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sunkissedtanningandwellness · 3 months

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scarletcomet · 11 months

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the mental illness is making me very mentally ill today

#20 new cuts on my arm and it's starting to get warm out #i know i should stop but im going to keep adding more because i make good decisions #it's good to feel something and i hate myself and hurting myself helps me to cope i guess #i guess hurting myself is a way to take out my anger and hate towards myself on myself??#idk im not a mental health professional #i saw a therapist through my school the last few weeks of the semester and i think that was actually helpful #i've been out of one of my medications for almost a week so that doesn't help either #my dad is telling me that i should contact my dr but what is she going to do? the company just isn't making enough #my dad was talking to me about my job for over the summer #like um??? i want to kill myself #also still nowhere near finishing all my assignments for the classes i had to take incompletes in #i've been eating a normal amount or maybe too much and functioning more and having way fewer suicidal thoughts #but i don't really like it. constantly thinking about killing myself sucked but at least i had like a way out #i guess when i was doing worse i was probably more likely to actually hurt myself in a life threatening way #but now it's like great i have to live #tw: self harm #tw: suicide mention

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alymccart · 1 month

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[Click image > right click > "open image in new tab" for higher res]

Alright, uh. Screw it. Let's dust off this account. I was embarrassed about even drawing this, and especially about sharing it publicly, but I'm slapping it up here. Why not. Been extremely burnt out lately, doing art professionally has pretty much killed my desire to do art for the sake of enjoying it (sorry, fans of my dead comic). Mental health has been shoddy. Actual health is eh, as well. I've been too busy to really think and have been so guilty about there being so much stuff to do in my life still that I haven't really afforded myself time to relax or unwind. My enthusiasm for anything has been in the dumps for years. I don't think I've drawn more than a handful of fanart pieces in over a decade (what you see on here is pretty much it), and I've certainly never drawn something like... this. Obviously, I watched Hazbin finally (didn't even realize the show was an actual thing now, though I did love the pilot eons ago; I don't tend to traverse into fandom discussion and discourse so I've been out of the loop). I'm actually nearing double-digit rewatches... and the OST has been on repeat for weeks. Well animated, beautifully written adult cartoons? I'm here for it. Musicals? Oh yeeahhhhh! A well animated, beautifully written adult cartoon that is also a musical??? *teakettle noises*

I'm ace as hell, but wholesome, loving, devoted relationships like this in fiction seem to hit me right at my core. I also cry at heartwarming videos and movies, but that's beside the point... I just... hrrrnnnnggg... Charlie and Vaggie's relationship has SENT ME. It has an iron grip on my soul and I cannot stop it. I feel like i'm 14 years old again. I want to write fanfiction. Is it 2004?? Where am I????? What the fffffasdfasfagghfgfjhdd????????!!!! Aannnyyyyywayyyy.... This art gave me stomach butterflies the entire time I worked on it, as well as an immense amount of joy, and I really hope this can maybe do that for others. And I still have... so many ideas........ so many....

#hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #vaggie #chaggie #hazbin spoilers #spoilers maybe???#digital art #art by me

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zoey-angel · 1 year

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Those moments when you sit with yourself and it hits that you're simply never going to recover from that one. With time it will hurt less but there is faith at least I will never manage to restore; in my life, in people, in the government, having friends, my family, the future... Every single thing I've placed my faith in bit me back, and some times I'll say hell with what happened and try again, but some times some shit happens that will permanently damage my ability to believe something good is and will remain genuine in my life.

#for one #i can't trust men who are nice to me unless they are family or taken #and taken men being nice also feels sus these days #not because i think they're all the same but because they've never not been towards me #and most days i can't believe being truly loved by anyone as a life partner #i feel like i could hook up with people if i tried #but it's always either more like they just wanted anyone. or that they wanted something from me specifically #nobody's going to be my friend and fall for me and stay with me for long years like they do in fanfiction #my faith in professional advice given also was irreversibly damaged #any advice even #i feel like there will always be a motive like getting money out of me #even if my friends and family tell me advice i often feel like the source they got that advice from is biased #i go by my own judgement damn near always #i don't trust doctors or teachers or any authority really #it's so difficult to live like this #and i can't decide to start having trust in them again because i can't command my brain to #it sucks that a few experiences can permanently ruin my mental health #i feel that way after being told all the i love yous were lies #i don't even believe my parents love me anymore #why do i have to carry this fear with me that people who tell me they love me are just trying to please me #or get something out of me #i wish people around me were more careful with the impact they have on my life if i open up to them #nothing will fix it not an apology nothing #i don't think therapy could undo this kind of damage #vent

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crueisummer · 10 months

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𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 | 𝓒𝓛16

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

series summary: Kika and Pierre invite you to their engagement party where you meet her and Pierre’s friends from F1, specifically, a certain handsome Monegasque driver.

chapter summary: You and Charles stay up talking about your dreams, fears, insecurities, and things that haunt your mind when you're alone.

chapter warnings: vvv emotional, feminism (oh no! jk), derogatory remarks, swearing, mental health, mentions of death (herve, jules, tonio)

playlist: ♫ gorgeous ♪ delicate ♬ i think he knows ♡ you are in love

author's note: Part 2 means we're halfway there!! For this chapter, I focused on the delicate's chorus to show the more vulnerable and "human" side of the characters. I will add the other aspects of the song to the following chapters. I also wrote this in a different style but I hope u guys like it. <333 Lastly, thank you all so much for almost 500 likes on the first chapter. ·°՞(≧□≦)՞°·. screaming! crying!

word count: 3.5k

disclaimer: All characters and events in this story, even those based on real people, are entirely fictional.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞

01:57 ━━━━●───── 03:52 ⇆ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻ ılıılıılıılıılıılı ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮

The light beamed into your eyes from the window, intensifying the pounding in your head and increasing your thirst. As you opened your eyes, you squinted against the brightness, gradually adjusting to the sudden flash. Sensing movement beside you, you turned around to find Charles sleeping shirtless beside you. Memories of the previous night flooded back, replaying in your mind.

Before leaving the party with Charles, you looked for Kika to inform her of your departure. Seeing Charles waiting for you near the elevator, phone in hand, she expressed concern with a worried expression. Charles had recently ended a three-year relationship, and his ex happened to be the best friend of his previous ex. Kika was well aware of Charles' red flags, as she knew you, her dear friend Y/N, were known for wholeheartedly loving and falling hard for others who often failed to appreciate you as you deserved.

