#but good fucking Christ people will really be saying fucking anything on there

[dontthinkitsknowledge]

I absolutely agree that the TikTok ban is politically sinister and xenophobic, I will not argue that the US ban is wholly positive but holy fuck, you will never find me defending the app itself. I say that as an avid user but it’s got me addicted and I hate it. Sayonara you weeaboo shits make an app where you can cite sources next time

[dennisboobs]

every day i have to hold my tongue when m-cd-nnis shippers start sounding like frat guys with the way they talk about dennis' Secret Feelings toward mac. hey man. i don't actually think you get it. i don't think you understand what's going on between them.

[batemanofficial]

hello upper middle class northern usamerican tumblr user. i want to play a game. you will notice that you are in a super america convenience store in rural kentucky - you have three minutes to purchase a snack and drink of your choice and make normal small talk with the cashier. however, if you use the word "cryptid" or generally make reference to appalachia and its inhabitants as "wild", uncivilized, or lacking restraint around alcoholic beverages during your time here, i will personally tie you to the chassis of a four wheeler and tip it into the river. live or die. make your choice

[leefi]

love being in charge of thanksgiving dinner i taste tested the turkey and went god damn this is the worst bird ive made to date by far but no skin off my back. then dinner rolls around and people are begging me to open a restaurant

[genderfreakxx]

It really makes me so sad that Ronnie Radke is transphobic in that very Twitter specific way

[http-shield]

dilf?- bucky barnes

"Hey, sweetheart." Bucky croons at you as a muscular arm wraps around your waist, pulling you into the side of his body. A light kiss is pressed to your cheek in greeting as you snuggle into the side of the super soldier.

You turn to face him, eyes bright and beaming as you look up at your mission partner. It has been six long months of no Bucky and god, did you miss him. Something is different, you squint your eyes as you try to pin point the difference. Eyes the same, arm the same, muscular build that has your cheeks blushing, the same, hair slightly longer than before and not as brown. Grey. There are strands of grey within his hair, albeit no more than a few but they are there.

You blink up at him, starring at the discoloured strands before refocusing on his face. Not a single line marked his skin, not by his eyes or forehead, nothing to indicate he is ageing other than those silver streaks.

"What?" he asks, smirking.

You reach a hand up, fingers combing through tousled tresses.

"You're getting old." You don't mean for it to come out like that like it is a bad thing; in fact, it is far from. Growing old is a luxury that not many people have, not something Bucky has gotten to have, so knowing that he is ageing means he is living, enjoying life, and enjoying that process that everyone is desperate to stop or reverse.

"That's the first thing you say to me?" he chuckles, digging his fingers into your side. "Where are the manners of the kids these days?"

You squirm against his grip, trying to escape his assault on your waist, but you're firmly locked against him.

"That isn't a bad," you try to explain through giggles. “You're turning into a DILF; that's a good thing!"

Bucky stops and looks at you, utterly confused at the foreign word. "DILF?"

"Daddy I'd like to fuck."

"Please don't call me that." He sighs, finally releasing you from his embrace, his cheeks blazing red.

"Why not? It suits the new you."

"Because I'm not a dad. Why would you call me a dilf? If anything, I'd be a ....." he trails off as he struggles to find the right word.

"I can make you one if you want." you smirk at him, waggling your eyebrows.

"Make me a what? A new kind of name?"

"No, Buck. I can make you a father."

"How.."

You sigh, watching as the joke flies right over his head only to come back and smack him in the face two seconds later. These six months apart have really done numbers on him.

"Ohh," Bucky smirks at your unchanged humour. "You're getting too slick, kid." He wraps his arm around your shoulder to pull you back against him.

"You can make me even slicker if you want"

"Jesus Christ, are you ever not on!"

[sbcdh]

You know where the word cocaine comes from? Its Quechua. Just the name of the damn plant. I think it was 1971, maybe 72. I dunno- 

Could you start at the beginning?

Huh? Yeah, sure. Course. Uhh. Lets see…

Take your time. 

Woof. Lets see…I started in uhhh, 72. Some tiny little bottle-rocket firm sweatin for talent, head broker was this big red fatass named Ron Spade, hell of a guy, but the place got bought out by Bear Stearns in 73 when the shit really hit the fan. It was a rough time to be on a trade floor. IRS just put out the whole hypnoeconomics thing. Half the big firms were runnin’ around with their hair on fire, the other half felt invincible. Every day was a party. Party party party. 

Was that your first interaction with hypnostimulants? 

I guess. Its funny. First guy to give me quori was a cop. 

You mean an agent of the FDA? 

No no, like an old fashioned NYPD beat cop. Met him in the bathroom at Pink during a bender. Moron was so faded he thought I was his informant. Just gave me a phial. 

And you tried it?

Not right away no. To be honest I thought it was kinda faggy. Sorry. Its just what I thought at the time. The shit was sparkly, you know? What kinda drug comes in phials? Shoulda known something was up. 

Would you say hypnostimulants were popular at the time? 

At the time? Depends what you mean by popular. People didn’t know about that shit yet. You heard stories, dudes shooting up in the woods upstate, gettin found with their eyeballs exploded. It was early days, ya know? But like, that didn’t happen. That was urban legends. You know who was actually fucking around with the early stuff? Accountants. 

Accountants?

Yeah, you know, the bookkeepers. See,  I’m really just a plumber. I move money from one pipe to another pipe. But instead of wrenches and sprockets or whatever, I use charm. Its pretty easy if you ask me. Imagine if you could just tell water where it already wanted to go. You’re water’s best pal. Nah. It was those nerds in the basement, the spreadsheet guys that figured out how to expense shit so the IRS couldn’t get ya. Those were the fuckers who really dove in. 

What got you using regularly? 

Same shit as everyone else. Makes the job easier. 

How so?

You can feel the money in their pocket. Its like, I dunno how to describe it. Its like…Its like, a turd sitting in a hammock. You can feel how the money bends everything around it. You can see it, smell it. You can hear it over the phone. You can’t ignore it. Shit is nuts. You take enough, and its like you can’t see anything else. Or. No. Its like…You see that you don’t need to see anything else. Money is everything. You’re money. I’m money. Its all just rivers of money flowing through everything. 

By 1973 you were a regular user yes?

Regular makes it sound normal. But yeah I know what you mean. “Regular user.”  76 was the sweet spot. The drugs were good, but the regulators hadn’t stepped up yet. You and some buddies could set up in a club bathroom with nothing but a blindfold and a pile. You ever seen a stock floor with a headfull of that fancy government shit? 

