#messy vent

[paper-sunflower-lane]

EAH AU: RedWolf Angst Edition

I don't know if it's just me but as much as I love Red Riding Hood and Badwolf together living happily ever after with their two daughters I need angst.

So I started thinking about how much more heartbreaking it would be if Cerise didn't know that Badwolf was her Dad and that Ramona didn't know that Red was her mom because they had separated for safety.

Red wasn't allowed to tell Cerise about her father or her sister again for safety reasons and fear that if she said who Cerise's father was out loud someone might hear and take Cerise and Ramona away, with Badwolf being the same way.

And now with Cerise in Ever After High Badwolf sees her every single day, he sees how much she's grown and how he missed everything. And he wants so badly to go and talk to her, to embrace her, to just stand in front of her and really see her if only for a few seconds. He can't though, he knows he can't, because that would put them all in danger.

Red on the other hand doesn't get that torture/privilege she doesn't see Ramona until way down the line and it's only for a brief moment. It's only for a few seconds while running around town does she sees her oldest daughter, and she wants to run to her and hold her close like she had once done so long ago; then she blinks and she's lost in the crowd.

And in this world, Cerise doesn't really have any outer wolf traits, but she does have inner wolf traits speed, strength, agility, the need to be in the woods at all times, to rough-house, to bare her teeth when a threat shows its head. She doesn't know why she does these things, no one else does these things, and she doesn't know why there's this empty feeling in her chest whenever she hears a wolf howling at night.

Then there's Ramona who has no clue why she feels so hollow even if she's around her Dad and the rest of their pack. She doesn't understand why when she sees flashes of red she feels a sort of nostalgic longing and sometimes a little teary-eyed. She doesn't know why she feels like she's missing an important half of herself that she can't fill no matter how hard she tries. She's not alone, she knows she's not alone, Ramona is almost never alone, why does she feel like she is?

Don't even get me started on how Red and Badwolf long for one another, how they both stay awake at night wishing that the other was with them, wishing for one more night or one more morning just anything other than longing glances.

I know this is a messy rant, but I've been thinking about this for like two days and I really needed to get it out.

[dannirr00ni]

okay so i would like to preface this with the fact that i KNOW this isn't what the song as a whole is about, but there's that one sentence in mitski's song (i bet on losing dogs) where she talks about looking in the dogs eyes' as they're down there in the race, and that just feels like me. not mitski, the fucking dog.

i feel like THE losing dog, who's doomed by the narrative and really has no logical chances of winning, and it always kinda makes me cry because why can't someone still come to that fucking race and pretend they're rooting for me even when we all know there's zero chances of winning

[deadpuppetboi]

I enjoy your posts a lot!! Sometimes I forget to like it, but I really find your content interesting!! You'll get more attention soon, I'm sure of it!! ♥️♥️♥️

Thank you, I really appreciate it.

I always get so nervous about how others feel and it gets to my head compared to how much I feel like I'm not doing enough for this blog. Like I just love to talk about one thing over the other and then I ramble over and over about that topic and I feel like I'm annoying people. I've always had that problem since I was little and thanks to toxic people I'm just really quiet on my interests and Tumblr is the only place I can ramble for as long as I like.

Then there's my venting and my need to delete a lot of posts, just today I deleted 20 posts because I just hated them that much. And then there's the fear that if I do get the attention that I may get hate because of the dark themes of my Au and people would get the wrong impression of me. And if it is good, it's just usually on a shitpost I just made but on one post people like and they move along and I'm just left here wondering what will happen next.

Nonetheless, I'm just over here struggling with myself to have to like what to do in this blog.

[canyouz-not]

Johnny Depp: gets accused pretty convincingly of beating or at least getting physical with his ex wife Johnny Depp a few months later: wins an icON AWARD AT THE FUCKING PEOPLES CHOICE AWARDS?! Honestly someone explain society to me please? What exactly does a man have to do to end y'alls support cuz at this point I feel like there's nothing. Chris Brown: beats a woman senseless, continues to have a thriving music career and has a documentary set too hit theaters soon Kodak Black: arrested on rape charges, everyone tweets #freekodak and praises his release Jameis Winston: accused of rape, drafted number one overall in the NFL Donald Fucking Trump: [insert 1 of 1,000,000 wrong doings], GETS ELECTED PRESIDENT FOR FUCKS SAKE!? This post is so messy and I could go on forever but what's the point? I've come to the conclusion that man can do no wrong in this world...

