wanna come into my inbox im happy to hear anything!!! and yeah this seems like a really sucky situation and i def agree with u that people on the internet think WAY too highly of themselves and think they can just assume or judge the intentions of others on the internet :/ (and a lot of the time its so performative too) i hope the admin of the writing net is doing alright as well as the other innocent writers who had nothing to do w this!

#also not to be toxicly flawed but i always have an open ear for tea #<- usually for more irl tea but #👀 #that being said i also dont like publicly causing issues so its fine #ur more than welcome to come into my dms to tell me the @ bc i wanna know if im mutuals w this person but up to u! #answered

[gibbingtonwibbington]

ELLO THERE.

Story time.

I never talk to anyone about it. You talk to people about it. Some secrets I can swallow and keep to myself forever but this, I can’t. I talked to my crazy-smart manbff today about everything. The good, the bad and the shady…(lol) on both sides. He said I should have just stayed away. He’s probably right, he doesn’t like my confusion. As I was explaining it outloud, I finally realized what really is bothering me. It’s not that we can’t be closer, that’s not it. Maybe we’re close enough, haha. Any closer and a new type of world-dominating explosion will probably be discovered. The real reason is that it looks as if you’re not happy, you barely ever smile anymore. You seem so…sad? upset? at times. Is it because of E? Did I do something again? Lol…What’s going on inside? Do you have postpartum? I’m so sorry if you do. 😥 My cousin’s wife had it for years and it was incredibly overwhelming for her. She’s better now after having to take meds. Which is also very sad that her new happiness didn’t start off naturally, but at least she got a piece of her true self back. You’ve definitely buried your old happy, jumpy self, but I’m not gonna let you let her go. I will dig deep inside of your soul and I WILL find her and I WILL rip her back out if I have to. I WILL get her back, whether this new person likes it, or not. That’s what truly makes me feel something, if anything at all. That person is/was my favorite thing in this entire universe and probably will always be the best thing I will ever come across. Having watched the “20 something seconds of Grimes screaming” thing was like watching myself. Where’s that goofball? This goofball demands her to annihilate your sadness, which has overcome her. You’ve got the sack to tell your sadness or depression to fuck off. Every time you feel upset for ANY reason, manifest that girl so she can whoop depression’s ass for good. Scream it in a pillow, go outside and scream, or tell your depression to fuck off outloud if need be. You don’t deserve to let that take anything from you. That person was the most precious being that will ever live on this shithole planet, with all these shithole people. The universe is sad that you’ve purposely buried her inside somewhere. I am the universe, we all are. So I know what it wants. This whole damn universe demands her back. She was my type of happy so it made me even happier than I already was. Maybe even happier than when I get in a new doll. 🫣

I looked at my old phone recently and boooy, did I save a lot of pictures from your first Instagram. Where did that bouncy-giggly, happy girl go? What da faaaahhhk do I have to do to get her back? I WILL NOT let you think or say that your happy is gone, because that’s a lie. Fibstress. Eyes don’t lie and I see glimpses of her every now and then. Oddly, it’s usually when you’re making our somethings. I’ll invoke the whole damned universe and get her back. That person was my favorite person and I won’t let you hide it away anymore.

You know the two reasons why I had to leave. I don’t and can’t feel certain things because…well, it’s pointless. Number two: Too sick, didn’t want to become something worse to you I was already so upset, couldn’t physically even speak anyway. I couldn’t let you take that in. I even wrote a death letter for my Mom and hid it in a place where she’d find it. Pneumonia sucks ass dude. It got me bad and I felt awful in every way. I had to get rid of it, I needed to completely clear my head of EVERYTHING. I was an idiot and didn’t get antibiotics and really fkd myself. Read my Facebook posts at that time, or lack of. I was hardcore loopy and got loopier once I took the antibiotics. I’m allergic. Sometimes it makes my stomach feel like it’s going to explode and sometimes it gives me a rash all over my chest and my face. It’s fucking sucky and gross. I’m not gonna be sucky around you, not gna do that to you and I’m not gonna do that myself. I don’t like to be sad, sick or grumpy-whatever. So when I feel something even worse creeping in, or creeping out I should say, I have to go. Feeling bad sucks and feeling anything I can’t help, completely suuuuuuuucks. Words cannot explain the conflicting conversations I have in my head sometimes. Those conversations will never be written here. Hah

Know, I WILL find it and I’m gonna rip your happiness right out if I have to. MY Utena would have had a rope and lassoed you right out of that dark abyss. I come prepared. What do I have to do to get to the happy you? If you don’t know, then I will find it. If I corrupted you or made you sad or upset enough to bury that, I am sorry. But I really don’t think I am important enough to you to cause such damage. Just another thing that is confusing to me. I don’t know what happened, but the smiles have vanished. My favorite parts are hidden away and I am not going to let you do that to yourself.

