#jack nicholson fanfiction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saffalilac · 1 year

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Saffalilac’s really long list of favorite media 💜

If I would reblog fanart of something, it’s probably going in this list!

Anime 🌸

Digimon Adventures

Fullmetal Alchemist

Houseki no Kuni

Hunter x Hunter

Mob Psycho 100

Puella Magi Madoka Magica

Soul Eater

Yu-Gi-Oh!

Yu-Gi-Oh! Season Zero

Blogs 🦙

Bogleech

hedgehog-moss

one-weird-mammal-a-day

Books 🐋

A Dog’s Purpose

Artemis Fowl

The Candymakers

The Heroes of Olympus

How to Train your Dragon

The Kane Chronicles

The Locked Tomb

Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard

Percy Jackson and the Olympians

The Scholomance

Fanfiction ☔️

Being Dead Ain’t Easy (Yu-Gi-Oh!)

Blue Sky (Portal)

Fargo (Puella Magi Madoka Magica)

Luster (The Adventure Zone)

Of Trying and Towers (Sanders Sides)

One Last Theft (Artemis Fowl/Yu-Gi-Oh!)

Live Action Shows 🪨

The Good Place

It’s Me or the Dog

The Last of Us

Lucifer

Parks and Recreation

Schitt’s Creek

Movies 🥙

Barbie movies pre-2008

Coco

Coraline

Encanto

Ernest & Celestine

Fiddler on the Roof

The Incredibles

Inside Out

Kung Fu Panda

The Prince of Egypt

Princess Mononoke

Ratatouille

Rise of the Guardians

Spider-Man: Spiderverse Trilogy

Spirited Away

Nausicaä of the Valley of the Winds

Tangled

Thor: Ragnarok

Toy Story 2

Zootopia

Podcasts 🍇

The Adventure Zone

Cabin Pressure

My Brother, My Brother and Me

Typin’ Toons

Poetry 🫧

The Orange

Two-Headed Calf

Theater 💐

Bad Jews

Fiddler on the Roof

Hamilton

Wicked

Video games 🦎

Ace Attorney

Animal Crossing: New Horizons

Bugsnax

Celeste

Chicory: A Colorful Tale

Deltarune

Ghost Trick

Hades

Hollow Knight

Kid Icarus: Uprising

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild

The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom

Night in the Woods

One Shot

Pokémon

Pokémon Mystery Dungeon

Pokémon Ranger

Portal

Sara and the Sarcastic Creatures

Sonic Unleashed

Spelunky 2

Spiritfarer

Splatoon

Stardew Valley

Super Mario Picross

Super Smash Brothers Ultimate

To the Moon

Undertale

The Witch’s House

Webcomics 🏕️

Brimstone & Roses

Castle Swimmer

Cucumber Quest

Everything is Fine

Gunnerkrigg Court

Homesick

Homestuck

Lavender Jack

Let’s Speak English

Monster Pulse

Paranatural

Sleepless Domain

Suitor Armor

Yumi’s Cells

Yuna and Kawachan

Western Animation 🪻

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Bee and Puppycat

Bojack Horseman

Codename: Kids Next Door

Danny Phantom

The Dragon Prince

Gravity Falls

Hilda

Infinity Train

Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts

The Legend of Korra

OK K.O.!: Let’s Be Heroes

Over the Garden Wall

The Owl House

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power

The Spectacular Spider-Man

Spongebob Squarepants (pre-season 4)

Steven Universe

Teen Titans

Wander Over Yonder

YouTube 🫐

Brian David Gilbert

Chuggaaconroy

Cranbersher

DanAndPhilGames

DougDoug

Jacksepticeye

Jarvis Johnson

Jenny Nicholson

Lofi Girl

Louie Zong

MelonyPepon

Monster Factory

Pikasprey Yellow

PlayFrame

ProZD

Rachel and Jun’s Adventures

RTGame

ScykohPlays

Skurry

SnapCube

Tasty

Vinesauce

Worthikids

Bonus: Videos I Have Watched A Whole Lot of Times

15 Very Dumb Things in Fantastic Beasts 2

The Adventure Zone: Balance trailer

A Man With No Rhythm Plays Rhythm Heaven Fever

The ACTUAL History of Bloons

Bad Guy — TAZ Animatic

Breaking Stardew Valley by Starting a Drug Farm [series]

Dhar Mann Solves Racism

Diamond Jack

Hollow Knight but Impossible

Hollow Knight but the items are split

I Can’t Decide — TAZ Animatic

I forced an AI to play a kids’ adventure game

I read the terrible Episode IX pitch where Rey is a robot

I Wanna Be The Guy - Cherry Apples! | PART 1 | ScykohPlays [series]

[I’m the Bad Guy]- Wander over Yonder Song

JackSepticEye Animated | The Tender Cut

Mambostuck (Homestuck Animation)

OK, Why is Everything Johnson & Benson? (Scambaiting)

Sherlock Is Garbage, And Here’s Why

Sonic the Hedgehog (2006) | Real-Time Fandub Games

thumbnail (ft. brian david gilbert)

Wire

#about me #fandoms #mine

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myveryownfanfiction · 2 years

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Minors DNI

warnings: drinking, ghost/human relationship

AN: a post Halloween Halloween story starring the one and only Jack Torrance. Enjoy

”Hold on. I think I need to be drunk to hear this.” Jack reached over the bar and poured himself another drink. I grabbed the bottle before he could finish and put it back.

”No you don’t.” Jack shot me a glare that I ignored. “As I was saying. let’s have a Halloween party. Dress up and invite the other guests.”

“You really think theyll play nice? Do you really think Grady will play nice?” I rolled my eyes. “Because I don’t think so. You’re the only living inhabitant here sweetheart. I’m not taking that chance.” Taking a deep breath, I walked out from behind the bar.

”I’m the caretaker. he’ll listen.” Jack snorted and I smacked him upside the head. “He has to.”

”like he listened to me? Face it doll. He won’t listen and I’m not taking that risk.” I scoffed and walked off knowing Jack would follow me. The tell tale slamming of a glass on the bar made me smirk. “(Y/N)! (Y/N)! Dammit!” Jack popped up next to me and slung his arm over my shoulder. “Dammit (Y/N). Fine. I’ll help you. Fuck if I don’t.“ I turned and kissed his cheek.

”thanks Jack. this means a lot to me.” Jack pulled me tighter and kissed my forehead.

“things we do for those we love.” I chuckled and dragged him up to my room. Formally his room.