“Please be careful,” She smiled at you to which you nodded. She watched as you approached Charles and he smiled upon seeing you. As you waved farewell to Kika, she softly whispers to herself, “with each other’s hearts.”

You and Charles found yourselves seated on the floor of your hotel room's living room, uncomfortable party clothes off, cozy hoodies on, and legs crossed, with a spread of chips, beer, and mini alcohol bottles laid out before you. During your conversation, you discovered your shared value of family, discussing the strong relationships you both had with your loved ones.

"Are you close to your mom?" It was a question you always asked the guys you were interested in. You believed that a man who had a good relationship with his mother would treat his partner with love and respect. Although it didn't always turn out to be true, you still posed the question.

"Yeah, the first thing I do when I return to Monaco is visit her. You know, she's the only one I trust to cut my hair?" Charles smiles warmly, reminiscing about his mom. "You see, she's a professional hairdresser. So, sometimes when she watches me on TV, she'll send me a text saying I need a haircut. I just reply with her flight details to come see me, and we laugh about it, but she still comes over. That's why I've never had a bad haircut!"

"That is adorable! How often does she visit and watch your races?" You ask, eager to know more about his mother.

"Well, not as often as I'd like, that's for sure. She usually accompanies Arthur to his races."

"Races? He races too?"

"Yeah, he competes in Formula 2. Sometimes the Formula 1 and 2 races coincide on the same weekends so I get to see them both." You're momentarily taken aback. Wow, they must be RICH rich!

"Formula 2? How many Formulas are there?!" You exaggerate.

"Just three, cheri," he chuckles. "You know, my dad used to race in Formula 3 back in the '90s."

"So, it runs in the family, huh? What does your dad do now?" You inquire, looking down and grabbing a chip. The room falls into an unexpected silence, and you glance up, noticing a soft and melancholic expression on his face.

"Well, actually, I lost my dad seven years ago," he replies, offering a tight-lipped smile.

"Oh, Charles! I’m sorry, I had no idea..." Shock overtakes you, and you instinctively cover your mouth with your hand. Is that why he’s only been talking about his mom and brothers the whole night?

He interrupts, "No, it's okay. I think I’m getting used to talking about it. You know, they always interview me about their deaths. Sometimes I feel like they don't truly respect them, or me, and they just want me to talk about them for views and content."

"Deaths?" You're taken aback, struggling to comprehend the weight of his words.

"Yeah, over the past seven years, I've lost three important people in my life. My dad, my godfather Jules, and one of my best friends, Tonio."

"Charles, I'm so sorry to hear that. How have you been coping?" Rising from the floor, you move closer to him, placing a comforting hand on his thigh.

"Sometimes I find myself spiraling into these depressive episodes where I just want to close off my heart. Because if you close your heart, no new people can enter, only to leave again." He looks away, his eyes welling up with tears. Your expression softens, and he musters a small smile in your direction. He continues, his voice filled with emotion, "I've tried it before, but I realized that it doesn't make anything easier. These days, I just choose to remember them for who they were, their lives, their dreams, and the sacrifices they made for me to be where I am today."

You were taken aback at Charles’ maturity. The mere thought of losing someone dear to your heart was overwhelming, and here he was, having experienced the loss of not just one, but three significant people in his life. You couldn't help but admire him for getting through his hardships and finding happiness in the time he shared with them. Especially since he uses it as motivation to be a better person.

As your conversation continued, you decided to shift to a lighter topic in an attempt to lift Charles' spirits. You shared stories of performing in numerous countries, while Charles recounted his experiences racing in Formula 1 events across the globe. You laughed at how unfamiliar you were with his sport, just as he was with your music.

He asks if you have your phone with you.

"Um, it's somewhere around here," you respond while searching for it. Eventually, you spot it on the kitchen counter. "Why?"

"Just open Apple Music or Spotify, whichever you prefer," he says with a mischievous grin as you sit back down in front of him. You nod and show him that Apple Music is open.

"Now search for my name," he instructs, and you type his name, discovering that he is listed as an 'artist'. There’s no way…

"Charles Leclerc Artist? How are you an artist?" you raise an eyebrow at him and glance back at your phone. You notice that he has released two songs in the past year.

He laughs at your confusion. "Well, Ms. Grammy singer, I also play the piano. I wrote these songs last year and finished them around the time of the Australian GP and the Miami GP, which is why they're named AUS23 and MIA23."

You're shocked, your mouth hanging open dramatically as you listen to the songs. Charles laughs at your reaction. You didn't think he could become any more attractive, and now he surprises you with this. Could he be the incarnation of your dream man?

"That's amazing! I guess I know who to call when I need help with a song," you wink at him, and he chuckles.

"No, no. You're at least 100 times better than me. I don't have as much talent as you do to write lyrics for the music," he praises you.

“Okay, since you know a bit about my art and making a song and all that, I, on the other hand, have no fucking idea about Formula 1. Like, why do you have to travel all around the world and race on different tracks? Is it like some kind of world tour?" You burst into laughter at your own humorous analogy, and Charles, who was as intoxicated as you, finding it amusing as well.

“Do you really want to understand it?” You nod at his question as he sits up straight and stretches his head and hands, “warming up” to explain.

"You see, every race weekend is different. Let’s say you do Plan A for this weekend, sometimes it works, and we get podium. But sometimes despite our best efforts, it doesn’t. So, after the race, we talk about what went right and what went wrong and then we make a new plan for the next race. Do you understand so far?”

You nod at him. Though a slight confusion still lingered in your mind, you couldn't help but be captivated by the passion radiating from his every word. The way his eyes sparkled, and his voice exuded genuine excitement revealed the depth of his love for his job. In that moment, you realized that this wasn't merely a profession to him; it was a true calling, a relentless pursuit of excellence that fueled his spirit.

"I still don’t understand. Maybe being there and watching it firsthand can help me. What do you think?" you playfully suggest, winking at Charles as you extend your legs onto his lap. He responds by grabbing your leg with his left hand and dramatically clutching his heart with his right, feigning a heart attack. "Oh, amour, the thought of you in red."

As your connection deepened, you both began to open up and share parts of yourselves that were usually kept hidden. You spoke honestly about your doubts, worries, and the overwhelming thoughts that haunted you when you were alone.

"Can I ask you something?" you inquire, looking up at him.

"Go ahead," he replies, grabbing a chip and taking a bite.

"Have you read about me? Like on the internet, in articles or magazines?"