Would you like to discuss the raid? 

No. Not really. 

I understand you were the only one in a sub-emmanation state when Hypnoregulators arrived on the scene. 

I don't want to talk about it. 

Very well then, my associate will be happy to take you to prison as per the agreement you signed. 

Alright alright, Christ. 

Please. In your own words. 

From what I understand, you pulled spade outta bed. Got a confession and everything that morning. 9 fuckin AM, and 200 IRS agents come busting in the doors. I was in the bathroom seeing shit. It's marble lined, lots gold filigree. All that jazz. Special made. Listen. I'm serious about the stock floor shit. Whatever you guys have, it's different than what we had back then. I mean, the shit was still cut with cocaine. A stock floor wasn't a stock floor, it was like…

The raid, please. 

I'm getting to it! You gotta know this shit okay? I need you to understand what you goons fuckin wrecked. It was perfect okay? A garden of Eden . Ripe fruit. Everything just works. You don't have to worry about shit. You're a hunter, a killer, the great fuckin god pan, and the floor is your field of delights. It's like being a beating heart, like being struck by lightning. You can feel the sun in your pocket, and how it's all flowing through everything. And then you fucks showed up. 

It was cold. I felt it first. Like I just threw the biggest party, and mom and dad were coming home early. But you know what I saw? You know those Chinese dragon dancers? Or, lions, or whatever they are? You know how there's two guys in the costume? I saw a dragon, a beast with eyes like the sun, teeth dripping gold, a bunch of IRS suits holding its pelt on their shoulders like you carry your baby home. 

Your statement alluded to some additional information. 

Yeah…there was something else… I dunno how to describe it. The fuckin…eyes, like the sun. Thats how you feel when you're on this shit. You're seein’ gold. I looked into the dragons eyes, and it's like, it's like I saw me. Like I was the dragon, and I was looking at me. Or…no. I was the sun. I was looking at myself. It was like, in that moment I knew something. I learned something. 

What exactly is that?

I dunno. It doesn't fit into words. But like. You aren't regulating shit. 

I'm sorry? 

Yeah. All this shit. The dragon. The field. The dancers. It's all just the sun.

[ssaltlicker]

Seeing how this website interprets biology is a fucking trip. The see-sawing between “sexual dimorphism isnt real” and “sexual dimorphism is actually very set in stone and black and white” and “anyone who doesnt fit into a calculated average isnt actually ____”. Its amazing.

[badjokesbyjeff]

A guy and a parrot sit down on an airplane 

The guy find it weird, but if people can bring dogs, you can also bring parrots, he thinks.

Moments later, comes the flight attendant:

Good evening can I serve you anything?

The parrot says:

Bring a nice cold beer you whore!

The attendant is startled by it, but well, the client is always right.

She then comes back with beer. The parrot chugs it and say again:

Now Im the mood for some wine, bring me a red wine you bitch!

The man seeing the opportunity says:

Can you bring me a glass of water please? Thank you

The attendant grabs the wine, but forgets the glass of water, she comes back and the parrot says:

Goddammit your piece of shit, I've told you already I dont like dry wine, bring me a sweet one

And the guy says:

-And bring my water please? Just a small glass, pretty please

Then she goes back to the bar grabs the wine, but forgets the water again, as she walks back, the guy, annoyed, tries to use the parrot tactic and says

Jesus fucking christ you stupid bitch, I've told two times already to bring me my water!

The attendant is done with it:

Thats it! I wont tolerate this treatment no more!

She then goes to the pilot and tell him about the parrot and the man, the pilot goes to the both of them and says:

You two are cursing everybody in this airplane? Thats it you are out

He then grabs both, open the door and kicks them out of the airplane

As both of them are falling the parrot says:

Damn bro, for someone that doesn't have wings you're really fucking brave!

[midnite-c6]

Watching the daily dose of sunshine makes me think of a au, where nam-gyu goes to rehab and his main doctor is timid!reader, like he’s always teasing you for being so shy and everything!!

I LOVE YOU. SO SO MUCH. sorry guys i gotta confess, i know doctor x patient is weird esp if its IN a mental hospital, but if i was kim seowan's doctor in ddos i would've FOLDED so fast (sorry).

patient!nam-gyu x doctor!reader <3 warnings: 18+, DARK content, dubcon, manipulation (please read at your own risk!!)(kind of a ddos au!!)

*⁠.⁠✧ : he SCARED you so much during the games, how he was killing people left and right (esp during lights out), how he was practically one of the strongest people there. he made you feel incredibly small, he'd constantly mock you, constantly humiliate and embarrass you because you were just. so. quiet! luckily for you, and for him i guess, player 456 successfully stopped the games half-way thru leaving some of the players to stay alive.

for some reason, to everyone's surprise, he'd try to change for the better. as soon as he got that 400 million something won distributed among all the other players, he'd go to some nice rehab center, he was traumatized, definitely. he'd wait patiently for his doctor to prescribe him some shit since he was definitely on the brink of overdosing himself during the games, but when he looks up to see your face, he flinches, and every self-development in his body crumbles as he grinned widely.

"you?" you gasp, your heart dropped from seeing him again. it was like you were the one who needed therapy right this moment. "what are you d- ahem, good afternoon, sir." you'd carefully sit down on the other side of the desk. "it's really a small world." he plops his arms on the table, resting his head in his arm as he gives you the snarkiest smile. "so? you're a doctor..? you sighed, trying to ignore him, ".. it says here in your file that-" "shhhh." he shushed, placing his finger atop your lips. you are now thankful for the desk between the two of you since he's already uncomfortably close to you now. "miss, are you capable of making me feel better?" he'd ask in a voice and expression you'd truly feel bad for, if it just was anybody else doing it. "..you barely did anything during the games, how could you save me?" he tilts his head. you'd only do what you were most familiar of doing, avoiding his gaze and looking down, you weren't like this with any other patients who'd come to you, but nam-gyu truly traumatized your very being.

"tsk." he'd grab your chin to look up at him. "look me in the eye, doctors should be social. right, miss?" your heart would beat faster, his tone sounding just like the ones he'd use during your first encounter. he'd give you that same look of terror, as if trying to make you fear him, which infact works, and you'd sit there staring at him with a big frown! he only laughs after a couple of seconds, "jeez, looks like you need a doctor for your own." his laugh had broken you from that distracted trance, you were a doctor for christ's sake!! "sir, you've confessed into taking alot of substances during the past month, leading to a potential overdose, i'd advise you to stay here to sober up." you say straightforwardly before he could respond anything else. he'd tuck his long black hair in behind his ears and hum, "that was so fucking cute. you being professional and all that.."