[pleumo]

the more people i meet, the more i realize deep relationships dont seem to last for me. I have friends that ive known for a decade. We text a bunch, meet up sometimes, we joke and ocassionally vent to eachother, but we dont get into fears or desires or the essence of our personality when we talk. I appreciate them more than anything else in my life, yet i cant help but crave proximity, immediate closeness and a deep connection. the friends that i did get very close to, the ones that know the contents of my soul, theyve all gone on to meet other people. I seemingly exhaust them. i fear that opening myself up, pouring out my insides in front of someone, only unleashes an invisible darkness. i dont notice it, because ive become so used to navigating my way through pitch black fog, but it swallows the ones closest to me, and eventually they find their way out and run as far as they can, to never be dragged into me again. It feels cliché, but it's like im rotten on the inside, and the more someone consumes of me, the more bitter i become. The taste would numb anyone's tongue and they would take a while to notice their meal is long expired. When they do, they spit it out, wipe their hands on their shirt, and walk away. I always try to think that maybe deep friendships arent meant to last, maybe knowing every cell of someone's body makes you unable to ignore the cancers growing in their head. but maybe it's only some of us humans that are merely approachable to a certain level. And maybe i am an ocean. you can swim in it for quite a while and it will always be enjoyable. You can even come back, over and over again and you'll always love the ocean just the same. but if you go too deep, if you cant touch the ground with the tips of your toes anymore, if you have to start treading water to stay above the surface and if you get that feeling of vertigo, of being sucked into the void, then you're probably going to get out of the water, slightly disturbed, and not come back.

[dubblebubbletea]

I get the complaints about the recent misuse of the term "generational wealth" but I also understand the "you have generational wealth if your parents can buy you food/pay your deposit/pay to fix your car," having come from a family where growing up my food on the weekend was a single box of nissin chow mein and an orange that I took from my sister's allotment of school food that they sent home w the broke kindergartners on weekends, and coming from the perspective of someone who has often had to deplete my entire savings (which has peaked at $3000) because my parents can't afford rent OR utilities, and who currently can't move out OR buy a vehicle OR learn to drive because once again my entire savings has gone to transportation/food for family bc I am, often, our sole income due to parents' disability and/or legal status,

Anyway that is to say that if it's your parents buying you food, helping with rent or a down payment, helping fix your vehicle, or basically being financially capable of anything at all,

That IS generational wealth. It's not "wealth" in the traditional sense, but it IS wealth, and it's important to acknowledge that some people who end up experiencing extreme poverty STAY in extreme poverty because it's a cycle that their parents are trapped in and they themselves can't dig out of.

I already can't afford to move out to get on my feet and I can't withhold my money from my parents because if I do that then we are ALL homeless and I lose my ability to continue generating income.

People in the US really think "wealth" is equivalent to "rich" :P

[humanfluidscollector]

Sacred and serendipitous renovations and reincarnation, slippery seals and red burning hungry hollow eyes, eyes filled with tears, with gelatin, with gluttonous grey gastrointestinal veins, with membranes and spiny fluid, fluid from the spine, digits carved and carcasses littered with callouses, carousel creations.

I am a whore. I am a whore. I am a godless, thieving, hungry whore.

I am going to destroy you, I am going to circulate a piece of your skull and tear it, separate it, dislocate it from the rest.

Trauma indulges in endless cyclical memories and allows us to reminiscence about the horror over and over and over and over and over and over again

When you fall to the bottom of the stairs unintentionally, splintering a fractured section of your left knee, and the pain shocks you so thoroughly that you can’t see anything but black burned up spots in your peripheral vision.

When you discover that you’re sensitive and pathetic and refuse to admit fault, and then that shit just drives you crazy, drives you to the fucking edge, you greedy malicious cock sucker.

I can’t forget about my trauma.

I can’t stop thinking about the places my mind went, the dirty cobwebby filth-and-grime torturous spider legs and filmy saliva places.

My heart is beating so singularly, so filled with vivid colorful blood, flushing toxins out, carrying oxygen, and anger and exhaustion make me turn my burning, tear-filled eyes away from those around me.

I’m so tired of people criticizing and correcting me, constantly berating me, questioning and insulting my intellect, I’m so tired of my “friends” laughing at me, making me feel stupid, when I pose an honest question or make a shallow comment about something, trying to hold the burdensome weight of a simple conversation on my shoulders.

And so I fantasize about living in a quiet, cool place, one with natural light and bookshelves, a fine layer of dust covering the top shelves, and the smell of fresh paper and ink and carefully sewn-together spines. I imagine sitting down behind the privacy of my desk, and gently starting up my computer. I imagine checking out books for children, and wrapping, stacking, carrying, shelving books. I imagine quiet, smoldering voices, and the rustle of magazines and paperbacks being turned. I imagine story-hour, with the sound of noisy children, and the narrator’s voice vividly describing scenes and characters to them. I absorb the clicking of mechanical keys, the shuffling footsteps on carpet, the sound of the other librarians talking to each other in whispers.

It’s my mental paradise. My illusionary career, with no possibility of it coming to fruition.

And now I am big-boi depression mode.