"I see the headlines, but I don’t really read them, so let's just go with a 'no,'" he says, wiping the salt and dust from his hands. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I’m sure I already know your answer, but doesn't it bother you sometimes, the things they write about you?" you question, and he nods, encouraging you to continue. "It's just that they always make comments about my personal life, especially with the people I choose to be with."

"Yeah, well, those people's lives are so miserable that they have nothing better to do than try to ruin ours," he jokes, attempting to lighten the mood, and you find yourself laughing.

You glance down at your lap, your hands fidgeting as you gather your thoughts, when Charles interrupts, taking your hand. "Hey, I know it sucks, but I think it's something that comes with success. It bothers me too when they do that to me. Look, I won't pretend to fully understand what you're going through because I know I don't."

You look up at him, puzzled. "Do you remember earlier at the party when you arrived before me? When your car pulled up at the restaurant, they went crazy. Now, I've been in front of cameras since I was a kid, and I know a thing or two about paparazzi, but I've never seen fame like yours before. They were taking so many pictures of you that it didn't even look like flashes anymore, it’s like someone had switched on a blinding light for those few seconds you walked from your car to the door."

"I couldn't really see you because of the crowd, but when I heard them shouting your name, it just made sense. Don't tell the engaged couple, but I'm 100% sure you were the best thing at the party. " he winks at you. "But still, that doesn't make it okay. The reason they act like that is because they are taking advantage of your popularity. They think that getting a good picture of you, or a story, out of you or even something they made up, is big money.”

You’ve thought of this before, the way they treat you is different from other celebrities, but you hesitated to bring them up, fearing it would make you appear arrogant. It was a nice change to discuss about your life, popularity and the challenges that come with it, and to be met with Charles' honest and genuine response. You look back at the times you talked about this with a partner, and how they dismissed your concerns, labeling you as ungrateful, overreacting, or even a drama queen. The contrast in reactions causes you to appreciate Charles' maturity, understanding and support.

Despite your seemingly different lives, his centered around sports, yours with music, your personalities and passion for your respective crafts and families made you remarkably similar. With every word exchanged, the infatuation between you grew stronger.

So, at 4 am, while leaning against the balcony of your hotel room, a comfortable silence settled between you.

“I’m going to be honest with you, I’ve never experienced this before.” Charles says softly. “Staying up at this hour and talking about my life and the shit I go through to a girl I’ve only met for 8 hours now. It makes me feel like I want to tell you my whole life. It feels…” He trails off, a loss for words.

“I get what you mean. I never thought we would have a lot in common, especially since from the outside, it looks like we’re living different lives. But it looks like we're not so different after all.”

“Y/N, I know it’s too soon because we’ve only just met but I really want to get to know you better.” He faces you and draws himself closer. His green eyes pierce your Y/E/C eyes, he smiles genuinely at you.

As you gaze at him, your heartbeat quickens. You can’t tell if this is real life because you’re experiencing emotions you’ve never felt before. Here stands a guy who is caring, grounded, and by the way, absolutely gorgeous, and he is genuinely interested in getting to know you. Your thoughts waver back and forth, questioning whether this is okay. Is it cool that I’ve shared everything in my mind with him? Is it chill that he’s in my head?

Your mind and heart go into battle. Think! After all, you've only known this person for eight hours! Eight hours, Y/N! On the other hand, what if this is actually okay? Could this be the story of you meeting "the one"? Or your soulmate?

You tried to find a compromise.

Blushing, you gazed up at him and agreed, “I feel the same way. But can we take it slow? I never like to rush things, especially relationships.”

He nods and hugs you from behind. “Is this alright?”

You hummed and you both stayed there, watching the stars and the beautiful view of Florence.

You didn’t want the night to end, and you couldn’t imagine saying goodbye to him right now. So you tried to make up excuses for him to stay. “But, you know, it’s too dangerous to drive at this hour.”

“Cheri, there is no such as thing as a time that is too dangerous to drive.” He chuckles at your cuteness. “Plus, I’m a Formula One driver, I think I can handle myself.”

“No, you can’t because we just finished doing shots like three hours ago! And what if other drunk people are driving around too?”

Charles lightly laughs at your stubbornness. He knows you’re too prideful to just tell him to stay the night, especially after you both agreed to keep things slow. He sees you avoiding his gaze, so he addresses you, “Y/N.”

As you looked up, he smiled at you and gently holds your chin and locking eyes. "Je suis folle de toi.” he uttered.

Confused, you smiled in anticipation, knowing he had likely said something sweet. Seconds later, he translated himself, the proximity between your faces nearly undoing you. "I am crazy about you.”

...

Carefully locating your phone, you closed the bedroom door behind you. Retrieving two water bottles from the mini fridge in the kitchen, you settled on the couch in the living room of your hotel suite, resting your legs on the coffee table.

You check your messages and there were some from Kika, and your management team. Kika texted you and said to meet her for brunch at 11. Though, with a Monegasque driver in your bed, you don’t know when you can leave, so you move on to the other conversations, keeping in mind that you reply to her soon.

Your management team’s group chats were asking where you are and who you were hanging with. You read their earlier messages and saw that there are articles and pictures of you and Charles leaving the party last night. You open your Twitter account and see the two of you are trending. Of course, we are.

You scrolled through the tweets and some fans were happy, some were not, some just... don't have any opinion. And you prefer the latter. Reading the tweets of the fans was one thing, but the way the media and articles talked about you was different. It's like they didn't have respect you.

The articles get to you, Why is there so much scrutiny around my dating life? They called you a serial dater, manipulator, etc., even creating "warnings" about you for Charles; saying you're just gonna break his heart and write a song about him.

You furrow your brow, wondering why they single you out like this and why other women aren't subjected to the same level of scrutiny. It's frustrating because they never say these things about other people, especially men in the industry who engage in similar dating behaviors. Your male friends in the industry can date different people or even cheat and sing about it without raising any eyebrows. But when it comes to you, the accusations fly.

When they accuse you of "jumping" from one relationship to another, they label you a player or claim you cheated. If you choose to casually date without exclusivity, they call you a slut. It never ends. Where do they expect me to stand? When will it all just stop?

You start to question whether the people you want to be with have seen what has been written about you and if your reputation, which may be based on something fake, can affect the real connections you might make. You begin to ponder the significance of it all and how much weight a reputation actually carries.

It's unfair. Your personal life should be yours alone, and people should mind their own business. If this is the price you pay for sharing your music and being famous, you want no part of it anymore. It feels like they don't respect you as a human being.

Hot tears stream down your face as your thoughts consume you, overwhelming you completely. Seeking solace, you sink from the couch to the floor, resting your chin on your knees. It's a familiar position, offering some comfort when you're feeling low. The grounding sensation reminds you that you're still here.