---

he did stay, as it was advised by the one and only you, you'd given him check-ups from time to time and you'd see him with the other patients, but one particular day, he'd occasionally crashout, making you keep an eye on him more frequently. he'd call for you from his bed..and as to not lose your job, you'd come in an instant. seeing him laid down, in his hospital gown,. "miss. c'mere.. please." he whined, a 180 of his own character. "yes? sir, how are you feeling..?" he'd reach out to cup your face, looking into your eyes. "i just can't seem to forget... i've watched so many deaths, right infront of my eyes.. " you nod, listening intently, for a brief second you'd feel your utmost sympathy towards him. "and i was gonna get something like ketamine to forget about it again." - he'd cut you off before you could scold him: "..but, i know i'm here to become sober, so.. i wanna know.. what else are you good for, miss?" like a muscle memory, you know what to answer, "obviously-" but he'd cut you off AGAIN. "..and i don't want those stupid medicine shit." he'd pull you in closer to him, where you could feel his breath tickling your face. "c'mon, you were there too, don't you want to forget, aswell ..?" he'd place a soft peck on your lips, letting it linger before lightly biting your lower lip. why didn't you pull away? that's really the big question. why didn't you? you wanted to.. but.. you know very well about his crashouts.. or how he'd act out.. but in these moments you'd find out you're the worst doctor ever.

nsfw below!!-> (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

he'd use up all his remaining strength to pull you ontop of him, letting out a low groan of relief. he'd now keep a tight grip on your hips, knowing that you'd probably gain some consciousness right about now.. but you don't.. you're stupid. you're a fool to his tactics. "oh wow..." his hands would slowly explore your body, with light feather touches. and you'd only stare at him in shock, wondering why you've let him break that patient and doctor relationship dynamic, "fuck. you're even cuter like this." he'd press your body against his, nothing was covering him underneath that hospital gown, so you could already very much feel his everything. to his surprise, he'd see your face contort from the pleasure, whatever's happening right now is just as fucked up as him. "hmm, you like that?" he'd moan out loud, "it's working on me," he'd tore apart your silly pencil skirt, why were you wearing that as a doctor, anyway? his thumb pressing down on your clothed clit. he'd push your panties to the side, making your juices drip on his hospital gown. "let me feel you for real, miss."

it didn't take long, he was so whiny about it too! you could see him biting his lower lip as you fully take in his dick. "miss.. god, i need you." you swear you were gaining control over him, hearing him whimper so submissively, but he knows that wasn't the case, his little whines were so deceiving. you're grinding on your patient's dick right now, but every request of a patient must be returned! and this was his request.. "haah. such a good girl." he'd hold you down against him, "you'd do anything to save your patients won't you? what a hero." feeling your cunt throb for that was crazy, he thought you were crazy.

both of your pleasure-filled moans were echoing inside the room, you'd thank god not one of his nurses would come in here. at such an unfortunate time. his breathy moans were driving you crazy! "fuck.!" he'd finally get to coat your insides with his nut, how he'd make you roll your hips faster to chase out his high, you were much more sensitive than him anyway. "i think.. you've cured me.." he looks right into your eyes so calmly, not matching your exhausted moans. "bet whoever's watching those cctv cameras is jerking it right now." he snickers, making you look up at the camera, oh shit. you'd forgotten some patients need to be watched 24/7. "your moans were so cute, afterall, miss."

guys i NEED TO GET THIS OUT OF MY SYSTEM URHGNS one of my fav imagines everrr i love jaewon sm i love SEOWAN sm and ik he was depressed in that kdrama but i genuinely would let him do anything to me bye. . . 😭 hes so whiny here. i might post part 3 of that one thanos fic, nam-gyu included !! (spoils). someone request myunggi guys!!🥺

[alchemistc]

Eddie tips his beer against his lips, fights the smile turning up the corners of his mouth as Mara and Jee each cling to one of Buck's arms, the both of them screaming to their hearts content. It's - loud, and Buck isn't doing anything to temper the noise, growling out one of his Roledex of monster noises, lifting one arm and then the other like some bastardized workout routine.

Beside him, Tommy sighs.

It's a familiar sound, at this point. Tommy is so fucking full of love, and Eddie knows he's spent a long ass time looking for a place to put it. He can't think of a person better prepared to take the bulk of it on than Evan Buckley.

"I cannot handle your lovelorn sighs, dude. You got the guy, you don't need to act like some regency hero watching from the sidelines."

Tommy eyes the neck of Eddie's bottle like he's thinking about punishing Eddie for the comment with a beer tap, so Eddie shifts it out of his reach - he's in no mood for another lesson on the physics of cavitation from Buck while he's cleaning foam off the patio and trying to prevent Jee from lapping it up like a dog.

Denny's too old for most of the horseplay, now, but there's something about Buck that makes kids unafraid to act like kids - he takes a flying leap and gets an arm around Buck's neck, and now he's somehow hauling three of them around with one of those wide, uncareful smiles Eddie's always been a bit jealous of.

Tommy's chest expands, and Eddie can feel his lips pursing, his eyes rolling to the side in warning. Tommy blows the breath out through his nose and scowls.

"I knew Shannon was it for me after our first date," Eddie says into the silence, shocking himself with the ease her name slides past his lips. He hasn't - he doesn't - Christ, even thinking her name sets him back sometimes. But this feels - it feels like the only memory pertinent to the situation.

Tommy's pretty good at keeping a straight face when he's feeling big things - decades of practice, Eddie knows, and he's aware that Tommy has spent another ten years unpacking that, forcing himself to wear his heart on his sleeve. Still. It seems easiest when it's Buck, and Eddie can't fault him that.

"She was such an asshole," Eddie continues, fond, while Tommy's gaze shifts to him, careful, concentrated, that special blend of steady eye contact and a stilling of his body that lets people know he's really listening, retaining, will be able to recite word for word something personal someone told him about themselves. "Even then, even as young as we were, I just wanted to share everything with her. Jokes, and stories about my day - happiness and sadness and... life, you know?"

Tommy swallows. His gaze shifts in the quiet of Eddie's confession, unerringly returning to Buck. Eddie's watched plenty of women in love with Buck looking at him. It's never been that look.

The one Eddie'd clocked months ago, a subtle shift from smitten to in love to something else. Something more.

In the grass, Buck levers himself to his knees and begs for mercy, and nearly takes a knee to the groin for his surrender.

Tommy's chest expands.