“alright. Sit over there and I’ll help you get your costume together.” Jack rolled his eyes but did what I asked anyway.

“I don’t get a say in any of this?“ Jack leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs in front of him. I shook my head no and grabbed the grease paint. Jack shifted and patted his thigh. “Fine but at least I get the best view in the house.” I laughed before settling on his lap.

“Once this is done you get to go back to drinking and playing the joker.” I bit my lip as I carefully applied the white paint to jacks face. “I’ll be down In twenty minutes once you are done. Close your eyes.” Jack closed his eyes and I carefully ran the brush over them. “Ok. Open them. Close your mouth.” I twisted in my spot on jacks lap to put down the white paint and grab the red.

“what are you doing?” I felt Jack tense below me and smirked to myself as I shifted my weight. I felt pressure on my hips as Jack moved to stop me. “Sweetheart you might not want to do that right now.”

“Why not?” I leaned further back so I could grab a new brush. “I’m not doing anything.” Jack chuckled low and darkly.

“sweets you know what you’re doing.” i shrugged and turned back to apply the red strokes. “Just finish up this clown makeup so I can take care of Grady.” I giggled to myself as I got off jacks lap and went to grab the green that would go on his hair. Once I fishies I waved Jack off.

“take care of Grady and I’ll meet you in the gold ballroom in twenty.” Jack pressed a quick kiss to my cheek before disappearing. Quickly pulling my costume out of the closet, I dressed and did my own makeup. I stood in front of the mirror and twisted and turned. It didn’t look right. The costume was too tight in some places while too loose in others. The makeup looked ridiculous on me and I wasn’t used to styling my hair this way. I reached for the zipper just as Jack appeared behind me.

“what’s taking so long? Grady’s all locked up. He won’t be bothering us….” jacks eyes trailed over my costume. His eyes focused on my hand hovering over the zipper. “You’re taking it off already?” There was a smugness to his voice. “darling the party ain’t even started. But if you insist.” Jacks eyes flicked up to mine and he stopped. ”oh. Darling don’t. You look absolutely fantastic. Come on.“

”but you look amazing as the joker and then look at me! I look nothing like (favorite superhero/villain). It’s going to look ridiculous.“ Jack shook his head and wrapped his arms around me.

“No it won’t. You look breathtaking. You always do. If anyone should feel ridiculous it’s me. Covered in all this paint. You look perfect.“ Jack kissed my temple.

“you think so?” He nodded. I nodded and finally hugged him back.

“come on darling. Let’s go to our party.”

#Jack nicholson #jack Nicholson x reader #Jack Nicholson imagine #Jack Nicholson fanfic #Jack Nicholson fanfiction #Jack torrance #jack Torrance x reader #Jack Torrance imagine #Jack Torrence fanfic #Jack Torrance fanficfion #The shining #halloween

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ladyfiresfanfiction · 3 years

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Oh, y'all thought I gave up and forgot my fic, did you? Not a chance. Expect chapter three monday! Let's see what Janie, Billy, Mac, and Chief get into this time 😃

I'm in school and got a crappy part time job so I literally have little time but I'm not giving up on this! It just might be a lil bit between chapters lol

#author #fan fic writing #fan fiction #fic writing #fan fic stuff #billy bibbit x reader #brad dourif #brad dourif fanfiction #brad dourif x reader #fics #jack nicholson fics #jack nicholson fanfiction #jack nicholson x reader #jack nicholson x oc #mac mcmurphy x reader #mac mcmurphy #billy bibbit #one flew over the cuckoos nest fanfiction #one flew over the cuckoos nest

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zumpietoo · 2 years

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It Has Been a Rough Couple of Days for the Haters...

So jmas decides to make up some lame shit....however, first the background that spurred it....

First some vague, tangential trolling about a nobody not being friends with Ari or something, cuz, again, THAT matters...(tho does show considerable obsession...

Next obviously pressed about Ari’s sweet, offhand comment....and dude, we all loved it....there’s then a lot of insisting what a flop the Versace campaign is and....

Well Cole seems to be getting plenty of “work on the side”, the rest, nooooppppee....but most importantly, dude, PP had one year, THREE years ago where she had two projects: one barely had lines (and she’s long lost whatever it generated for her), the other was a soooperrr low budget flop.

Since she has to buy her way onto other projects, had just one since then AND it appears to be headed towards even bigger flopping, I def wouldn’t hold my breath....

Apparently, all this is too much for jmas, so she decides to pull out the BIG GUNS:

Yes, yes, mah kiddies!!! We are back to “dating up” and thus, essentially turning PP into a prostitute....also, who knew A+++list in Hollywood and the industry made announcements to their publicists of their plans to date anybody....let alone an actual fatty, balding D-lister....plus, I thought “dating around” was evvollll, cuz shows “no emotional commitment/is just using people” and is what you don when you “can’t move on”???? Cuz that IS what they claimed about Cole---when he actually wasn’t....

This is hilarious....she now reminds me of a friend of Claudia’s in elementary school whose parents were druggies and was very poor.....she’d make up elaborate stories of all the amazing things she actually owned, how her parents really had all these things, etc....when she lived in a shitty apartment and when at our house was always begging us to give her whatever we had on hand....

Except in her case she was just a poor kid of maybe 8 and trying to cope with an unhappy life.

Here we have a psycho fabricating shit left and right....and confirms jmas is Silly Liareyes (cuz exact same narrative when she DMd me, years ago...)

Except when you thought this was Cole, it was scandalous----how does that work, loony???

“Your source” is your fanfiction and has always been wrong, dude....also, love how you’re already walking it back a bit, nonetheless

Wait....I thought being even “pushing” (which they assigned to Cole at 26, I believe) 30 and not married made you an evvolll old whore/man whore all by itself???

Also, whelp, Jack Nicholson and Robert Dinero are over 30 and sooooperrr A-listers, is PP “dating” them, now???

Also....”I’m not gonna make up shit cuz already I’m gonna be eating egg off mah face for weeks....”

We were not....also, WTF do they call PP’s trysts with Ms. G and all her nobody junkie hot ladies????

OMG.....yes, both PP and yourselves absolutely ARE, she’s horribly bourgeois and unquestionably one for social climbing....except it’s too much effort for her.

And, if all/any of this were true? There would be pap pics/DM leaks, etc...

Also, “playboy”??? Does jSillyLiareyes just watch D movies from the 30s and crib their content?

Plus I thought being a “playboy” etc was similarly evvolll and why Cole needs to be cancelled? And doesn’t that make these guys expressly the supremely evolll shit you insist Cole is?