Unbeknownst to you, Charles already woke up and was also reading messages from his team. He was about to greet you when he heard you sniffling. He slowly opens the door and sees you on the ground, knees to your chest, crying. Suddenly, he understands the pain you're going through. He felt awkward. He didn't know whether to comfort you or pretend to go back to bed.

But Charles can't resist the sight of your shattered state. He pushes the door open fully and gazes at you, broken and vulnerable. His heart shatters alongside yours. Slowly, he approaches and sits in front of you, taking in the magnitude of your pain. You're startled, having forgotten he was sleeping in the other room. You wonder if he knows what you're crying about, if he's seen the internet already, but the thought pushed back behind your head when a pair of warm, gentle hands cups your face, thumbs trying to wipe away your tears.

"What's wrong, mon ange?" he asks softly.

"Everything. The things they say about me... they're so mean. They're ruining my name, my reputation..." You manage to utter between sobs.

"Shh.. I know, cheri. But I don't care about what they write, alright? I want to know you. The real you." He comforts you. Running his hand up and down your arm as you find solace in his comforting embrace.

For the next ten minutes, you pour your heart out to him, releasing your pent-up emotions. When Charles senses that you had calmed down, he fetches the water bottle from the table and hands it to you. You finish it in one go.

"Feeling a little better now?" He offers, his considerate nature shining through. You smile and nod, appreciating his thoughtfulness.

"Have you eaten anything yet?" he asks, showing his concern for your well-being. You shake your head for a no.

“Do you feel like going downstairs, or should we order room service?" Going for a walk would be refreshing, and it might help improve your mood, but given that you've just bared your soul to him, you don't feel like going out. More importantly, you remember that you'll encounter numerous people and potentially face unwanted attention when you're seen again with Charles.

"We? You don't have to stay here with me. I feel better already." You face him, pulling away from his embrace. You instantly regret it as you start to feel cold already, missing the warmth of his body against yours.

"And I'm not leaving until you feel your best again. So, restaurant or room service?" He asks again. God, he is even more hot when he's stern... and caring about my well-being, of course.

Considering your current state, you prefer the comfort of staying within the confined space of your room, cuddled up next to him. "Room service, please."

↠ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬

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systememergency · 11 months

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Okay I can't believe I have to say this: I am 100% against fakeclaiming. Meaning if you even squint in the direction of someone who says they have OSDDID, I don't want you near me. My last post was explicitly anti-fakeclaiming, and if you read it as some mild in-between of "Well, I don't mind it when people fakeclaim in SOME instances uwu" NO. Not a single one.

Fakeclaiming completely destroyed my ability to trust my mental health professionals. I was convinced they'd believe I was faking it. I haven't told most people in my life despite desperately needing accommodation, because the first (and only) time I opened up about it to someone, they instantly fakeclaimed me. I already doubted myself and it took me MONTHS to disclose my DID symptoms to my psychiatrist because I was so scared I was secretly faking it. I still cannot properly believe myself, and I was diagnosed nearly a YEAR ago. I have been petrified of being open as a system out of fear of being harassed on the streets.

Fakeclaimers cannot see that they are damaging people with OSDDID, because they've convinced themselves their fakeclaiming exists in a bubble. They thrash wildly in every direction and just hope they're mostly taking down fakers. But if they take down actual systems? Collateral. Maybe don't act like such a faker next time. There was literally no part during my life where I felt as though fakeclaimers AT ALL helped me. There was no point in my life where I ever wished "Man, I just really hope this random 14-year-old system on TikTok gets harassed or I'm gonna have a rough day."

You know what I've wished for? I wished I knew for certain my friends and family would believe me. I wish I didn't have to be worried that the first words off my mental health professionals' lips would be "You're making that up." I wish I could be open about this illness when I'm more stable and it's less dangerous for me without the risk of people assuming my openness came from a lack of pain and understanding, rather than a domination of it. I wish I could casually bring up I'm a system in conversations without being worried that someone is going to interrogate me. I wish I didn't fear waking up one day to someone deeming me one of the cringe systems and launching a harassment campaign against me.

Fakeclaimers are actively stripping this reality away from me. So I'm going to make it clear again: I am not on your side. I am not some mild in-between of "Sometimes fakeclaiming is okay!" If you fakeclaim people, even the ""real fakers"", get away from me. If you actually gave a shit about systems, you would be using that energy to prop up systems and OSDDID resources, not harassing random internet users.

#Every time I make a post or comment being anti-fakeclaim there's always at least one or two fakeclaimers who come along being like #Yes I so agree with you I'm one of those GOOD fakeclaimers who only fake claim actually bad systems #Like yeah that's crazy you're the exact mfkers I hate why are you trying to get buddy buddy with me #actually did #did #osddid #cdd #did system #complex dissociative disorder #did osdd #dissociative identity disorder #system things #system stuff #anti fakeclaiming #fakeclaimers dni #tw fakeclaiming #fuck fakeclaimers

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gamchawizzy · 2 months

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❗️Mutual Aid Needed🦐

Hello hello, I am Woz, I am a trans guy from the global south, and outside of my day job in corporate, I am an artist. I am the breadwinner of my family, and I also get my younger sibling through school.

For a little more than half a decade I have been suffering with bad mental health and suicidal thoughts, on top of trying to keep my family afloat with what I can earn.

I work two jobs to earn money, on top of tabling at conventions to be able to earn extra on the side. I am the one who pays all the house bills, some groceries, often having to send money to my sibling for school and sometimes tuition. Due to the constant pressure from overworking and the abusive social environment I have been exposed to for the longest time, I am now experiencing bodily pains, shortness of breath, headaches, worsening eyesight, and worsened depression as I clock in 10-15 hours almost daily (including weekends and holidays) trying to make ends meet.

I’m humbly asking for your help so I can get proper healthcare, which has been out of my reach for the longest time due to poverty. I was hoping to be able to afford help a few years ago, as soon as I got a job, but ever since the pandemic, the local price hikes just kept going, and going, until the matter was off the table entirely. The biggest reason why I am trying to get this moving now and as urgently as possible is so I can still receive treatment while I am still mentally and physically able to take charge of my own health.

While I’m still more or less able to function well enough to work, I recently escaped an abusive situation, which was one of the biggest causes of my misery. The fallout from this event brought on a severe impact on my mental health and I was subject to a cult-like shunning by my old community. This has caused me to develop suicidal thoughts again, which eventually led to several self-delete attempts, the latest of which almost succeeded had I not been caught at literally the last second.

