please help me

i really hate doing this i really really do but it’s come to the point where i physically, emotionally and mentally cannot take it anymore.

my family physically, emotionally and mentally abuses me.

long story short, i live in an abusive household. my parents are forcing me into debt by threatening me to go to university (when my job career path does not call for it). 

i cannot come out, i am not safe. they do not believe in mental illness and have THREATENED ME (physically as well) if i chose to take medication (which i desperately need for my mental illnesses, i still take it even with the backlash from my parents). they have threatened to kick me out and block my bank card and phone if i do not go to school, even when i dont need and and they make me take a ridiculous amount of classes, hence digging my own grave of debt. ALSO, adding to the school thing. i will have NO INSURANCE AND NO FINANCIAL AID (if i drop out) for my mental and physical illnesses in which i need medication for.

basically, im living in a house that in inhibiting me from transitioning, draining me of all my money and forcing me through an expensive education and debt and threatening me to do so . im sorry if this isnt making sense but im so tired and stressed.

i’ve done my part though, i have gone to school (from highschool, summer classes and university without a break), kept up my grades, DROPPED ALCOHOL AND SUBSTANCE ABUSE, i am now straight edge (this has saved me tons of money and has helped my emotional state tremendously, ive spent more time being productive and less time in the hospital and in therapy which also costs money) and even gotten 2 JOBS. i do commissions and i work COUNTLESS HOURS at mcdonalds, unfortunately because i have mcdonalds, my parents are now trying to make me pay for EVERYTHING, even things they want, and i really REALLY CANT AFFORD THAT.

my goal is to move out into the apartment with my boyfriend @animeadult and our awesome friend @cruciphix by april. however, my family has already drained my first paycheck and yet they take it out on me (even though it wasn’t a lot in all honesty, it was a lot to ME), ive been trying to earn DOUBLE by taking in more commissions and snagging as many hours as i can from mcdonalds.

im so tired and so desperate to leave my abusive family, and find a way to pursue my transition in a safe environment for me physically, emotionally and mentally. i genuinely apologize that it has come to this but PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE if you can 

please donate to my paypal, its

and if u cant please spread this i just need to get out so badly i need to leave i really need to leave please help me.

if anything i will send a small drawing to those who donate as a thankyou, and you can even commission me its the same paypal just please.

i really need help and i know tumblr is a great place to go when someone needs it.

thank you for reading this and please share for me.


Summary: The moment when Jughead can’t take his dad’s drunken stupors anymore and decides to leave.

The slam of the door.

The whoosh of the fridge door opening.

The telltale clink of the bottle cap being removed.

Jughead knew these sounds all too well, and didn’t even bother checking to confirm his suspicions.


“Your old man’s had a rough day, Jug. I need this.”

Jughead ignored his internal dread as he watched his father plonk down in front of the box television, drowning out his troubles one swig at a time.

While he understood why his dad sought out alcohol every night, once the lights had been dimmed and curtains shut; he didn’t agree with his method of coping.

Jughead’s eyes followed his father as the older man got up and limped to the fridge, opening it and grabbing another beer.

He bit his lip, contemplating whether to bring this second one up, and let his gaze meet FP Jones’s, as he limped back to the chair in front of the TV.

He must’ve already had something before coming home; his eyes were unfocused and red.

“Um, how was your day, Jug?” His father mumbled.

Jughead looked back down at the macbook in his lap. The cursor of the next chapter in his book blinked before him, like it was uncertain; it mirrored Jughead’s thoughts.

“Fine, dad. I got an A+ on an English essay.” He said, his eyes following the upward motion of the brown bottle as FP Jones took another sip.

“Good, good.” The older man turned his attention to the TV set in front of him, slouching downwards, swiveling the chair from side to side.

The next few minutes passed in silence. Jughead tried to focus on his writing, but continued to keep an eye on his dad.

In all honesty, he was afraid. FP Jones had gotten drunk the last night, and the one before that, and countless times before. His mom wasn’t here to chastise him (not like it helped anyway) and Jellybean wasn’t here to let her innocent gaze guilt their father into putting that dreaded liquor down.