Ummm....why TF would she “need to be discreet”?? If these guys really were A+++ list wouldn’t that simply bolster her career? (like you’re attempting and failing to do here), wouldn’t, again, she be spotted with them? Also, again, sure does make her look shallow....

Oh and why TF would this “source” tell you?

Oh and if Crotchi’s “dating” (nope) again only to get Cole’s attention, etc...

And yet your endless pining for “dating up” is Pee Arr defined....especially since it’s obvious this is fueled not just by jealousy of Cole being in a nice, stable relationship and giving no fucks whatsoever what the fame implications are (because he’s better than that), but by your homophobia....

OMG.....this is all so glorious too!!!

Oh jmas, way overplayed your hand (that was empty) with this silliness. I’m not sure if I’m completely embarrassed for you or thrilled at how I may never stop laughing....

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disastercomingfaster · 3 years

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A Nod To Jack Nicholson- A Personal Essay About My Experience With ECT

Note:

I thought I would share a piece of writing that isn’t fanfiction, this is much more personal. Over the past year or so I have been participating in electroconvulsive therapy or ECT for my depression. When I first heard about it, I thought it was insane, but I can’t deny that it has really been helping me. I want to publish this to let people know this is a safe procedure, it’s not like the messed-up stuff you see in old mental hospital movies. I’d say trigger warning for needles and some drug references. I hope you enjoy, if you do, please let me know and I’ll post some more of my personal stories as opposed to just fanfiction.

Ready? Let’s go!

My eyes droop as the nurse, who is somehow energetic at 6am, leads me into the locked areas of the center. I lazily glance at the dozen-or-so identical “rooms” that have been set up in this section. Each room is given privacy with a few thin curtains and a reclining chair. Next to the chair there is a dripping IV. I still don’t know what is in it, even after a year of treatment, but when I asked my mom what they were putting inside of me, she said it was “probably the good shit”. She might have a point; I do spend a lot of time in the chair with an unusually content mentality.

The nurse chooses an empty “room” and I sit down instantly. I will never get used to having to be hauled out of bed at six in the morning just to get flown over the cuckoo’s nest. The nurse goes over her little script, as if I would have had a dozen life changes since seeing them only a month prior.

She goes over my grocery list of medication to make sure they are all still the same than gets into the real questions.

“Anything to eat or drink after midnight?”

“Nope.”

“Empty your bladder this morning?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Any chance you could be pregnant?”

Not unless I’m carrying the second coming of Baby Jesus. “Nope.”

She takes my vital signs and does other miscellaneous doctor things. After a few minutes the nurse takes ahold of the IV and I prepare myself to get stabbed multiple times. My veins used to be better before all of this, but I think after over a year of being poked at aggressively, they decided to start being difficult to find.

Just as I expected, there is no place to go in my arms, so the nurse goes for my hand. I cringe a little as she sticks the needle in. I have no problem with needles in general, as long as they are in the arm. However, once they go for a hand or neck or something, it becomes a problem with me. A few moments after I can feel liquid dripping inside of me, which never stops being weird, and a dazed calmness come over me.

The nurses run out of things to check over and tell me the doctor will be here in a few minutes. This is not true. This has never been true. There is no clock in here, so I can’t tell you how long I actually wait, but I’d say at least an hour every time. This would be fine if I was in a room with, say, a tv or even a crossword puzzle book, but all I have to do is stare at the wall and contemplate what went so wrong in my life that I’ve had needed so many of these morning procedures. If I were to guess, I’d say somewhere between 20-30.

This begs the recurring question: why aren’t I fixed?

I’m half-asleep due to the IV, boredom, and lack of caffeine when the nurse pulls open the curtain. “Are you ready?”

“You know it.” I follow her to the bathroom. You always go to the bathroom before the procedure because the seizure can cause you to lose control. That would be my least favorite part of this procedure. After I wash my hands, the nurse leads me into the procedure room. Classical music is playing from a laptop and I go straight for the hospital bed in the middle. Disappointing. I like it better when they play strangely hip rock music, but that’s usually when the other doctor is in charge. I lay still and wait for the nurse to put a blanket over me and remove my socks. I’ve done this. I know what to do.

“Time out ready for Courtney…” The doctor begins with his familiar, thick accent. He says a lot of other things too, but I am already fading. I feel a calm fall over me and an intense sleepiness. As I begin to fade, I can’t help but wonder; is this one going to be it? The end of the mandatory COVID tests and early appointments and driving home from campus for the weekend? Is this one going to be finally worth it?

I’m asleep before I can figure out what comes next

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dingoes8myrp · 5 years

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Supernatural: The Man with No Name, Chapter 19

This is a chaptered fanfiction piece taking place during season 14 of Supernatural.

Premise

This story takes place after episode 14.02 “Gods and Monsters.”

The arrival of John Winchester raises many questions, and gives us a glimpse into a world in which a few vital moments went a different way.

Notes: This piece is being crossposted on my Ao3.

Nineteen

Jack felt like he’d been washing dishes for a really long time. He guessed he had. There were a lot of dishes that had piled up throughout the day.

Cleaning was something he could do to help.

It also meant he didn’t have to talk to anyone, didn’t have to lie.

The fridge opened and closed behind him.

“Hey, kid.”

Dean’s voice made him flinch slightly. He felt guilty just being in the room with him, knowing this secret.

If his mom came back, if she was here somewhere, walking around, would Dean tell him? Would Sam?

He liked to think they would, but he wasn’t sure.

Dean walked over to Jack when he didn’t answer, twisting the cap off his beer.

“Hey. You okay?”

Jack shut off the faucet and turned to look at him, smiling a strained smile.

“I’m fine, Dean.”

Dean sipped his beer, studying Jack.

“Okay,” he said.

He looked at all the dishes in the strainer, the ones still left in the sink.

“What, nobody cleans up after themselves around here?” he muttered. “Place is like a damn zoo.”

“I don’t mind cleaning,” Jack said.

Dean gave a small smile, clapping him on the shoulder.

“You’re a good kid,” he said.

Jack looked down at the sink and suddenly felt very sad. Dean tilted his head to look at him.

“Jack?”

Jack looked over at him and there was something heavy behind his eyes. Dean frowned.

“What’s up? Why do you look like Jack Nicholson in The Shining?”

Dean realized as soon as he said it that Jack would have no idea what he was talking about.

“What’s wrong, Jack?” he asked.

Jack shook his head.