So, here’s a funny story for ya. At Night (on my old street full of only the male species) we would all play hide and go seek in the dark. We had flashlights of course, but I have always enjoyed hiding in plain sight. Things made shadows. Some of the places under the trees that were already really dark, they still had shadows that were basically just pure blackness. You couldn’t see a damn thing in there. Sometimes I wouldn’t even hide, I just stood there motionless and would watch them all run right past me. I would stand there for a long time sometimes because it was hilarious. This one time I was hiding right where a huge spotlight hit my rock wall and it made this long shadow across the grass. I layed in the shape of the shadow because it was that dark. You couldn’t see anything in it, not even the grass. This time I was older, playing hide and go seek in high school. Jigz and I played the game with my neighbor Mike. It was in his yard that Chris saw the ball lightning thingamajig. Or whatever it was. There was three so we aren’t sure what it was. Come to think of it, I never told him about that. Whoops. I’m gna send him a message later lol. Anyway, Mike ran and ran in circles forever trying to find me. After I got my laughs I stood up and BOO! Scared the shit out of him. He didn’t believe me that I was there the entire time. You should play hide and go seek in the dark sometime, and use my tactic. You gta really find a shadow of pure blackness, they won’t ever see you if you do. It’s like a Harry Potter cloak. Give it a whirl, maybe it might give you some of the giggles that WE ALL are missing, especially me.

🙂

Do it to it LARS! 🫠

[insanetwocubes]

Is defusing the situation gaslighting?

Whoa!

I mean it's something that makes me come off as the bad guy and then her having to make no changes. That's gaslighting, right?

Did she imply you were a bad guy?

Not technically.

Could you just be feeling guilty for the way you acted?

Well, how do you know? With Flare everything is muddled, she doesn't make things straight.

I sure hope not.

Focus!

Emillie, Flare has-

A rough past, I know. But that doesn't excuse her from bringing toxic traits to us.

So how do you know?

Do you hate her or something? Why are you so out to make her some villain?

Because she's not perfect!

No. No, she's not.

So why are well all on our knees scrambling to fucking please her and be positive and shit. She doesn't own us.

Emillie, we're family.

I didn't choose her to be my family!

Alright okay. Listen.

You're on her side. Of course. I should've known.

Emillie! I'm not on anyone's side.

Right.

I'm not. Well, I'm on our side. Both of your sides.

You can't be on my side if you're on hers.

Okay girl! Listen!

You don't have to love her. But you're stuck with her. And if you're gonna be a pain, she's stuck with you, too.

I just don't understand why she took my life away from me.

She didn't do anything. She's keep the life warm until what needs to be done is done.

I was doing that just fine.

Yeah. That's the po- wait. Do you think this implies that you weren't doing a good job?

Emillie, everyone knows she's doing a much worse job than you. No one thinks otherwise.

But she keeps walking around like she owns the place.

She... does own the place.

She doesn't own me.

That's not true, you're smitten.

Yeah... I choose to be. It's love.

Well. I don't like it. She takes on too much stress. And she can't decide where we're at. Do I love her, do I get it, am I mean? Like who are we here?

I yell at her, she does nothing about it. I do nothing about it, she does nothing about it. It's like she just... it's just random. It doesn't make sense. I don't know what this is. Why is this so....

Sounds like feelings are complicated.

Yeah.

Sounds like your feelings are complicated.

She's all like "you should love me" and then "I should love myself" all while it's... it just feels.... complicated.

That's okay.

I just wasn't supposed to see her again. And then she comes back takes over and everything is worse.

That's Flare for you.

And I'm the bad guy for not just sitting on my ass and looking at her with mesmerized eyes like you.

You're not a bad guy.

Then she must be.

She's not. Do you think miss little "forgiveness forgiveness" has a bad bone in her body?

Well, she's not a exactly good.

No, she's not. I wouldn't like her if she was. She wouldn't like me.

You wouldn't like her if she was good?

No. We'd get along horribly. And she would hate me and treat me worse.

"Worse"?

Worse, better, potato, potahto.

What the hell did you just write down?

I'm an artist, I'm not a writer like you guys.

She's not a writer.

Emillie. Where do you think you come from?

Uh.

Then why are her posts so trash? I mean roleplay asterisks? Cringe!

We're from a cringe community.

So. My feelings are complicated.

Think of it this way, Em. I know what I want. I want to give her the world. Now, what do you want?

I want to.... contribute to the family.

That's great!

Okay. I'm sorry.

Tsk. Stop that. Feelings are complicated. I get it. You know how many times I've told her I hated her?

Did you genuinely?

Kind of. It was a sucky situation. I was miserable, she was miserable, she made me miserable, I made her miserable back. It was very far from how you see us now. I wasn't created to be some lost puppy.

And you don't have to be like that either. You guys should learn from each other. Teach her how to be skilled in emotions like you--my little genius-- and let her teach you how to prioritize teamwork and specialization.

Hey. Question. Is this like a relationship thing or an us thing?

I think for all intensive purposes it's an us thing. But because it's a relationship, we can sort of extrapolate given we understand that it's an us thing first.

You guys... okay?

Emillie? Are we okay?

....no. But I'll work on it.

That's fine, angel.

Hey, Emillie?

Hm?

I'll listen. If you want to talk, if you don't want to talk. That's fine.

Psh. Stop loving me so much, it's gross!

Ey is okay.

Yeah?

I can hear you!

#Thingseysaid #Things4said #dicerolls #txt #Things1said #Intersysconvos

[riteaidofpassage]

That moment you scratch the itch of your razor burn in your bikini area and it's satisfying but you know it's making your abused skin worse.

#fucking hell #omg #why does it feel good and so so bad #and then it gets worse #because this is your life now #its a metaphor #when things get sucky and you try to fix the itch with a temporary scratch but it only makes things worse #oh yeah #definitely a good metaphor #queer metaphor #free queer metaphors #get em here #i dont have any shame #no dignity #just this long ass tagged post