"You measured his ring size while he's passed out coming off an extra shift, yet?" (Buck has. Eddie's been fielding a fucking deluge of links in his messages, at least a hundred different rings at this point that look identical to Eddie but Buck apparently has half a million opinions about that he seems to think Eddie can help him with.)

Tommy doesn't give him time to react, this time. The bottom of his bottle hits the top of Eddie's and Eddie scrambles too late, foam spilling along the sides, over his fingers. The patio rug soaks up the liquid as it spills over his fingers, but Tommy seems to think the hassle of cleaning off his brand new patio is worth it, if the smirk on his face is anything to go by.

"I'm going to go rescue my boyfriend before Jee-Yun decides hearing Evan howl in real pain is her new favorite hobby."

Eddie's beer is still foaming, a steady trickle up the neck and down the side, right over his fingers, dripping to the rug beneath his feet. He'll need to go inside and wash his hands soon, maybe rearrange Tommy's tea drawer while he's in there - it's the only thing safe from Buck's wrath in that kitchen. "Get me another beer while you're up," Eddie snarks back, and leans back to watch the way Buck's eyes gleam when, instead of rescuing Buck, Jee and Mara both take aim at Tommy instead, and Tommy's swings them both up into the air while they screech in delight.

[ofbatsandballads]

turn me into something tragic

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: slight suggestive thoughts from reader, brief mentions of Jason being hurt

a/n: been listening to the secret of us by gracie abrams and “let it happen” just feels so much like what falling in love with jay would be like. so here’s a song fic!

divider credit: saradika-graphics

You’re in deep. You wish you weren’t because this whole longing thing sucks. But you’re here now—so it goes, you guess. It’s not like you have any other options. You can’t just quit your job at the Robbinsville Public Library because there’s a very handsome man that always shows up from one to four in the afternoon. You can’t uproot your life and your ability to pay rent because he smiles at you whenever he returns his books, because his voice makes your chest feel warm when he asks if you can put a copy of Emma on hold for him.

No. You just need to suck it up and stop thinking about Jason fucking Todd.

A remarkably hard task, honestly. Especially when he shows up at one o’clock on the dot as always. The weather’s pouring rain today, a clockwork symptom of Gotham winters. You watch as he diligently drags his boots along the entry rugs, careful to not track water on the hardwood floors of the library. It’s sweet. He’s sweet—no. You don’t need to be thinking anything about him.

He walks up to your circulation desk, unzips his black leather jacket and places the books he’d been keeping safe from the rain on the old oak. He always returns them early. He must be a particularly voracious reader. It’s a trait you find ridiculously attractive. He reads all these classic romances, so he must have a good appreciation of longing and devotion and soul crushing love and what would it be like to be loved by a man like that—God, you need to stop.

“Hi Jason,” you greet him cheerfully.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

His voice is so pretty. It’s deep but not rough, and he’s got that lilt that all born and bred Gothamites have. He’s so soft spoken, whether by choice or nature, you don’t know. But it’s a beautiful combination, his tone and inflection. You could listen to him talk all day. You do listen to him talk for at least 30 minutes of each day you work.

“Your hair looks nice.”

It’s sheepish and it’s nearly a whisper, but it’s got your heart racing nonetheless. You’d cut your hair over the weekend, wanting a change. And if you’d hastily curled it this morning before work in a vain attempt to make it look extra pretty, then that was for you to know.

“Thank you,” you say, face growing warm, “Oh, your copy of Emma just came in!”

You reach into the cubby under your desk where you’d specifically placed the book once it was returned by a guy named Dick. You had asked how he liked it and he’d just said he didn’t get why his brother enjoyed these things so much. You didn’t talk to him much after that.

“Took ‘em long enough,” Jason mutters, shaking his head and causing little droplets of water to fall from his damp curls.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Most times people don’t wait over a month, but I got the sense that the guy didn’t really like it. Probably DNF’ed it,” you ramble as you push the book towards him.

Jason rolls his eyes.

“Some people have no taste,” he grumbles.

“Your taste is incredible.”

You don’t realize how horrible that double entendre is until you see the bright red of Jason’s cheeks. Oh, God, your inside thoughts are becoming outside thoughts. You really, really need to reel yourself in.

“I mean–I just meant–obviously books. Your taste in books. I have no idea about your taste otherwise.”

Yeah, that didn’t help. You want to crawl under your desk and die. Maybe the little old lady who works the morning shift will find your corpse when she clocks in.

“I–um–thank you?” Jason says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

He looks pretty when he’s flustered. You wonder just how pretty he’d look if he was under you all flustered like that. Jesus Christ, you want to gag your own inner monologue. You take one steadying deep breath.

“I’m sorry. It’s been a day,” it hasn’t, but he doesn’t know that, “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

He pauses, shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He looks to be contemplating something of extreme importance. Then a resigned look crosses his face and his shoulders drop as he lets out a deep sigh.

“No, nothin’ yet. ‘M just gonna browse.”

And with that he’s off into the stacks. Once he’s out of your sight, you drop your burning face into your hands and groan. Humiliating. You’re so embarrassed that you’re jittery. You toss Jason’s books into the cart of returns and decide to make your way through the library returning them. The work distracts you from your own social suicide, as do the headphones you’ve pulled over your head.

You’re wandering along, head bobbing to the playlist you’ve entitled “book return bops”, when you encounter the source of your sudden emotional instability reading peacefully on the ground. He doesn’t notice or acknowledge you at first. It gives you time to admire him.

He truly is pretty. The cloudy light from the window throws shadows on his face, accentuating the sharpness of his cheekbones, his jaw, his nose. He’s like an old Roman statue. A beautiful man that reads, is kind, and is built like a brick house. You’re doomed.

You wheel your squeaky cart into the aisle and start placing the books back in their rightful homes. Jason looks up at you, a soft smile blooming on his face as he watches you work. Little do you know that he stares at you the same way you stare at him.

You glance over at him and see that he’s reading Frankenstein. You drag your headphones to hang around your neck and interrupt the peaceful quiet that’s settled between you.

“I need to know what you think of that book,” you demand.

Jason raises an eyebrow, gaze roaming from you to the book in his hands and back.

“It’s one of the best novels ever written. And one of the most widely misinterpreted by modern media. It’s a little infuriating, actually, just how much every adaptation misses the point.”

You’re in love with him. End of discussion.

“Thank you!” you exclaim. “First of all, the Creature isn’t green and bolted! Second, he’s not the fucking villain! Victor is! How do you create something, knowing every step of the way what you’ve made, then abandon it altogether once you’ve given it life. It’s bullshit. He’s neglectful and obtuse and utterly unaccountable.”