“Why would something be wrong?”

He couldn’t say nothing was wrong because something was wrong. Or maybe something was right and he was wrong not to mention it.

“You just look… like something’s bothering you, that’s all,” Dean said.

Jack forced himself to smile.

“I’m fine,” he insisted.

He was. He was fine. That was true.

Dean studied him for several seconds, then nodded, deciding not to push it.

“Okay. Well, if you decide you’re not fine, if you need to talk, let me know.”

“I will,” Jack promised.

As Dean left the kitchen, Jack realized it was early for beer.

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen, Chapter Fifteen, Chapter Sixteen, Chapter Seventeen, Chapter Eighteen, Chapter Twenty, Chapter Twenty-One, Chapter Twenty-Two, Chapter Twenty-Three, Chapter Twenty-Four, Chapter Twenty-Five, Chapter Twenty-Six, Chapter Twenty-Seven

#supernatural #Jack Kline #Dean Winchester #dingoffspn #fanfiction #the man with no name

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savage-angel-was-a-mistake · 6 years

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I just realized I changed the inside joke from my fanfics when I moved to AO3.

In We Don't Talk About Applebees, they give fake names to the manager. I came up with them on the fly, so they were Jack Nicholson (Sasuke) and Adam West (Naruto) (I edited his name bc I accidentally wrote 'Westly' or something instead). This is later referenced in Do What Now? (Naruto saying 'who are you then? Jack Nicholson?) And was intended to be a running joke.

When I moved to AO3, I gave it more thought, and I changed Jack Nicholson to Christian Bale, bc I thought it would be funnier if they were both Batman.

I just realized some of my readers were going from Fanfiction to AO3 (bc my stuff wasn't all on AO3 yet) so the joke might be different.

I only remembered this bc someone on Fanfiction mentioned the joke.

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coelasquid · 7 years

Conversation

Any fanfiction: Describes Gabe's deep rumbling voice

Me: This is the same character that sounds like Jack Nicholson playing the most sarcastic GI Joe, right?

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legoharleyquinn · 7 years

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its honestly kinda funny that i didnt realize i was harley kin until recently

back when i was a little tiny, i wasn’t rly a fan of superheros or comic books at all. i guess a lot of it was being raised by grandparents who were pretty strict with their gender roles, never letting me look much farther than barbie dolls and princess movies.

and all the big popular comic book movies before i’d just kinda ignored, no matter how popular they were or how all my friends at school loved them

but then the dark knight came out and it changed everything

the joker’s face was all over posters and commercials and t-shirts and, even if he wasn’t my joker, he still had that messy green hair and pouty red lips and that smile and when i first saw him i felt the same way i had when the security guards first brought him into my office lifetimes ago

i dove right in. not just going to see the movie, or fangirling over what a handsome boy he is (but, believe me, there was plenty of that,) but everything. i picked up the killing joke and any other comics he seemed to be a main character in, i watched the animated series, the jack nicholson movie, everything

i was active as hell in the online community. i roleplayed as him, i wrote fanfiction, i spent long nights awake having discussions about his motivations and personality. i wanted to know everything about him, even the noncanon stuff, the stuff he never would’ve told a soul. i had to know him better than he knew himself.

and harley was always present in those online communities, since all the girls wanted to be her. she didnt get written well most of the time, though, just being used as a self insert instead. i rped as her a little bit, and i was interested in her (and, later on, i was real interested in her solo new 52 stuff,) but i didn’t get that kin feeling.

the lego batman movie made me realize why. i remembered mr j, but i definitely didn’t remember the way he treated harley in pretty much every canon before lego. it didn’t bring up kin memories because it didnt happen to me. he was never manipulative. he didn’t use me, didn’t hurt me.

he saw me as an equal, or as close to it as a guy like him was able to see anyone. we had the same views on things, same beliefs, and he trusted me. i took care of him. we supported each other. we were best friends, and i’d never seen that relationship between joker and harley until the lego batman movie.

#memories

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ladyfiresfanfiction · 3 years

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Flying the Nest; One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest Fic- Chapter Two.

Sorry I am late, guys and girls! I completely forgot that Sunday had been Easter, so it was a busy day with family. This is a bit longer than chapter one and has a bit more of a backstory on Janie. I’m also trying something new to include the reader in my story, too! Let me know what you think of this idea and the second chapter. I’ll be staring the next chapter tomorrow! Enjoy :)

I don't remember speaking this much since I received the call that Charles Bogney had been found in his family's guest room, hanging from his belt behind the closet door. His mother found him, a bottle of Percodan underneath him, what little was left strewn below his feet on the wood flooring, an empty bottle of 40-ounce Belgian imported beer shattered on the ground from when he dropped it as he lost consciousness and passed away, alone and in misery. Our mutual friend, another toxic ex-boyfriend of mine whose name was Bryan Harris, had to be the one to call me. I had been trying to get into contact with Charles for the last few weeks of his short life. I felt something was wrong. Deep inside I knew if I didn't get a hold of Charley, he would die prematurely. Unfortunately, my gut feeling and seemingly spot on premonition had come to fruition. The first few weeks after Charles had died, I blacked it out. I remember feeling as if the world stopped and froze as Bryan had stammered the news of Charles's death. My heart skipped a few beats and my vision started to become blurry. I dropped to my knees, the phone on the ground as I let out guttural cries of pain that escaped my lips and waves of tears burned my eyes like acid. I cried inconsolably for the first 96 hours of Charles leaving the planet. I couldn't make the trip to his native state of California for his funeral, and I refused calls and visitors for much of the first month of his passing. My only nutrition became opium, cocaine, amphetamines, and alcohol. My family treated me as if I was a lepper, never understanding I had lost the great love of my life, despite the toxic and harrowing past we shared.

Mac listened intently as he showed me around the grounds. The outside, where the patients (which we coined them the lovable nuts) could come out for fresh air and sunshine for an allotted amount of time per day was fenced in, but it was a spacious and breathtaking piece of land. Large trees that covered most of the land, little trails for patients to walk with supervising orderlies or nurses, tables for patients and the staff alike to enjoy a little solitude during the day. It even had a fairly big basketball court and exercise areas near the shockingly high chainlink fence, which was adorned with razor wire to dismay any patient who thought of running away from the hospital. Overall, it looked like paradise for someone who enjoyed being a prisoner. Mac talked of hearing about the patients going on some field trip, however, it would be just for the boys. The girls had had their own trip last week. As we stopped at the entrance of the second-floor corridor in front of a massive pair of white double doors, Mac turned to me and looked broken. He cleared his throat, forcing me to pay attention and face him.