At the moment I am stable again and in the hands of trusted loved ones, but I still do not have access to professional help and I don’t know how long this stability will last and the next thing might cause me to spiral again.

We already did some research on getting local help and have a plan in motion, all we need now is the funds to carry it out. The bulk of it will be for the initial consultations and possibly medication, and we’re hoping to have enough to get the ball rolling for a couple months’ worth of treatment as I get myself back on track.

The initial process will be the most expensive as I am suspecting to have an undiagnosed condition that I would like to have checked, as well as possible medication. I do not have a disability ID yet (but I plan on getting one once I get a dx on paper), so we may have to pay full price for initial treatments.

Currently, my primary goal for this would be to achieve psychiatric help, diagnosis, medication, and therapy.

If I’m able to save up for a few months of maintenance and still have extra left over, my secondary goal would be to finally get my knees checked, as I have chronic pain and the occasional kneecap dislocation in them. This has been left unchecked for more than 15 years due to both poverty as well as being outright denied healthcare by the adults around me due to them downplaying the problem. I am nearing my 30s soon. While I’m still able to walk and engage in physical activities without the use of mobility aids, I fear that the complications from this condition if left untreated will only take a turn for the worse as I age.

Direct ways to support me:

Paypal:

Ko-Fi:

I have prints! You can pick up some of my art here:

We do not have a set price goal in mind as it will be a months-long process of beginning treatment and maintaining it, but rest assured all funds received will be set aside for the purpose of my healthcare and well-being only.

I still cannot escape many factors of my life that continue to hurt me, but I am hoping that continuous treatment, therapy, and support will help keep me going so I can keep my family fed without me having to worry about my own health.

Any donation, big or small, helps me so much! Even just a dollar/peso helps, shares and reblogs too! PH Moots, feel free to ask for my GCash in private!

Thank you all for reading! I’m always grateful 😭🙏❤

#mutual aid #mutual assistance #reblogs appreciated!! anything helps 🥺#No deadline on this - we are hoping to start as soon as March/April but happy to keep receiving donos 😭#so sorry about all this but yeah it is a big reason why i haven't been drawing outside of work nowadays. so many Bad things added up

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hottest-gay-bar-in-philadelphia · 7 months

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Why am I not in New York Why am I not in New York Why am I not in New York Why am I not in New York Why am I not in New York Why am I not in New York Why am I not in New York Why am I not in New York Why am I not in New York Why am I not in New York Why am I not in New York Why am I not in New York Why am I not in New York Why am I not in New York Why am I not in New York Why am I not in New York Why am I not in New York Why am I not in New York Why am I not in New York Why am I not in New York

#it's literally my birthday weekend #setting up a gofundme #i have to meet them #I'm suffering #google mental health professional near me

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ztarduzted · 21 days

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So like the Illymation drama????

vile take I support illy like fully I don’t get the people who don’t rn

So like ok ok don’t get me wrong, illy isn’t like perfect 100% by any means but who is??? That one carrot and chocolate thing she said in her video could have been worded better but cmon, it’s really not that big of a deal, for the most part you out understand what she was saying. The video that TBYS posted wasn’t “criticism” the way that people are trying to say it was. People are trying to play it off as just a normal constructive criticism video, but if your “constructive criticism” includes like two whole minutes of making fun of someone’s appearance for no reason, I’m concerned. Illy’s response was a bit immature, but I understand where she’s coming from. She said not to send hate and to just take down that one video, not his whole platform, because it was damaging her reputation and mental health because TBYS never even tried to make a statement telling people not to harass illy and she got sent hate for it. People are blowing it way out of proportion saying she was trying to “deplatform him” when she just wanted one video taken down because it was causing her to be deplatformed, and she never even talked about it to her actual YouTube audience, just the small community on tumblr, then TBYS made two more hate filled videos and people just kept dog piling on her. If your gonna get mad at someone for “deplatforming” a known homophobe and transphobe, maybe practice what you preach. And alongside that, I know that some sources were shown in TBYS’s original videos, but there were no links in the descriptions, and absolutely nothing in any of the response videos I’ve seen. There was one video I saw just speculating that all of her doctors were dumb and lied to her, and TBYS also said that most doctors that specialize and make money from being good at nutrition were just wrong. Also, that one response video I mentioned tried to claim gym bros were better at health than licensed professionals???????? It just feels like this is all a massive, overblown hate campaign to a creator because of mistakes. There’s a difference between constructive criticism and just making fun of someone, and while some things that TBYS said were understandable, he made a point to straight up make fun of illy in the middle of his video, not even attempt to stop his fans from harassing illy, then when she replied (and barley received any backlash mind you), he blew up making more videos sending more and more hate and trying to ruin illy’s career. I know illy could have clarified that one point in her video and acted more maturely about the situation, but people are entirely overlooking the fact that TBYS was no where near “perfect” in this situation. (Also, final note, yes, you can absolutely be fat and healthy, saying otherwise is just wrong and makes no sense. Do your research before making half hour long videos making fun of someone)

I assume this drama will just die eventually and people will move on, but either way, I’m going to continue watching and supporting Illy no matter what. She’s a fantastic content creator, and when that video first came out (and there wasn’t some dude bro on the internet telling me it was bad) I absolutely loved at and had a great time watching it. It made me feel really good about myself (since I’ve been exercising daily and been working on myself a lot, but I’ve seen little to no weight loss despite eating healthy and going on a calorie deficit and working hard. It turns out I have something up with my thyroid, and along with that, part of it is just genetics.) I’d started feeling really bad and was trying to eat the bare minimum and it was making it harder to work out and I was feeling sick all the time. One day I was staying home because I felt sick, and I watched illy’s video. It’s not like one video is going to fix my relationship with food, but it has helped. I’m still not losing weight, but I’m getting stronger, feeling better, and eating healthier. Despite all this drama, illy’s videos have helped me feel more comfortable being myself and I will continue supporting her. And Illy, if you’re (somehow) seeing this, just know that there are some people that want to see you fail, but there are so so many more people that love you and your content.

#illymation #drama #youtube drama #rant #tw fatphobia

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 5 days

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I don't know uf this counts as ghosting but here goes. 😶‍🌫️

I had a friend group of real smart wise and creative folks, very professional and know everything about the world. We were friends for a few years until I hauled ass to therapy for my ADHD, and realized that I was not being treated as an equal in this group. I'm the only one disabled both ways and it takes me longer to create so my output is nowhere near as high as them, maybe that was a reason. I didn't ask.