You continue to rant about Frankenstein for a good ten minutes, allowing Jason to make annotations to your verbal essay. In your literary fire, you completely miss the stars that are dancing in the eyes of the pretty boy sitting on the floor. If you did see them, maybe you’d realize that you’re not the only one with increasingly absurd inside thoughts.

“Anyways,” you sigh, “you’re the only person I’ve ever spoken to who gets it. So thank you.”

“No problem. You’re the only person I can talk to about it,” he says, voice going quiet at the last part.

You cock your head and raise an eyebrow in question.

“Well, my best friend isn’t much for reading. He prefers building weird shit. And my…dad,” he chokes the word out like it’s poison, “he just reads fuckin’ history books. Not even the good ones. He reads stuff like the history of semiconductors.”

You laugh so loud that it echoes. You slap your hand over your mouth, suddenly conscious of where you work. You’re still giggling as you sit down next to him. You look over and feel any of the air you’d regained leave your lungs. He’s smiling at you, bigger and brighter than he ever has before. And the way he’s looking at you…it’s not at all dissimilar to the way you look at him. Maybe you don’t have to stop thinking about him after all. You steel your nerves and dig your fingers into the shelf behind you.

“Well, maybe I could get your number so we can book club it sometime. Just so you don’t have to talk about semiconductors,” you joke, nerves coming through in the slight shake of your voice.

His smile grows even bigger.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he says as he hands over his phone to you.

As you punch in the numbers, you swear that you can see how it’ll all unfold. You don’t love him yet, but you will. One day you’ll love him so much you don’t know how it stays contained in your body. You’ll discover that he loves chocolate chip cookies and you’ll learn how to make them for him. You’ll learn he’s ticklish right under his ribs, that the muscle that joins his neck and shoulder is extremely sensitive to kisses.

You’ll have bitter arguments when he comes to pick you up for a date with a black eye or a busted lip or a bum shoulder. You’ll have a vicious screaming match where he finally tells you what he does at night. He’ll vanish for a week, then come back to find you curled up in a ball on your couch. He’ll never vanish again, he’ll make a home with you. You’ll worry every night he leaves your side. You’ll rejoice with every sunrise you watch together on your fire escape.

Jason Todd will turn you into something tragic, into a love-struck, devoted, messy version of yourself that you didn’t know existed before he walked into your life. And, just for him, you’ll let it happen.

[boysbeware2]

all the old tptm girl journal entries w the new (if anyone wants to see them again and compare them)

please proceed with caution as many of these could be upsetting to read

disposable girl (jordyn)

(old)

i cant fucking stand this. i try so goddamn hard to make friends, to be attractive to people, to be even somewhat appealing to them etc etc. it never works. i thought it would get better the older i get. thats what i was told. guess what! i was fucking lied to!!! im alwasy left out of EVERYTHING i never get invited to shit and my own friends ignore me all the time. everyone looks at me weird. i cant go in public anymore im so fucking terrified of everyone. nobody fuckinf wants me, man. im so close to doing something stupid i feel so gross and ugly and dumb i should actually just die id be doing everyone a favor LOL

(new)

man, i havent been on here in forever. the internet is kind of dumb. what is there to say? my friend group celebrated our outpatient graduation anniversary the other day, that was pretty nice. we’re all trying to figure out housing stuff, nora’s been helping with that. freyja + mayra + kairi found a place already (how are they so responsible??) and the rest of us are trying to find places near them so we can visit more often. i never expected to have such a big group of friends. if you told me 2 years ago that i’d be living like this, i wouldn’t believe you. it’s still surreal to me. i’m not sure what i did to deserve them. same goes for my girlfriends. i don’t wanna say who just yet, we’re still figuring things out, but i’m just so thankful for them. i feel so lucky to have a second chance at life. i really didn’t believe people when they said it would get better, and then it did. how funny…..

irreverent girl (kairi)

(old)

I do not want God to see me anymore. I do not want anymore eyes on me. This is near unbearable. I have no one to turn to. My mother is in the church. Many of my friends are in the church. They would tell me to find hope through Christ. They would tell me to pray to Him. They would tell me that He will save me. He must not remember He made me, and if He does, He simply does not care. I know this is unbecoming of me, and I don't mean to be dramatic. I am simply depressed, nervous, and I cannot tell what's real and what isn't anymore. I know I'm supposed to hear God speaking to me, but I do not, and I am tired of straining my ears. I just want to see a doctor. I want some kind of tangible solution. I do not want to pray anymore. Praying hurts. I only do it when I am afraid, but I am afraid much of the time. I don't want to be unheard anymore. I do not want to hold out hope for someone who does not act like they're there. I am hurting. I am hurting. I am hurting. Belief is hurting me. The idea of God is hurting me. I need an out. I am hurting.

(new)

When I have a job and money and I can move away from my shitty Mormon parents

splitter girl (tahira)

(old)

theres something so broken in me thats beyond saving. so i dont know why i keep trying to be saved. i meant to kill myself when i was 18. i didnt. all ive wanted to do lately is kill someone or something. i havent. im too much of a pussy to plan anything concrete, no matter how much i hate everyone around me. no matter how much i get off to videos of people dying or how much i love cutting myself i cant actually take action against other people. i am fucking purposeless. i was born from evil and i will always be evil and i cant even live up to that. i hate myself i hate myself i HATE myself and the universe hates me too. i dont know what to fucking do at this point. i talked to one of my friends about wantingto die and they said smthn about hospitalizing myself. maybe. i dunno. i dont know what else there is for me/. my eyes are fucking burning from lookign at my computer for so long adn not getting any goddamn sleep. i am not a good person. i dont think i can be helped but i just dont wanna fucking keep goign to school and being around people and pretending like everything is norma;l. i cant keep doing it. what the fuck is wrong with me whagt happened. why cant i be loved or feel love for other people when did something change in me that switched the aggression and affection parts of my brain. im hyperventilating ill be back. maybe

(new)

getting myself onigiri from this one good boba place 2nite bc im 8 months clean…… its the little things~ ^^

fainéant girl (freyja)