"I'll never forgive myself for leaving you with Harry and Ethel. You probably wouldn't be as bad off if I just would have taken you with me. You were just a little girl, though. And I was an irresponsible and young angsty teenager. I thought maybe they would have taken better care of you than they did me. I'm so sorry Jane. I have done horrible things but nothing has given me more pride and made me want to be a better man than having you as my kid sister. You'll never have to be alone again." Mac spoke in a low yet sincere voice.

"It wasn't your job to parent me. You were eighteen when you struck out on your own, and I was only nine. They were so awful to you. You had to get out before they drove you certifiable. Charles brought me here for a reason. I feel it. I'm just glad to have my big brother back. We're going to make this place ours, Mackie. Then when we get out, we can start lives worth living." I said, patting his shoulder.

"If you need me, even if it's at night, I'll come find you. There are phones in here, all you have to do is call and ask for me. I'll be here in a jiffy. I'll see you during our counseling session with Ratched and the crew tomorrow. Get some rest, Baby Jane."

As soon as I walked in, I was brought to intake. My medical history was repeated, I was weighed, my temperature taken, asked a slew of questions, and then I was given an ugly patient garb to wear. As I was taken to the room I would be sleeping in, I saw that in each room there was a telephone with a pamphlet that had numbers to the nurse's station as well as the number for Spivey's office and the number for the nurse's station on the men's floor. Each room on the ladie's floor had three beds for three patients per room, a chair and desk, and a nice comfy-looking Cloth chair with a desk on one side and in the far right corner a bookcase filled with books to read. I would have been far more comfortale to be in a solitary room, or shared a room with my brother and his roommates, but it was against the hospital's policy for men and women to be roommates. I sighed, taking in a breath of courage, and went straight to bed, avoiding the two people I would be bunking with until I had the energy to introduce myself. In fullfledged withdrawal from opiates and alcohol I was writhing in pain already after only 14 hours without a hit and a drink and I was so sleep deprived. I felt dead on my feet. I threw my haggard body on my bed and soon enough, sleep overpowered me.

The comfort of unconsciousness would not last for long, though.

The Ladies ward had come alive with an ear piercing scream in the dead of night. It was only a quarter past one a.m. when animalistic cries and screams of "Charley! Please! No!" had caused an overnight nurse, the security guard, and an on call doctor, and every patient on the ward to jolt awake in sheer terror. After several unsuccessful attempts at shaking my writhing body awake, a slight slap to my cheeks jostled me and my eyes widened as I jolted upright in bed, taking in gulp fulls of oxygen as if I had been strangled. I shrink back as I see a roommate of mine looking worried and sitting gingerly on the edge of my bed.

"Are you okay?" You ask.

"I-I-I'm fine. I-I'm so-sorry. I... I have night terrors.." I stammered, trying to explain my problem.

"I have them, too. Don't be sorry. My name is (y/n), but everybody calls me (y/n/n), what is your name?" You asked.

"It's ni-ice to meet you, (y/n). My name is Janie McMurphy."

Before we could get to know each other further, three staff members burst into the room with a mix of alarm and annoyance etched into their faces. Turkle, the nighttime guard of the hospital joined a nighttime nurse whose name I had already forgotten, along with Spivey's nighttime replacement, Doctor Stuart. Another body scrambled in not too long after, a flustered and scared Mac. I buried my reddening face in my hands as four voices bombarded me with questions I was too tired and ultimately too annoyed to deal with.

"Sweetheart, what happened?" Turkle asked. "You have a set of lungs on you, don'tcha?"

"Do I need to call Doctor Spivey for you, Miss McMurphy?" Doctor Stuart asked.

"I'm going to get you a diazepam pill, Miss McMurphy. It's all okay, I promise. Mister McMurphy, we'll give you five minutes then you need to go back to your own bed on the bottom floor." The nurse said, winking at Mac.

"She had a night terror, Mister Turkle," (y/n) began. "It's okay, I got her up. Could I have one too, Nurse Katt? I can't fall asleep tonight." they asked.

"Sure. I'll be right back. Doctor Stuart will be sure to write this occurrence in a note for Nurse Ratched and Doctor Spivey and you can see them both tomorrow morning. Five minutes, Mac." Nurse Katt added as she, Turkle, and Stuart left the room.

(Y/N) shyly smiled at Mac when they made their way back to their bed, turning on their side to face the wall to give the two of us some form of privacy. I was hugging my knees to my chest in the bed, avoiding Mac's eyes. He let out an audible sigh and sat beside me, placing a comforting arm around my shoulders. I trembled, trying to keep my eyes from overflowing with tears and took in a shaky breath, resting my head on my brother’s shoulder. We didn't talk; we sat in silence until I faced him.

"I'm sorry you came up here, Mac, but I'm fine." I said.

“The nurse called me as soon as she heard your first scream. I came as soon as I could. Why are you sorry?” He asked softly.

“I’m sorry for a lot of things, but mostly for waking you up, brother. I just can’t control these fucking night terrors.” I replied, scrunching my eyes shut as more tears threatened to brim over.

"How long have these damn things been happening?" He asked, looking down at me.

"For almost two years... Since Charles killed himself." I replied, quietly.

"Meet me in my room around seven o'clock, ok? We'll have breakfast together and head to therapy together. It's going to be okay, Jane. Thank you, (Y/N), for helping my sister, sweetheart. I appreciate it." Mac smiled as he stood up and ventured back to his own floor.

The next morning I awoke before my two roommates, one being (Y/N) who stayed up with me until the diazepam knocked us into another universe, and another patient around our age named Elise who had slept through the night terror debacle. (Y/N) said that Elise was used to their night terrors and usually saved a few barbiturates so nothing would disturb her at night.

I made my way to the first floor, skulking into the first room on the right, which Mac said would be the room he shared with “one giant motherfucker named Chief, but he’s harmless so don’t be scared.” I felt uncomfortable in my new uniform, or prisoner’s gear as I called it. As I looked around and made my way through the large corridor and found Mac laughing with a rather large Native man, I nearly ran right into someone.

“Oh! God, I am s-“ I began, finally taking in who I nearly ran right through.

“I-I-Its n-no problem, Muh-muh-Miss.” A very red Billy Bibbit replied.

“No, really, Billy, I am very sorry. I was looking for my brother and just wasn’t watching where I was going.” I smiled, looking away shyly.

