I am so DONE with people fucking with MY Ryan. He may be a fucker but he’s MY FUCKER. 

NOBODY who cares about my Ryan, cheats on my Ryan. 

Nobody.

-Ianto

She lives her life like an imperfect mirror. 

They say, “It’s a shame, if only she were more sociable.” They say, “The poor girl.”

Her mimicry is her only line of defense. Unable to speak without the help of others. 

They say mimicry is a way of building rapport.

They say copying is the highest form of flattery. 

They say, “I wonder if she’ll ever speak… I mean, really speak…”

They say, “Maybe she’s happy this way.”

She doesn’t have many friends. You can’t tell, looking in a mirror, whether it is lonely or not.

They say, “Let her alone. Different doesn’t mean bad.”

When she copies, if you watch her closely, you will see that hard glint in her eye. That vague twitching of the lips that says, I don’t know what you’re saying.

But I know what you’re thinking.

Transient life

Each day the same, each day different

Each day passing like a snowflake never seen again, unrecognizable

Melting away on the tongue, evaporating from my skin

Trying not to remember

has turned into trying not to forget any more

So I’m facing up today to the fact that my memory has gotten really bad. Bad enough that I really need to talk to a doctor about it, because it’s definitely been going downhill. 

Today I admonished myself for a good five minutes for forgetting to talk to my boyfriend on skype last night, only to realize about ten minutes later that ‘last night’ hadn’t happened yet and then having to reorganize all the memories I’ve basically made up about my day to fit this new theory.

Multiplicity (my first reblog ever omg)

hydrogyne:

I didn’t realize that Multiplicity was actually a legitimate thing completely separate from mental disorders like DID.

Intriguing and thought-provoking.

I’m also kind of… jealous? I really hope that doesn’t offend or upset anyone who is in a multiple system gosh but

I really like the idea of never having to be alone.

Yeah, as a multiple system, there are definitely upsides to it. I think of it as a personality trait just like any other though – it can be worked with. There are definitely downsides for everyone, but it’s not necessarily a good thing or a bad thing – it’s just a thing, like synaesthesia or something. It’s another way of seeing the world.

I think a lot of multiples see this as very clear cut – it’s a ‘disability’ for some, for others just an inconvenience. But I don’t think everyone recognizes that there are so many upsides and downsides. Last night I had kind of a breakdown inworld, and there were people there to help me and pick me back up without me going anywhere. I mean sure, the breakdown was related to multiplicity, and there was a lot of inworld fighting too. There were upsides and downsides, but the upsides should be recognized as well.

I mean, certainly it’s nothing you should try to provoke or fake if you’re feeling down, but to say that you think multiples are cool or enviable in some ways shouldn’t be something you have to back up or feel defensive about, because it IS, in some ways, ‘cool’ and ‘enviable.’ 

Also, thanks for accepting that multiplicity is a separate thing, you seem to have an amazing ability not to just call bs and throw it out the window which I appreciate. It’s nice hearing from non-multiple people who accept us because there are plenty (PLENTYYY) out there who don’t.

Okay, multiplicity weirdness for the day. I’ll denote inworld people with an (i) and outworld with an (o) to keep straight who I was texting and who I was dealing with inworld (in the system).

I had a really weird night last night, I don’t even know what happened but basically my parents gave me a ‘pep talk’ for school and I got really upset and wasn’t doing well fronting. So Ianto (i) came upstairs to the window where we front and was like, dude, you have to stop. But I was like, hell no, I’m doing fine. 

So basically he started trying to drag me away from the window and I was like OH HELL NO and flipped my shit and started screaming and hitting him and such, so he was like, okay, okay, but by then I was just super upset and I was crying and holding onto him and he was like, okay, go to sleep, you’re okay, go the fuck to sleep. But I didn’t want to go to sleep, but I was tired and he was petting me so I went to sleep in my corner, and then he did something with Lou (o), texting him.

I woke up a while later because Ianto called Brian (i) up to carry me downstairs (he was talking to Lou, like, “I can’t lift the fucker” because to Ianto I am ‘the fucker’ and to Brian I am ‘brat’, it’s affectionate though). So Brian picked me up and I was so tired, I just kind of let him even though we don’t get on that well, I think they were worried about me. So Brian carried me downstairs and put me on Ianto’s couch and just kind of sat by and tried to keep me from getting up again, and then I guess I fell asleep again because after that I woke up and I got back upstairs which was kind of a struggle and I wanted to front SO BAD. But Ianto wouldn’t let me, so I just kind of laid down in his lap and slept for a while again. I was like no more than half conscious the whole night, I was just so tired from doing it all for a few days.

I think Ianto was telling Lou things about me but I don’t really know what, I wish he hadn’t though, they’re always talking about me when I’m not there and it’s totally unfair.

I managed to talk a bit outworld and I kept getting triggered by different things and I talked to Lou and Lou was triggering me about the memories I’m holding onto, it was all weird and confusing and Ianto went downstairs and sent Brian up and Brian threw me away from the window and then yelled at Lou and then I woke up this morning really cold and probably kind of sick, seeing as it’s like 79 degrees in here and I was cold under two blankets.

But now I’m just tired and having an emotional hangover.

So that was my last night.

There are a lot of people blessed with a keen sense of smell, which is not really all that exciting, on the outside.

I am one of them, and really, it’s one of my more esoterically useful skills – I have the unique ability to tell, across a kitchen, by smell, when one slice of toast is perfectly browned. 

I can also tell the second before popcorn is about to burn (not catch on fire, but just not be perfect) leading to a lot of perfect bowls of popcorn.

Maybe all it’s useful for is perfect popcorn and bagels, but hey, I like perfect bagels.

I have officially earned $20 turking on amazon, with 23 approved HITs and 25 more pending. It’s been three days; I think I’ve done well, especially considering that a couple of the approved ones were just worth a few cents. I’m hoping (like REALLY HARD) to have enough for a midline strapless strapon by the end of the week, and I think it might be possible, especially since shipping will be free with the Amazon Prime trial 🙂

I wonder if any other transmasculine people have tried turking for sex toys/packers/binders? (There are a few binders on Amazon, IDK.)

Theory,12

12.
Ash’s cock had just arrived in the mail.

It had been difficult for them to receive the package from the postman with a straight face, but they had nearly accomplished it, betrayed only by a crimson blush washing over their face like wine in the last moments of the exchange as she closed the door, heart beating, breathing heavily.

It had taken them a long time to finally hold the package in their hands, or at least it had seemed like a long time to them. Two weeks seemed interminably long when punctuated by the periods of dysphoria that Ash experienced at so many distinct points – putting on clothes in the morning, catching a glimpse of their naked body in the bathroom mirror, or feeling a pulse of sexuality run through their clit at a sight of a hot girl and knowing that they couldn’t fuck them properly, penetratively, like they wanted to.

But now it was here. Ash almost didn’t want to open the box with their toy inside. They had always considered the moment before opening a present to be the best, and now here was that moment, swiftly passing them by.

Theory, 11

11.
As the sun rose she laid back on her bed. There was a willow tree outside – her parents refused to tell her whether it was her namesake or not. Willow didn’t know where the name of the willow tree came from, and wished that the word was more representative of the sound the tendrils of the tree made as they brushed against each other in the wind.

Her identity wasn’t linked to her name. She tried not to link it to any identifiers except for bare facts. Female bodied, seventeen years old, mortal human.