(old)

i know i dont hate being disabled... i just hate being disabled in a society that makes existing difficult... but sometimes i really just dont want to be disabled anymore. i dont want my family to lecture me about how i could be helping out more, or how i should get a job. i dont want teachers to keep asking me whats wrong or the fuckin uni counselor to try to get me hospitalized. i dont want to be in so much pain anymore, to feel so exhausted that i cant even do so much as prepare food for myself, let alone do anything meaningful or fulfilling. its not fair. i shouldnt have to stay inside and sit in the dark all day,. i should be able to have friends. to talk to people and to go out with them and to feel like i am alive. its lonely and traumatic to suffer through this and on top of that no one around me understands, and they never fully will. i am tired of trying to justify my existence to everyone, to explain the pain that i am in and why i shouldnt have to experience it. i know the problem isnt me. i know i live in a world that isnt built for me. but if the world cant change then sometimes i truly feel that i should just stop living in it. my lifespan is already shorter than everyone else's anyways. what difference does it make

(new)

my qpps didnt seem to appreciate me playing Alien Kids Alien Rap for them. Do they even love me

caliber girl (nora)

(old)

唉～It is 3 AM and I should go to sleep but I can’t. I have a work zoom meeting early in the morning and I gotta hit the gym also because I haven’t done leg day in like… weeks. Oh well, it doesn’t even matter. My value is depleting but I don’t think I care anymore. The turnaround date for my code is also in a couple of days and I haven’t made any progress. I keep getting the same error and I’m too tired to figure out what’s wrong. I might get fired at this rate LOL(笑). If that happens, I think I’ll just consider ending it all. Not that anybody will miss me. God I sound so weak and pathetic right now. When did it get like this. How did it get like this. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse before and this is nothing. Ugh, why is it so hard to breathe? My chest hurts and I feel like something is wrong but I don’t know how to make it go away. Should I call someone about this? No. No one is awake or around to help. I’ll be fine. I’ll just sleep it off. Shake it off… shake it off…

(new)

My Tamagotchi beeped during a meeting fml

chocolate box girl (morgan)

(old)

i thought i was doing better but i cant stop thinking about them. their touch, their interests, their smile, everything. the worst part is that i miss them, after all of what they've done to me. i was 13. i dont even feel justified calling it rape since our relationship was so muddy... they never yelled at me or was angry at me, they just got so sad when i tried to speak my mind, and got all my friends to hate me when we finally broke up. i never said no so i feel like im insulting actual survivors by feeling violated. i wasnt even trying to get into a relationship with them, it just happened... i feel like everyone around me wants me in the same way they did, even though im an adult now and i dont even try to make myself appealing. i wish i could trust people not to take advantage of me, and i feel disgusting and selfish for feeling like everyone has ulterior motives of getting me to fall in love with them, or worse. that's so self centered of me. i dont know how long i can keep doing this

(new)

girl help i cant stop looking at anime figures on japan yahoo auctions !!!!!

taxidermy girl (mayra)

(old)

I don't remember ever not having a sex drive, is that normal ? I was born and then it was all downhill from there, something happened to me sexually i think, I don't know what happened, because I don't remember much, but something happened and I was beaten for it and yelled at and my mother hated me, and now I am an adult and I try to have sex, and I'm not there mentally, even if my body is participating, I feel like I am in the past again, being beaten and yelled at . I want to keep trying, I want to have fun, to feel safe in someone else's arms, to reach the heights of pleasure, but my mind scares me so much, I haven't been able to eat anything today because I feel so horrified by my body . If I was good I would have been born as a nonsexual being, no parts, no desires, no instincts, a blank slate, too empty to be enjoyed . Do you know what it feels like, to have your mother tell you people want to sexually abuse you when you are a child, and then to be made fun of by your peers for being so ugly, to have your middle school and high school classmates joke about how much they don't want to have sex with you ? I am illicit and undesirable at the same time, I am everyone's last option, I am nothing and still too much, rotting deer meat on the side of the road . I wish I had been born as something beautiful and pure, I wish I could start over, that whatever that initial sin was had never been committed .. I want to start over

(new)

Went to a kink event the other night and everyone was so nice … The low lights were fucking with my vision so one of the hosts helped me navigate the place . I ❤️ you random disabled ally with a pup mask on

chemical girl (joy)

(old)

LMAOOOOO im too angry and miserable to be around. i think i just need to give up at this point because theres clearly like. something broken inside me that cant be fixed. that has 2 be it because i try to talk and i just sound cold, i try to make a joke and it comes out overly edgy and unfunny, i try to be like everyone else but its too much. i cant even be a collection of the positive traits i see in others, i try to replicate it and it comes out warped and wrong. im either fucking enraged or in abject misery or way too happy and nobody can keep up with me. the thing is i dont even blame them. i wouldnt want to be around me either. do u know what thats like? being someone you wouldnt want to know? i keep hoping that one day ill wake up and suddenly be normal, the mood swings will be gone and everyone will like me and i wont do stupid shit that pisses them off. but i know that day isnt coming. theres no hope for me and i want to say sorry to everyone who has ever had the misfortune of knowing me but i know it wouldnt do anything. theres nothing i could ever do to make myself right

(new)

i need to convince my gf to take me to Round One again soon

refraction girl (nataana)

(old)

i don't want to do this anymore. i'm going somewhere better

(new)

talked with my psych and i’ll be starting TMS soon, it’s some thing where they put magnets to ur brain and it’s supposed to treat depression.. trying to temper my expectations bc i’ve tried so many treatments that just do nothing for me, but i’d be lying if i said my hopes weren’t riding on this. i want to confidently say i’m glad to be alive. i feel like i’m getting closer to that

nurse parallel/machine girl (xiomara)

(old)

I am so excited... Tomorrow my experimental outpatient treatment plan begins!!! I'm beyond delighted. I have complicated feelings about my DID being in remission, but it's nice to feel stable enough to be in charge of something this big, and to not have terrible gaps in my memory anymore. I still don't remember everything that happened to me, but maybe I don't need to. At this stage of my life, I feel content. I can confidently say everything was worth it. I want to help others feel that way, too. I think I can.

(new)

I’m meeting up with a new friend tomorrow… I feel nervous, but it’s a good nervousness, I think!

[bi-writes]

okay so i was rereading in the MOB tag (as one does) and i saw a tag you wrote of not making MOB a ghoap series but i’m going feral at the thought so please please please just a small glimpse as to what that may look like okay smooches

this is not canon mail-order bride, i'm looking at you 🫵 horny people

"'ow is she?"

he peeks around the corner, eyeing the kitchen. you're standing there at the counter, apron fastened around your waist as you melt chocolate over a double boiler at the stove.

"makin' fuckin' brownies again, sir," johnny mutters. "always makin' tha' fuckin' chocolate when yer not around."

"wot's tha' supposed ta mean?"