“M-M-Mac is-is-is ri-ri-ri-right in there, Miss.” He smiled, pointing to the door behind me.

“Call me Janie.” I said, finally looking at him and finding myself entranced by his big blue eyes.

“Okay… J-Ja-Ja-Jaaanie.” He smiled back, forcing my name out through stutters that flustered him.

“Did you, uh, wanna have breakfast with Mac and me?” I asked.

“O-Oh, I’d like to, b-b-b-b-but I have my morn-ning appointment wi-ith Doctor Sp-Spivey now. Raincheck?” He asked, hopefully.

“Of course. I’ll see you around, Billy.” I smiled, watching as he walked away.

“My dear, dear sister,” Mac began, smirking devilishly as he stood in the doorway of his room.

“I do believe you would eat that boy alive if you two became an item. Come on in, there’s somebody I want you to meet.”

I walked into Mac’s small room and saw the man he was speaking with earlier, getting his shirt on. He nodded at me and I waved. I looked around their room and was surprised at how gloomy and small it was. The ladies had larger rooms with picture windows and furniture. However, the men’s room only held two beds and a kind of chain fence separating rooms with the other men in the ward. Their one large window in the room was locked down tight and had bars on it so the patients had no way of escaping, even if they managed to open their window. I watched Mac talk quietly with the man he called Chief, leaving me standing there awkwardly. Over an intercom it was announced that it was time for medication and all patients needed to walk single-file to the medication window. I walked out with Mac and Chief and found that the women in the hospital were standing in a line next to the men, and I stood with Elise and (Y/N).

“Remember, Janie, breakfast after this. We’ll go to the cafeteria; there’s a small window table we can eat at.” Mac whispered, and I nodded.

Billy and I stood in line side-by-side, and every time I looked over, I caught him staring at me, which made him turn scarlet. I felt self-conscious, wondering if I looked too fat in this uniform, or if my hair was a rat’s nest, or if there was something wrong with me. Mac was utterly amused and mouthed “Billy has a crush on you” to me, but I rolled my eyes and shook my head. He was just being nice, or so I thought.

The doctor put me on diazepam at night in hopes of ending my night terrors, and in the day time had me on a cocktail of medication. Something for my debilitating anxiety, two different medications that were supposed to work together for depression, something for my PTSD and flashbacks, and a mood stabilizer. Within ten minutes I was at the table with Mac, and he was telling me how he ended up here, a girl had lied about her age and her parents found them having sex. She lied that he raped her and her parents pressed charges and that while he was innocent, he figured he would never beat the case so he came here as a last ditch effort to avoid spending a third of his life in prison. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but I nodded. I believed my brother and I loved him. He had a knack for choosing the wrong girls as I had a knack for choosing the wrong guys.

Several of his new friends sat with us; Taber, who I noticed liked to scream a lot, a pompous and annoyingly whiny man named Harding, a smart and friendly older man named Cheswick, and a little guy who didn’t talk much but was always smiling, whose name was Martini. Chief was minding his own business and standing in the far left corner of the cafeteria, near the exit and watching everyone. He liked to make the staff think he was deaf, mute, and dumb. Once Mac found out that in fact, Chief could not only talk and hear but he was as sharp as a tack, he laughed heartily and gave the Native man a high five, impressed with his trickery and his way of staying sane in this insane place.

“Hey, Billy boy! Can ya show my sister the good Doc’s office? She kinda forgot where it was and I’m still eating this slop here. I’d owe ya one.” He said, winking at me.

Billy had stopped by the table as he had finished his meeting with the doctor to let me know Doctor Spivey was looking for me. He tried to avoid my gaze but caught several glimpses of my blue-green eyes before bashfully turning his head away. I nodded and stood up as Mac grabbed my wrist.

“U-u-Uh, su-sure, M-M-Mac. Come on, Ja-Ja-Janie.” Billy replied, holding out his hand to me.

“Thanks, Billy.” I muttered, glaring at Mac who feigned innocence.

We didn’t speak much on the way to the Doctor’s office. I felt lost in a sea of fog since this was my first day taking the new medication, and Billy seemed pensive along with being super nervous. As we made it to the office, we stood outside there, not speaking nor looking at each other right away.

“Will you be at th-th-the therapy session today, Janie?” He asked, looking at me this time.

“I sure will. Ratched knows what happened last night and I guess wants me to talk about it today.” I replied, feeling nauseous at the thought.

“Don-don-don’t worry. She ca-can be mean, b-b-b-but deep down she’s a n-n-n-nice lady. She’s friends w-with my m-m-mother, so I’ve known her mo-most of my l-l-life. I’ll be there for y-y-you if things get hard. I promise.” He explained.

This time I looked at him. Really looking and overcome with a feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time; safety. I barely knew this cute boy but he, along with my brother, were ready to protect me and get involved in my messy life. I wanted to cry and I wanted to hug Billy, but I didn’t know how he would take that just yet. I smiled and thanked him, finally letting go of his hand before watching him walk away. He had a sweet smile plastered on his lips, his eyes lit up as we said our goodbyes. His soft brown curls bouncing as he jogged back to the cafeteria. I slid down the wall and sat there, trying to gain my composure before recounting what I dealt with last night. The door opened after five minutes and I looked up to see the doctor himself extend a hand and help me to my feet.

“Ah, there you are, Miss McMurphy. Let’s get to the bottom of these night terrors, shall we?”

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headoverhiddles · 3 years

Text

Commissions Open!

My writing career has progressed to a point where I’m lucky enough to work from home. That being said... I am happy to announce I am now taking commissions!

You can visit MY KO-FI here, to check the pricing and details of requesting.

For a list of daddies I will write for at the moment, please visit my:

Masterlist

Lesser Known Characters Masterlist

The only two I no longer write for due to lack of inspiration are Hans Landa, Father Burke, and Josh Brolin.

Thank you so much to all of you, my friends, who have supported me, and continue to support me! You inspire me and give me confidence to pursue my passion every day. xo

- Corinne

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crowsent · 6 years

Text

Salt: I Have A Nephew

So I went and picked up my nephew from school, just rolled up to the parking lot and got out the mobile metal machine we humans decided to call cars, at least in English, and walked up to the front of the school to come and escort my fuckass relative. Because I am not having my piece of shit nephew go walk down the street to my vehicle and risk him getting rammed head-first into an oncoming bus or truck or whatever type of transportation the parents/guardians/whoever use to bring the tiny little flesh gremlins to and from school. Tiny little flesh gremlins, in this case, mean the children.