He let his mind wander to three weeks ago- the day his mom had decided she’d had enough, packed up her suitcases, made Jellybean do so too, and stormed off to her parent’s house. Jughead was meant to go with them, but some part of him forced him to stay and look after his dad.

It wasn’t like he was succeeding, anyway.

His thoughts were interrupted when his dad stood up once again, albeit unsteadily, lopsidedly stalking to the fridge.

Jughead set his laptop aside and stood up. “Hey dad, it’s late.”

“Then go to sleep, Jug.”

“Dad, I mean-”

“Goodnight, Jug.”

Jughead walked forward and grabbed the bottle in his dad’s shaky palms. “Dad, that’s enough, please-”

“What are you gonna do, huh? Jug? You don’t understand. Go to your room.”

“Dad, please, stop-”

Jughead’s dad took a step forward. Jughead took one back, skin paling.

“Listen, Jug. You love me, yeah?”

Jughead pursed his lips and nodded.

“Then go and sleep.”

“Dad, I can’t, if you keep downing one beer after another.”

FP Jones placed a threatening palm on his son’s chest.

“You don’t know what it’s like. Your wife hasn’t left you. You haven’t lost your job. You haven’t been forced to do ungodly things just for some cash, just so I can sustain you. You didn’t have to give up half your savings for hospital bills. You didn’t-”

He broke down, putting his head in his trembling hands.

Jughead’s heart broke, unused to seeing his father so fragile and open. He took a step forward, reaching out to comfort his dad, but stopped midway when his dad shot up and flipped a table over.

Jughead’s eyes widened in fear. “Dad, stop-”

Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Second paid no heed to his son, dragging his hand across the small kitchen’s counter, sending condiments, empty beer bottles and papers to the floor. He slammed the cabinet doors, his scream of frustration mingling with its noise.

Jughead moved in front of his dad, throwing caution to the wind.

“STOP!” He yelled, wincing when his dad’s hand came down and struck him on the cheek.

Everything stilled. Time froze. Both men stared at each other, one with surprised wide eyes and the other with bloodshot ones.

Yes, Jughead had watched his dad fall into a multitude of drunken stupors, but not once did his dad ever raise his hand against him. Not even when the whole family lived under the same roof.

But now, things had obviously changed. An alarm blared inside Jughead’s mind, telling him to leave immediately, before it gets worse.

Jughead stepped away, arms in front of him, incase the stockier man decided to take things further.

The latter was the the first to break the silence. “Jughead, I didn’t mean that-”

“I know you didn’t, dad.” Jughead’s voice came out soft and broken. He stepped away and gathered whatever belongings he could see.

“Jughead, I’m sorry, please stay…”

Jughead looked up at his dad. The man was strong, years of working at a construction site had ensured that, and Jughead’s cheekbone ached. Hopefully, a bruise wouldn’t form.

“I need to get away for a while, dad. Only temporarily.”

“No, Juggie, don’t-”

“Temporarily, dad.” Jughead said, not meeting his eyes. He didn’t know if the words coming out of his mouth were true. “I’ll call you.” That included. His dad clamoured after him, begging him to stay, but Jughead couldn’t bring himself to give in.

After ensuring that he took some spare clothes and the bare necessities, he opened the door of their less-than-adequate trailer and spared a look back at his dad.

“I’m sorry, dad.”

And then he shut the door behind him.

Little did he know that it would be the start of the worst period of his life till date- misery and loneliness awaited him, but Jughead remained oblivious as he walked away from the pleas of his father, gritting his teeth and planning his next course of action.