What happened is the 2 leaders of this group had insisted that I join, that we'd have so much fun together. Then I ended up being the only one who was talking to them, they never started a conversation on their own since January 2023! My fanarts would go unnoticed, they'd ignore if I sent them news about shit like KOSA, they had their private jokes even. When we were chatting together they'd often ignore or shrug to my comments which felt weird too. I felt like a kid they were being forced to babysit sometimes but they were having a party when I was in another room.

I didn't think they were the socially anxious types at all, in public they're always talking big about good communication and how everyone else sucks at friendship. Naturally I was feeling unwelcome, then the therapist showed me proof of this shit hampering my mental health and job too. It seemed like the most peaceful way out would be to ghost them before softblocking, right?

Wrong, I didn't talk to any of them for a month, then softblocked 5 out of 6 people. The last one was closer to me so I was hesitant, but then she finally decided to send me a text after months asking why I was quitting the group. I tried to not get angry and told her it wasn't the right place or time for me. She said okay and if she could help she would. That is when I accidentally said that maybe treating a friend like you do want them in your life would have helped a few months ago. I said this partially because we have a favourite unpopular ship and these folks often assume someone has switched sides if they aren't actively talking about that ship, privately shading them too.

Anyways the last girl then said Excuse me? Do you not understand how busy we are? Sorry we couldn't cheer for you always but it's not like you were barred from talking to us? You didn't think we could have issues, or that we didn't want to bother you? You couldn't think beyond yourself?

She was still typing when I blocked her. I feel bad and I feel angry. Next therapy session isn't until next month so yeah

AITA for maybe misunderstanding and selfishly ditching friends who may or may not had liked me all along?

#aita #am i the asshole

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fictionadventurer · 5 months

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Is it Christian love to see your worth only in the act of giving? If I yearn to disappear, melt, into someone; if I'd rather someone abused me, took something by force, than me not having anything anyone could ever use or want; if I'm deeply uncomfortable with the idea of receiving, yet alone asking to take something... That's messed up, is it? But at the same time, aren't we meant to put others before us and sacrifice our needs? But then, if I enjoy giving, if having something to gift makes me feel I exist and am not worthless for a moment, my motivation is at least partially selfish... I'm so lost sis how do I live

Your worth comes from your identity as a child of God. You were made by the Creator of the universe, who has already created billions upon billions of people, because He wanted to love you. If you were the only person ever created, Christ still would have died just to save you. Divine love is infinite and inexhaustible. There is no human love, from any number of human beings, that could come anywhere near the love that God has for you. Your worth doesn't come from how other people view you or how useful you are to them. Your worth comes from God. There is nothing in the universe that can destroy the inherent dignity He gave you from the moment of your creation.

We are also created to love our fellow human beings, and it's natural to desire love. But love is not disappearing into someone, and it never involves someone abusing you or taking you by force. (Those desires sound a lot like suicide ideation and self-harm, and if you're struggling with them, I sincerely urge you to seek help from a spiritual director and/or a mental health professional.)

Love is never transactional. Love is not give-and-take. Love is give-and-receive. Yes, love involves giving to others, but that love is not complete unless we are also willing to receive love from others. If we truly love other people, we have to let them have the joy and spiritual graces that come from giving to us and loving us.

There is nothing selfish about getting joy from sacrificing for or giving to others--doing good should give us joy. There is nothing shameful about allowing other people to do the good work of giving to or sacrificing for us. To love other people, we have to be willing to let them love us.

We respond to that love--both human and divine--with gratitude. There is nothing that we did or could do to deserve love. It is a gift, and we respond to gifts by being thankful for them. Cultivating gratitude is one of the most powerful spiritual disciplines we can undertake. We are children of a good God, receiving gifts from our father, giving gifts among ourselves. Difficult as it can be, we need to recognize those gifts and accept them with gratitude. Gratitude goes a long way toward making the idea of love, not about ourselves or whether we're worthy of it, but about the goodness of the people--or God--who gave it to us.

I hope some of this helps, and I'll be praying for you.

#answered asks #catholic things

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thomasschabot · 3 months

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bet all i have on that furrowed brow

jakob chychrun x fem!oc

isobel has a workplace crush and healthy dose of loneliness that jakob is more than willing to cure

word count: 3.1k

warnings: mentions of spending the holidays alone, cursing, partial nudity, alcohol consumption

a/n: for @wyattjohnston 🩷 thank you so much for putting together yet another incredibly successful event, and for giving me the best gift of all - getting to write for you! i hope you enjoy x (we're just pretending hockey works like american football and the sens have a bye week over christmas okay? okay!) many wonderful thanks to @matthewtkachuk for singing my praises via text and fluffing up my ego

The string of days between Christmas and New Years always feels like purgatory. One holiday bleeds slowly into the next, and there’s a general consensus no one knows what day it is or how long it’s been since they ate something moderately healthy. For most it’s time well spent with family and friends, but for Isobel it’s a sentence to near solitary confinement. She has no family remotely close, few friends, and is much too stubborn to take up her co-workers’ invitations to join them on holiday getaways to ski chalets or sandy beaches. Isobel refuses to be more of an inconvenience than she already feels like she is, but it isn’t necessarily best for her mental health.

She spends as much time as possible at work, researching rising social media trends to present to the team and making sure all paperwork is up-to-date. The team will be able to start with their best foot forward in the new year, something Isobel is extremely proud of, and it keeps her going into the office even when she’d much prefer to stay in bed and wallow in the intense loneliness she feels. There isn’t a pressure to produce new deliverables, which is a slight stress relief. The analytics department isn’t needed as much with the bye week and most of the incoming reports can be run by Isobel alone. A number of years ago the NHL implemented bye weeks in addition to the all-star break, which allows each team to not have scheduled games during the regular season. This year Ottawa got lucky, with their break over the Christmas holidays, and players and support staff alike took the opportunity to get the hell out of the snowy capital.

As far as Isobel’s aware, very few members of the Senators organization stayed in the area. From social media she could see co-workers posting from almost every continent, enjoying all the world has to offer. Many roster players were in tropical destinations, hungry to get away from the ice and snow that ruled much of their daily lives. Claude Giroux has taken his family to the Caribbean and posts a rare snapshot of his young boys enjoying the water. Brady, ever the gracious captain, has taken what seems like half the team home with him to St. Louis in order to cheer on his sister’s university tournament being hosted in the same city. Only Jakob’s whereabouts are unknown, his absence from her life palpable, but Isobel’s sure he isn’t in Ottawa. Why would he be? There are a thousand different people and places vying for his attention, and one of them was sure to be the lucky winner.