"means i'm getting fuckin' fat, ye knob," johnny scoffs, smoothing a hand down his full stomach. you keep him fed. you're used to it, making enough food to feed a six-person family, and johnny is insatiable. the full english breakfasts, the meat pies and steaks and the variety of ways you can prepare potatoes, it's making it hard to do anything but sleep and wear nothing but loose clothing. and dessert--you make them everyday, trying new recipes, going through his entire cupboard of baking supplies, and for two weeks now, it's been nothing but chocolate.

brownies. cookies. fudge. cupcakes. truffles. you've made it your mission to douse everything in chocolate (dark, simon's favorite), and it's driving johnny mad. not even his mother feeds him this way.

"just misses me, johnny," simon murmurs. the connection crackles, and johnny shakes his head as he watches you spoon the melted chocolate into a bowl. chocolate mousse tonight, is what you said. "she knows tha's my favorite."

"chocolate, sir? tha' simple?"

"tastes better with her cunt, but it holds on its own, i suppose."

"bleedin' christ," johnny hisses, looking away from you, pressing his back to the wall. "dinnae say that."

"why?" simon asks. "'aven't had it yet, tha' it?"

johnny pauses. he swallows, blinking, moving into the other room so he can clear his throat.

"the fuck are ye on about?" he murmurs. "tha's yer--"

"ohhhhhh..." simon grunts. "i see. ya lied ta me, johnny."

"what?!"

"did i fuckin' stutter?" simon snaps. "ya lied. i ask ya ta take care of my wife, and ya disobey me. direct fuckin' order, and ya can't even be bothered."

"yer crazy," johnny murmurs. "fuckin' crazy."

"if she's makin' chocolate still, means she's sad," simon bites back. "fix it."

does pussy really pair well with chocolate?

when simon calls the following night, johnny anticipates the question.

"'n wot's on the menu tonight, aye?"

johnny swipes his thumb over his bottom lip, watching you in the kitchen again. you're staring right at him as a dollop of jam falls on the curve of your tits, and he locks eyes with you as you pick it up with your finger and lick over it.

"strawberry...think 's strawberry shortcake, sir."

"mmm." simon sounds pleased. "you'll save me a bite then, won't ya, johnny?"

"a-aye."

"good boy, johnny."

[hairmetal666]

Steve doesn't date, not anymore. He goes to bars, clubs, picks people up and makes it clear it's just for the night; that it can't, won't, be for anything more.

He falls too fast and too hard; wants so badly to be loved that he loses himself to it. So, he doesn't date and he's fine. More than fine, actually. Not worrying about finding someone, about falling in love, lets him truly enjoy his life; maybe for the first time since childhood.

He goes with Robin to visit her parents in Hawkins, wakes up at the ass crack of dawn to go for a run. With the sun barely up, he doesn't expect to come face-to-face with Eddie Munson, smoking on a park bench.

They startle each other in the early Hawkins quiet, Eddie jumping hard enough that he drops his cigarette into the dirt at his feet.

"Christ, Harrington!" He snarls a little.

"Fuck, Eddie." Steve fights to catch his breath. "What are you doing out this early?"

He glances up, finds Eddie's eyes raking over this body in a way that makes him go hot all over.

"Haven't been home yet." Eddie smirks. And he can see that's true, Eddie is fully dressed, faint lines of mascara trail across his cheeks.

"Had a show?"

"Something like that." Eddie's cheeks pink, and he pulls a chunk of hair over his face.

Understanding dawns, and Steve points at him, delighted laugh bubbling in his throat.

"Don't--"

"You had an all night Hellfire meeting?" Steve cackles.

"Shut--Harrington, shut-up." But he's smiling too. "I'm in town this weekend. Dustin insisted!"

"You can tell him no, you know?" Steve giggles.

"Like you ever could."

Eddie stands then, and they hug, quick and tight. He practically crumbles into his friend's body, but then, that's nothing new. Steve breathes him in, immediately comforted by the familiarity of tobacco and leather and sweat and weed.

"I'm at Rob's. Come say hi?"

Eddie nods and they trek back together. They kept in touch, after Vecna, and their chatting is easy, like it's not been six months since the last time.

Eddie stays for breakfast tells them with a smile, "I was gonna call but--I'm moving to Chicago. That's why I'm crashing at Wayne's for now, stopped on the way--"

The rest of his words are smothered by the force of Steve and Robin's hug, Steve's heart beating an elated rhythm he doesn't bother investigating.

--

When Eddie makes it to town, they hang out as constantly as an adult with a day job and a touring musician can. It's nice, good, to see Eddie sitting on their couch. To watch him smoke a joint on the balcony. To hangout in his bed as he works on new music. It's just like the summer of '86, before they all went off to find their futures.

They're closer than they've ever been. Crashing at each other's apartments, sharing clothes, meeting for coffee and drinks and meals. There's not a day or night when they're free that they don't spend together.

Steve knows he's falling for Eddie; was halfway there already, and now--well, Eddie's beautiful and funny and smart and talented. He doesn't make a move, though. Because Eddie'll leave, like they all do, and losing Eddie will crush him more than anyone else ever has.

--

In June, Eddie's gone for a month, touring across the midwest. The day he's expected back, Steve's in the kitchen, rolling up fresh pasta, simmering sauce on the stove.

Robin stomps in, eyes flashing. "What are you doing?"

"Making dinner?" Steve raises an eyebrow.

"Steve."

"Robin."

They glare at each other across the kitchen. Steve breaks first. "What's wrong with making our friend dinner?"

"I don't want either of you to get hurt."

Steve freezes, swallows. "I'm not--I'm--I wouldn't."

"Just. Promise you'll be careful?"

He nods, squeezes his hands into fists. "Course, Rob."

And he means it, he really does, but when Eddie lets himself in, Steve runs to the doorway to pull his friend into a tight hug.

Eddie huffs out a burst of air on impact, laughing lightly. "Miss me, sweetheart?"

"So much," Steve whispers. He presses his nose into Eddie's neck, breathing him in, and he doesn't miss the way a kiss is pressed into his hair, the way Eddie's breathing him in too.

They fall into their natural rhythm immediately, Eddie following him to the kitchen, cooing and posturing that Steve made him dinner.

As Steve serves up the food, Eddie wraps his arms around his waist, leaning against his back. God help him, but Steve can't help relax into the hold, turning his head until their eyes meet.

Desire bleeds from Eddie's gaze, and Steve's breath hitches. He wants this so badly, knows he shouldn't, but he lets himself lean in until they share air.

But--he can't lose Eddie. He can't.