Just because my nephew’s attitude makes me want to go on a lovely hike up the nearest active volcano, set up an olympic-grade diving board, and go for the fucking platinum medal in a needlessly intricate swan dive into the gaping mouth of boiling lava, does not mean that I want the little shit to suffer any kind of injury. Physical or otherwise.

My nephew was sitting on a bench by the front door as he’s supposed to do, kickin his feet up and down since his shoes don’t even touch the ground yet. With how fucking microscopic my nephew is, his feet might as well be on a different fucking solar system from the ground. But he’s kicking, right, and his feet go: up, down, up, down, up, down, over and over again in this senseless rhythm. He on his phone, staring down at it but his fingers ain’t moving. Still as a fucking statue. About as dead as my cold, unbeating heart. To any poor fuck walking down the street to meet face-to-face with screaming children running round like puppies, but not adorable in any way shape or form, my nephew would have looked like any normal elementary-schooler. Just sitting down, on his phone, legs fighting an imaginary monster with how hard he was kicking.

But not me. I have had the misfortune of getting my ass saddled with the responsibility of bringing him back home from school one too many fucking times. At this point in my miserable life, I have become an expert in telling the mood of shitty infuriating nephews and mastered the art of not smacking him in the face every time he did something stupid or irritating. Which is ALL the fucking time. If there was a competition for how much and how quickly any single person can drive me to contemplating into banging my head into the nearest available hard surface: walls, floor, bench, pillar, my dick, whichever, my nephew would be the reigning champion. Bring home a fucking plaque and everything.

So I knew immediately that some shit is going down. Tumblr does not allow me to convey my emotions through the use of sound, but if I can, this specifc fucking paragraph would be accompanied either by me snapping my fingers as a show of superiority to knowing when something’s wrong with my nephew, or that sound that plays on Kill Bill when the Bride is about to fucking stab a bitch.

My fucking pace increased from a casual gait, you know, me just goin to pick up a my nephew, to a full on march of rage. I cracked my damn knuckles when I was walking too, scared some poor child, but I was fucking PREPARED to sock whoever the hell made my nephew like this. I was literally willing to start a fucking fight in the middle of an elementary school because my stupid dumbass nephew was acting like something or someone pissed on him and threw him off the side of a steep-ass precipice, just fus-ro-dah the bitch right off.

Thankfully, before I actually managed to unleash a physical manifestation of my wrath, I noticed why my nephew was all up and upset like a damn mofo. Not far from where he’s sitting, there’s this woman and her daughter. Although we were literally in a public place, able to be seen by any fucking one who decided to so much as glance our way, she was blatantly reprimanding her daughter who seemed to be at the sixth grade, just one year from entering middle school.

Mother Jackass over here was close enough to my little nephew’s spot that I can make out the details of her daughter’s face, but far enough that I can’t read the tiny letters on the side of the uniform. In other words, just the right distance that would give me and my nephew some privacy if we wanted to talk, and them their own privacy. Distance is good enough for privacy islands of our own, while still good enough to canoe the fuck over there. The kind of distance where I SHOULD NOT even hear what the fuck this ho is saying to her kid.

But nah. I fucking hear her loud and clear, as does everyone in the immediate fucking vicinity. Because this bitch ain’t even talking. Talking is a description of a level of vocal communication that is dwarfed by the sheer magnitude of her volume. As in she was fucking screaming. Loud enough that she actually might have shouted this child to death. Awaken the giants sleeping at the core of the Earth. Substitute as a broadcast signal to call in extraterrestrials from beyond the recesses of the universe deeper than the pits of hell.

People were staring at her and her daughter because she was making such a fucking scene, it’s a scene AND an arm’s race. But the winner of “Shitty Mom Award” 2017 does not give a fuck. She gives less of a fuck than I do. And I’m neck-deep in loans from the fuckbank from years of lacking any fucks to give.

From where I was standing, I see her tiny little sixth-grader daughter crying. There is a fucking pair of waterfalls from her eyes; she has nourished crops, flooded valleys, and created a second great flood. Noah ain’t got no ark this time. Humanity has gone extinct. But even if this kid is bawling her little eyes out, the mother don’t care. She continues to chastise the kid and since she’s louder than the damn eruption of the Krakatoa Volcano amplified with fucking speakers, and broadcasted to the entirety of earth. I have gone deaf. Then Shit Mom™ spouted off the verbal version of pancreatic cancer. Don’t remember it exactly, but it went something along the lines of “Your grades aren’t good enough and you’re going to grow up sad and alone and useless” and boy fucking howdy that pissed me the fuck off so damn much.

But then, some distinct part of my brain told me that for some reason, this lady’s inane bullshit fountain of misery affected my nephew so much that I can fucking detect it like a homing beacon IMMEDIATELY. So being the magnanimous aunt that I am, I pretend I actually had more than ten minutes of sleep for the day and go mosey on to him, trying to make my smile look less like I was auditioning for Jack Nicholson in the Shining and more like the nurturing bitch I was actually supposed to be. Theatre prepared me for the pretense I was playing.

Sat my ass down on the bench. Nephew keeps looking at his phone, but his legs stopped kicking. Since I was considerably taller than him (for now since I know this asscactus would shoot up like a fucking weed and be 6 feet or some shit) and I can easily see what he’s doing on his phone, imagine my fucking surprise when I find that his phone was off. Either he ran out of battery or just decided to eavesdrop on the conversation, I don’t know and I don’t care. Because the next thing I see is this slip of paper that my little nephew is sitting on. Didn’t even put it in his back or anything, just sat on it.

Naturally, I asked to look at it.

And boy fucking hell did the look on his face made me want to go hula-dance into an open flame and burn myself to death. He acted like I murdered his mother when I asked for that paper. But still, gave it to me, not much protest there. Completely slipped my mind that that day was report card distribution of mass execution and crushed dreams. And my little nephew had a 76 in some subject, can’t remember which one, and he looked ready to burst into tears.

Ain’t gonna lie, my fam is hyped up on fucking keeping grades higher than the Everest and a 76 is about the equivalent of some depressing face-to-face discussions on the future and blah fucking blah.

Then, the little lightbulb hovering over my head pinged, just shone bright like a diamond as I was slapped with this epiphany that I never seemed to realize until now.

Nephew was upset because he can hear this mother dragging her child for bad grades and ever since the bastard can speak, he’s been taught that any grade lower than a 90 is bad. And he’s afraid that I was gonna start emulating Bitch!Mom too.