It’s her most guarded secret, the fact that Isobel has an almost debilitating crush on who is technically a co-worker, but she’s also sure everyone has figured it out, even Jakob himself. Working with professional athletes means there’s a serious lack of personal boundaries, and one’s private life isn’t exactly private, no matter how well guarded they may be. The boys Isobel works with will stop at nothing short of blackmail to get information out of her, even if it’s only ever used for in-house teasing. No one has said anything yet, which she’s incredibly grateful for, but Isobel can’t help but think it’s the main topic of conversation when she’s not around.

The suburbs of Ottawa are desolate as Isobel winds through the streets to the Canadian Tire Centre. No car is on the road except her own, and there is only one in the parking lot when she pulls in. Badge in hand, Isobel treks up the steps and pulls open the large door at the back of the arena, one that isn’t used by anyone except members of the organization. Jamie, one of the building’s security guards, is face down in a book — it must have been his sedan parked beside her own sensible compact SUV.

“Isobel Walker,” he says, surprised to see another person. The offices were open upon a technicality in contracts that is now grandfathered in, but it’s likely Jamie hasn’t seen anyone since he started his shift. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be getting ready with friends? The New Year's festivities start in a few hours.”

Isobel shakes her head. “Just wanted to square away a few things before the weekend. Besides, it’s not like I have anything better to do. It’s just me this year.”

The attentive man doesn’t miss the sad downturn in her voice, or the longing for companionship in Isobel’s eyes. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll get invited somewhere.” Jamie sounds resolute in the statement, but she knows it must be easy for him to think when once his shift is over he’ll return home to a wife and kids. When Isobel is done putting in work there’ll be no one waiting at home.

The elevator dings then, signalling its availability to deliver a human to the floor where the data and analytics department is located. Isobel waves goodbye in an almost timid fashion, insisting she’ll take good care of herself and promising to at least look into doing something. Nothing will come of it, this she’s sure of, but a small white lie has never hurt anyone. In fact, Isobel deals almost exclusively in little white lies, whether it be to scouts who want to hear a specific player is doing bad so they feel less guilty about not advising the general manager to draft them or to teammates when they ask what she’s doing on the weekends. Telling Jamie one more won’t cause the world to fall apart. Isobel is sure of it.

Her cubicle is tucked just inside the glass doors that shelter the front office from the rest of the floor, but Isobel doesn't head there. Instead, she tiptoes through the space until the corkboard of Senators and their individual season stats is right in front of her. The photo of Jakob immediately catches her attention — not an official headshot but instead a picture from the charity gala last season — and Isobel notices it’s a cropped version of one she has on her desk. In the photo he’s posing with the analytics staff, goofy smile plastered on his face as he stands three people from Isobel. She also remembers that in the photo she’s not looking at the camera, but at him. Eventually she forces herself to stop looking at the gorgeous specimen that is Jakob Chychrun and accomplish what she intended to do. Taking one last look, Isobel places a distant memory that their eyes had locked seconds after the camera’s shutter went off.

⭑⭒⭑

It’s long past sunset when Isobel returns home, and there’s no sense trying to scramble downtown to an overcrowded bar. She hadn’t been planning on it anyways despite what she told the only person she’s interacted with in a week. Things at the office didn’t take long to complete, despite the frequent distraction of Jakob’s gorgeous portrait in the background, but Isobel couldn’t bring herself to return to her empty home. Since the conversation with Jamie in the lobby she’s been dreading the silence that would greet her when the door rocked on its hinges. Instead of immediately returning home, Isobel drives eastward towards more connected areas of the city and marvels at the tourists in town to ring in the new year surrounded by history. Each street sign passed amalgamated into a mushed series in her brain, and once she could no longer tell what was real or imaginary Isobel turned and headed for home.

As expected, the modest craftsman house Isobel occupies is dark and silent and lonely, as well as a million other words she can’t think of to encapsulate how isolated she feels. If she had been thinking clearly Isobel would have picked up take out on the drive back, but she wasn't in a completely sound frame of mind, therefore being resigned to heating up three day old broccoli pasta and drinking room temperature beer. She can’t even be bothered to change into comfortable clothing, instead throwing her blouse and slacks over the back of a dining room chair seconds before crashing onto the worn leather sofa inherited from a college roommate nearly a decade ago but that she can’t seem to get rid of.

The television turns on at the press of a button, and Isobel briefly watches the sports highlights for updates on potential trade targets before deciding she’s done more than enough work for the day and switching to a New Years special. This one seems to be taking place in New York, a place she’s never been nor cared for, but at the moment Isobel would give anything to be there amongst the suffocating crowd. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so earth-shatteringly alone.

Hours pass by and more beers are consumed, but Isobel can’t seem to reach the buzz she’s so desperately chasing. The performances and countdowns meld together but if questioned there wouldn’t be a detail missing from her recollection. No one could do that inebriated, further proving that getting drunk isn’t in the cards for her tonight. A chill settles over the room and Isobel struggles to wrangle a throw blanket free from its perch on the back of the couch. Though comfortable, sitting in only undergarments doesn’t provide much protection against the drafty windows she should call a repairman about. Some pop star, whom she doesn't particularly care about, is thanking fans for helping them reach a milestone this past calendar year and she zone out. Nothing and everything floats through Isobel’s brain all at once, swimming in circles and causing a beautiful confusion.

The dull thud of a fist against the front door shakes Isobel from her stupor and possible slumber. Panic encroaches and her sharp survival instincts set in — the baseball bat normally kept in the corner of the living room grabbed and work clothes are haphazardly tossed over frame. The person on the other side of the wood slab is the last person she’s expecting to see, and the fact he’s standing there with a sheepish smile is astounding. Jakob Chychrun is on her doorstep, shifting his weight between the balls of his feet and carrying a large bottle of expensive champagne and a bag of garlic bread.

“Hi.”

“Can I help you, Jakob?” she asks, but immediately backpedals when she realizes how ill-tempered the tone of the words made her seem. “I just wasn’t expecting any visitors and am wholly unprepared.”

He smiles even more, as though Isobel can actually solve a problem he’s been faced with, and gestures to the objects in his hands like it’s obvious. “Jamie mentioned you were spending the evening alone when I went into the rink this afternoon, and I had no plans, so I thought we could watch the dumb special programs and drown our sorrows in alcohol.”