She loved the way my lips tasted of
sweet honey that had been
entwined with fire.
I remember the way she held me,
how warm her body felt against mine.
Jack. You’re the only one for me Jack.
Her broken voice would whisper.
Among the many men I watched come
in and out of her life,
I knew she loved me most—I never disappointed her.
She was mine.
I loved our nights together,
in her dim apartment,
wrapped in her hands,
sitting on the living room floor.
I listened to her whole hearted monologues,
for each tear that fell, our lips touched.
She needed me.
I remember the mornings
after our encounters.
The way she would awaken,
curled up in a ball— broken,
realizing that I had been in her
secure grip the whole night.
She hated me.
Mornings brought bittersweet nostalgia.
The sight of me made her remember,
but dreaded to leave my side—
a final kiss always prepared her for the day to come.
She can’t live without me.
Searching for Starlight

I wrote a start of a fic and I nearly posted it but then I didn’t. (It was up on Tumblr for all of 5 minutes) Because it’s so different to stuff I’ve written before but it started as something else and turned in to this. I don’t even know.

But then someone on Twitter reminded me to try new things. So here goes. Enjoy.

Let me know if you’d like to see more.

WARNINGS: alcohol abuse, casual sex, awful pick up lines

Mornings are nothing but haze. Dan is always lost, still stuck in the clinging tar of his night times. He’s like an abandoned road under a starless sky, desolate and alone. He rises on his couch, stumbles from a dirty cushion to dingy sheets and lays on his back, contemplates the crack in his ceiling.

He’s trying to remember all the things that he should but he’s coming up empty. There’s a faint memory of damp, heated skin and humid pants against his collarbone which is something akin to feeling, he supposes, but mostly it’s just numb and void and it’s definitely the way he likes it.

The distance is better, the desolate, separate roads and starless skies are better. Because stars are meant to shine, and Dan is a black hole, a singular point where all light disappears. And stars make him feel insignificant, small and inconsequential.

He has to drag himself up at some point, but only once the morning has given way to the afternoon and the sun has tracked a path over its highest point. It needs to be going down when Dan greets it, because anything on its way up would fall at the mere sight of him.

And this is routine too.

The coffee shop on the corner is routine, and the shift at the bar and the beer he throws in to glasses and slides into ungrateful, dirty hands. The chatter that floats into dead air is routine and the bearded man shooting eyes at him, and buying him hard liquor before going home to his stoic wife shouldn’t be routine, but it is. Dan feels the burn of the alcohol on the way down, but it helps him stop feeling much else so he doesn’t mind.

Keep reading

but when she’s drunk she’ll spill her heart out to you and tell you how you shouldn’t of kissed him, how your lips still belonged on hers even though you broke up months ago and never had the chance to hold her, she’ll cry and she’ll tell you she loves you just like she did the night you told her she meant everything to you, she likes to mix rum and Coca-Cola and along with her throw up comes everything she didn’t tell you when you loved her and all you can do is watch her throw up her heart and it hurts it really does, you hurt for her because she’s so stuck in the past and you hurt because deep down you know you don’t love her anymore.
—  baby, you have an alcohol problem (basedxbri)
I’ve always felt these things. I don’t think there are any words that describe them exactly, but they are a combination of rage, anger, extreme pain. They mix together into what I call the Fury… I am starting to learn how to deal with it, but until recently, the only way I knew was through drinking and drugs. I took something, whatever it was, and if I took enough of it, the Fury would subside. The problem was that it would always come back, usually stronger, and that would require more and stronger substances to kill it, and that was always the goal, to kill it.
—  James Frey, “A Million Little Pieces”

Originally posted by stanxstan

request with Sebastian Stan as Sirius

continued: Imagine during the first war Sirius is so distraught over your death that he starts drinking, thinking that it will take away the pain and the other Marauders don’t know how to help.

day 1

“just one shot,” i told myself. i drank almost the whole bottle. had to call in sick again because i haven’t slept, because i want to throw up, because my head is spinning.

why is it so hard to stop? even now when i’m sick because of drinking, i keep telling myself that i’ll quit after new years. because somehow i’m telling myself that alcohol is important to have during the holiday.

why is it so important to me, when it’s basically killing me? i can’t stop. i want to, but i also don’t want to.

i tell myself that it’s no big deal. everyone gets wasted. but i have a problem. i can’t control myself. i need to focus. i need to get back in the program. i need to work for chips, to set my goals.

i need to stop drinking.