And that look on his fucking face reminded me of the one singular time back in highschool when I actually seriously had a fucking plan for suicide, just had an agenda lying around, a full on battle-strategy on the best way to meet death. As in: should I get the rat poison down in the kitchen, jump off the roof, hang myself on the tree outside our house, bleed out in the bathroom, asphyxiate myself, mix some chemicals to create poison gas and lock myself in my room, starve myself to death, list goes on and on in a specific fucking notebook.

It was this tiny yellow spiral. As in tiny. Munchkin-sized piece of dead tree parts. Barely even bigger than my open palm. And in this munchkin notebook, I had fucking diagrams, lists, and methods on how to kill myself. Ideations of suicide were normal for me, stand in the shower, contemplate on how everything in life is devoid of meaning and why I really shouldn’t be prolonging my suffering anymore, but those were just ideations. Never actually had PLANS prior to that moment. And I fucking remember what happened to make me write out complicated suicide strategies that almost had me get swallowed up by the vast nothingness of death.

Back then, in those miserable days of highschool, I was a junior. 11th grade. About to go on Thanksgiving break and enjoying some lax times because NO HOMEWORK and in school lingo, that meant freedom to play games and binge-read fanfiction without the looming threat of homework lingering in the corner and eating away at my guilty conscience for procrastinating. It was also on a Friday which also happened to be report card day. So I get my report card. The bullshit standard of anything lower than a 90 is failing applied to me back then too, so my fucking horror when I see not one, not two, but three grades below a 90. For me, that spelled out as a death sentence.

Because back then, I actually genuinely believed that anything lower than those impossibly inhumane standards was a failing grade. Despite me still being a fucking shithead mcguffin back then, I actually still had some cares left to give in me. And every square inch of those cares were going into my grades. I felt fucking shit about myself, I should not be getting this, these were fuckall worthless grades. But hey, I used to not lie to my mother. Told her the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so I took the death knell home, readied myself for a funeral dirge to give to myself in the wake of my passing. But my mother always preached about being loving and yada yada and there’s this tiny teety bird in my head that’s telling me “hey, maybe it won’t be so bad” and I start to think that to myself.

Even way before in the past, depression has been haunting me like a bitch. My mother didn’t know. Actually, no one did know that I was grappling with the black wolf all the time. And depression hit me hard that day with the grade bit, and I was hoping for a little bit of condolences from the one singular person who was supposed to stick with me through thick and thin, unconditional love, shit that I was told. After all, even if I did have three shitty grades, everything else was at 100s or 98s-99s. Nothing lower than a 97 aside from the three grades of death. So maybe hey, my mother could realize that I am in fact, not disregarding my education and I actually do give a damn.

I get home, show her my report card, and the first thing out of her mouth is “I’m disappointed in you.” Didn’t even ask me why I had considerably lower grades in those three classes, didn’t ask me if I was struggling or needed to stay after school for tutoring, nothing. Just “I’m disappointed in you.” Just that. Like I somehow brought mud to the family name and shot the dog, shot the neighbour’s dog, blew up the niehgbourhood and spat on my dead grandfather’s grave.

Then she proceeded to a lecture about how “this is for you” or that “you should be grateful you’re getting an education” or how I should “think about all the poor children in Africa” or that “you should stop wasting time doing nothing”. Lecture lasted an hour. Nothing but her telling me how fucking disappointed she is that I’m not getting the grades she wants me to get in THREE fucking subjects.

80 in Algebra 2

76 in Art 3

76 in AP US History

She knows full damn well I’m not good at math. She also knows full damn well that I don’t even eat lunch in school to go to lunch tutorials so I can understand what the fuck is going on with the square roots and shit I won’t ever have to use in the future.

I’m not that great of an artist and MLK season was over there. I’ve never been great at submitting art for the MLK contest my city had every damn year and my art grades always took a nosedive during that time.

The US History bolsters my GPA due to it being an advanced course and if it was a regular class, I would be having fucking 90s in it.

But nah. Disregard all that. Didn’t even acknowledge the time and effort I do put into school, an entire truckload of it. Saw the cracks in an entire road I paved by myself and focused on that instead of the fact that I paved a whole goddamn road.

Then I began plotting the great suicide of 20XX

Obviously, I didn’t go through with it, but seeing my nephew so damn terrified of my reaction to his bad grades reminded me how fucking flawed the education system is, and the result it brought upon families like a damn plague of fear and ruin.

My mother wouldn’t have reacted that way if we could have actually afforded college instead of thrusting the full weight of my education towards scholarships (student loans are the bane of existence and leech off you) and the Bitch Mom™ wouldn’t have had to yell if there wasn’t such a pressure to get into the 1% of students getting into colleges.

I also blame the fucking school I went to, and the school systems in general. My highschool was shit. At least my APUSH class was. Teacher did NOT explain shit to us. Basically just handed us a book, told us to read, and gave us quizzes EVERY. FUCKING. DAY. without ever going over the material with us. We were basically in study hall where we can’t ask the teacher to clarify fuckall to us.

Also. I should not have to know the quadratic formula, or graphing linear inequalities. My target career does not involve math, which is why it is my target career. This kind of shit does not help me in any way and frankly, if I could be emancipated from the burdens of studying for a subject that won’t have any real-world application to me whatsoever, it would have made my school life less like I was repeatedly being stabbed with burning knives in the pancreas and more like me having adequate time to care for my mental health and well being.

(Newsflash, humans need some form of relaxation to stay healthy.)

If I was learning how to balance a checkbook, or pay taxes, or where and how to vote, I would probably do a little bit better because I actually need that shit to function in the real world. Algebra fucking 2 does nothing for me.

And my fucking little nephew is going to have to live through this inane bullshit I did. He’s going to have no idea how to take care of his bills, or how to file for a tax return, but by fucking hell, when he is mandated to take that biology course, he’s going to know that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the fucking cell. On top of that, he’s going to have to sit through a lecture when he gets home.

The execution paper goes in his bag, drove him home, and sure enough, when his mother (and my mother) knew that he had a low grade, they began to fucking lecture him instead of acknowledging the rest of the grades he actually got were fucking phenomenal. Cycle begins again. Hope in the future, if he ever gets the same suicidal ideations I did, that he can also power through it. Because for fucking real, my family needs to chill.

TL;DR: My family has unrealistic expectations, my poor nephew is going to go through hell, some parents are shit, the educational system is a festering cadaver infecting the minds of everyone

#losas #salt #parenting #more like how not to be a parent

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