The answer is so Jakob, so perfect and friendly and warm, Isobel can’t help but return his grin. “I told him I’d look into going out. What are you doing in the city?”

“I wanted a relaxing week.”

Isobel arches her eyebrow. “The beach isn’t relaxing?”

“Not as much as staying at home.”

“Oh.”

Jakob doesn’t skip a beat in bringing conversation back to his original proposition. “Well sweetheart, what do you say?”

All the air leaves her lungs at the pet name, but she manages to nod semi-enthusiastically and move to the side. Jakob slips off his shoes while Isobel closes the door and treads into the living space carefully, inspecting-without-inspecting the decor. She quickly plays the role of gracious hostess, getting her handsome guest a crystal flute and asking if he’d like anything to eat. Jakob declines, saying he had leftovers before coming over, and urges her to sit down and ‘stop fluttering around like a hummingbird’. She obliges, turning to face him and tucking her legs underneath her center of gravity.

Jakob rakes his eyes over Isobel, once, then a second time, before coughing rather aggressively. It rings through the quiet like a gunshot and nearly makes her jump. Unsure of what could have caused such a reaction, she looks down to find the previously hastily buttoned shirt has shifted, revealing a rather large patch of red lace that hints at what’s underneath. Surely that can’t be the reason the normally suave man across from her is a blushing mess?

He respectfully looks away while she adjusts, and Isobel finishes quickly before placing a tentative hand on her shoulder to let her know everything is back to normal. She’s desperate to dissuade any awkwardness. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” Jakob laughs, but it comes out a little strangled. “Happens to the best of us. Well not me, in that exact way, but I’ve been caught in my fair share of wardrobe malfunctions.”

Isobel focuses extremely hard on not thinking about what that means, and unsure of where to go from the moment that was somehow vulnerable and impersonal at the same time, she reaches across Jakon to grab the bottle of champagne and doesn't even bother getting a glass. The cool liquid does wonders to soothe the fire in her insides, exacerbated by the fact that Jakob came to her, wanted to spend time with her. Some alcohol misses Isobel’s mouth, dribbles down her chin, but before she can even lift the bottle from her lips it’s being wiped away.

It’s Jakob, she realizes, stroking his thumb across her skin tenderly and making sure there isn’t an opportunity for the champagne to stain the silk button up that she can never remember to take to the dry cleaners. Clouds immediately form in her mind and Isobel closes her eyes — this has to be a dream. An incredibly elaborate fantasy. Under no circumstance is Jakob Chychrun sitting on her couch staring at her with longing and centimetres away from her lips. She must have fallen asleep, and her dreams are vivid due to the beer.

“Iso, sweetheart, hey,” Jakob says barely above a whisper, eyebrow furrowed with concern and the slightest bit of amusement. “You alright?”

Her eyelids flutter open, a bit heavy from all the alcohol she’s consumed, but her gaze is met with his blue eyes so close to her own and his fingers fiddling with the hem of her pants. Apparently this is in fact real life, and while Isobel had been trying to convince herself otherwise she’d missed Jakob inching closer and resting his forehead against her own.

“Yeah,” she sputters, nearly choking on air for the second time that evening. “I drank a bit before you got here and I think it’s all catching up to me.”

Jakob smiles softly, like he already confirmed this, and it’s then she clues in to the fact there are four empty beer bottles on the coffee table. “Are you drunk?”

Laughter trickles from her lips. “I wish,” Isobel confesses, “It would make the loneliness a lot easier to ignore.”

Again, Jakob smiles like he understands. It’s a bit surreal, the way the two of them are so similar, but Isobel can’t help but enjoy learning about him through these small glances. If she could keep her cool around the man for longer periods than the handful of minutes long interaction they’d shared, Isobel is almost sure they’d be friends, but the universe is cruel and unyielding. She’s destined to never know Jakob all that well, watching from the sidelines as he jokes with Brady and Tim, marvelling at his beauty and resigning herself to the fact he’ll never be yours.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question steals every ounce of air from Isobel’s lungs. Jakob is looking at her intently, studying her features for clues or transgressions he unknowingly committed. She’s never been good at keeping her emotions steeled away, and Isobel knows everything is splayed on her face for him to decipher if he wants to. The most prominent one is shock. Isobel is beyond surprised he’s asking the one thing that’s been on the tip of her tongue and whispering in her mind for years.

“Are —” she struggles to find the words she wants to say. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

It’s Jakob’s turn to laugh. It’s a beautiful sound, his deep rumbles as he nods his head, and Isobel does her best to imprint it to memory. If this is the last time she’ll ever hear it she wants to give herself the best shot at remembering.

“Pretty damn sure, sweetheart. I’ve wanted to do it since I joined the team.”

Isobel is now beyond shocked. “You’ve wanted to kiss me for three years?”

Jakob smiles in a way that allows it to reach his eyes. Beautiful, Isobel thinks, but doesn’t allow herself much time to focus on it, too eager to catch his next words. “Four if you count the time I got lost when Arizona was the visiting team and you held the door for me to get back to the locker rooms. You were wearing a black turtleneck that made your eyes look even more angelic than normal. I didn’t know that at the time, of course, but I did know I wanted to kiss you senseless.”

“Fuck me, you never thought to say anything when I was so clearly pining after you?” she whispers, emboldened and growing more confident under the confession and moving even closer until her lips are so close to Jakob’s she can feel the breath he inhales.

It takes a moment, but Isobel gains the courage to tilt her head slightly upwards and slot her lips against Jakob’s. Time stops with the flourish of a cheesy romance novel, though she can’t find it in her to groan internally even if she would under normal circumstances. Nothing about what’s happening is normal, however. Kissing Jakob is perfect in ways Isobel could never accurately describe — all plump lips and gentle touches and whispered sweet nothings. She never wants it to end, but eventually he pulls back.

He doesn’t stray far, just tucks her into his side with a hint of possession if Isobel squints , and cards his fingers through the matted ends of her hair. Jakob seems to have quite an affinity for the strands, allowing them to keep his attention while Isobel processes the fact that the man she’s been secretly in love with for years has also been in love with her for just as long.

“You know,” she says breathlessly, still in a surreal state from the kiss, “Maybe ringing in the new year won’t be so lonely after all.”

Jakob giggles in the same warm and gleeful way that made Isobel fall in love with him all those years ago. “I hope not.”

The pair of them spend the remaining hours of the night eating, drinking, and talking about what the future holds. When the television program begins the countdown Jakob looks at Isobel with a gleam in his eyes, and waits until the ball drops to kiss her into the next year.

⭑⭒⭑

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