He turns away, lets the moment die. Eddie doesn't stay over that night, and Steve pretends like it doesn't make his stomach hurt.

--

They aren't as close after that.

Steve keeps telling himself it's because they're busy. The school year's starting up, Steve's got lesson plans to write; Eddie made an EP, it got interest, he's taking meetings in New York and LA. It's okay that they're spending less time together.

Until Eddie stops returning his calls.

He tries not to worry. But one call becomes two, becomes three, and he can't help it. He goes over, dread a knot in his stomach. Eddie opens the door, and he's shirtless with sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair loose and streaming around his shoulders. He looks happy.

"Steve? What are you--"

"You weren't answering my calls, and--can I come in?"

Eddie winces. "It's not a good time, Harrington."

He stands there for a second, stung, not sure what to say.

"Eddie, I--"

"Babe?" A voice calls from inside the apartment. "Who's at the door?"

Steve freezes. Can't think, can't move. He hopes it isn't obvious that his heart is shattering, but Eddie's blinking at him, panic written in the lines gathering on his forehead.

"Steve, Stevie, please," Eddie is saying, but he can't do this. He can't do this.

He walks away, all the way home, numb to everything around him.

The phone's ringing when he gets to the apartment. He ignores it. Goes to his room, locks himself in, crawls into bed.

The phone keeps ringing. He keeps ignoring it.

It isn't supposed to be like this. They weren't dating, weren't trying for a relationship; Eddie's supposed to be his. He curls into himself, sobs until his ribs hurt, until his eyes are as heavy as his heart, and he falls asleep.

--

Steve startles awake, disoriented, to someone knocking on his bedroom door. He has no idea what time it is, how long he slept, but he expects Robin to be waiting in the hall.

It's Eddie. Hair in a messy bun, face flushed, eyes too bright.

"I'm sorry," falls out of Steve's mouth before he can think of anything else.

"Steve, I--I don't--" Eddie shakes his head. "Do you want to be in a relationship with me?"

"Yes," Steve whispers. "But I can't lose you, Eddie."

Eddie reaches out, slender hand, cupping Steve's jaw. "I need you to really listen when I say this, sweetheart. You will never, ever lose me. Not a chance."

"You can't know that," Steve says. Tears break free, cascade down his cheeks. "I used to think who could ever leave me? You know, back before Nancy. But I realized that actually no one would stay. And I can't--with you I can't--"

"Sweetheart," Eddie chokes on a sob. "I'm yours. Have been for years. I will never, ever leave you, no matter what we are to each other. But I can't be in some of a relationship with you. You have me wrapped around your finger, and I--I need it all, Steve."

"I want you to have it, Eddie." He presses his hand to his heart. "This belongs to you, but I--I couldn't survive you leaving."

"I would stay, Steve. I will. I promise on everything I have, everything I am, that you would never, ever lose me."

Steve stumbles into Eddie's arms, totally gone, and their mouths meet in a clumsy kiss. It wrecks Steve, tears him apart, renders him down to his smallest parts only to build him back together. He knows now for certain that there is no one else in the world for him.

They break apart, but don't move out of each other's orbit. "I love you," Steve whispers.

"Stevie, sweetheart, I love you more than anything." His fingers wind their way into Steve's hair, gentle, holding him. "I promise you'll have me for forever--fuck, longer than forever. My soul will find yours wherever we end up. I swear it."

[grison-in-space]

you know what else fucks me up about the US election? one of the things that has left me reeling in bewilderment and grief this month?

I'm a scientist, y'all.

That means that I am, like most American research scientists, a federal contractor. (Possibly employee. It's confusing, and it fucks with my taxes being a postdoctoral researcher.) I get paid because someone, in the long run ideally me, makes a really, really detailed pitch to one of several federal grant agencies that the nation would really be missing out if I couldn't follow up on these thoughts and find concrete evidence about whether or not I'm right.

Currently, my personal salary is dependent on a whole department of scientists convincing one of the largest and most powerful granting agencies that they have a program that is really good at training scientists that can think deeply about the priorities of the agency. Those priorities are defined by the guy who runs the agency, and he gets to hire whatever qualified people he wants. That guy? The Presidential Administration picks that one. That's how federal agencies get staffed: the President's administration nominates them.

All of the heads of these agencies are personally nominated by the president and their administration. They are people of enormous power whose job is to administer million-dollar grants to the scientists competing urgently for limited funds. A million dollars often doesn't go farther than a couple of years when it's intended to pay for absolutely everything to do with a particular pitch, including salaries of your trainees, all materials, travel expenses, promoting the work among other researchers, all of it—so most smart American researchers are working fervently on grants all the time.

The next director of the NIH will be a Trump appointee, if he notices and thinks to appoint one. NSF, too; that's the group that funds your ecology and your astroscience and your experimental mathematics and physics and chemistry, the stuff that doesn't have industry funding and industry priorities. USDA. DOE, that's who does a lot of the climate change mitigation and renewable energy source research, they'll just be lucky if they can do anything again because Trump nigh gutted them last time.

Right now, I am working on the very tail end of a grant's funding and I am scurrying to make sure I stay employed. So I'm thinking very closely about federal agency priorities, okay? And I'm thinking that the funding climate for science is going to get a lot fucking leaner. I'm seeing what the American people think of scientists, and about whether my job is worth doing. It's been a lean twelve years in this gig, okay? Every time the federal government gets fucked up, that impacts my job, it means that I have to hustle even harder to get grants in that let me support myself—and, if I have any trainees, their budding careers as well!—to patch over the lean times as much as we can.

So I've been reeling this week thinking about how funding agency priorities are going to change. I work on sex differences in motivation, so let me tell you, the politics reading this one for my next pitch are going to be fun. I'm working on a submission for an explicitly DEI-oriented five year grant with a cycle ending in February, so that's going to be an exercise in hoping that the agency employees at the middle levels (the ones that know how to get things done which can't be replaced immediately with yes men) can buffer the decisions of those big bosses long enough to let that program continue to exist a little while longer.

Ah, Christ, he promised Health & Human Services (which houses the NIH) to RFK, didn't he? We'll see how that pans out.

I keep seeing people calling for more governmental shutdowns on the left now, and it makes me want to scream. The government being gridlocked means the funding that researchers like me need doesn't come, okay? When the DOE can't say fucking "climate change," when the USDA hemorrhages its workers when the agency is dragged halfway across the country, when I watch a major Texan House rep stake his career on trying to destroy the NSF, I think: this is what you people think of us. I think: how little scientists are valued as public workers. Why am I working this hard again?

This is why I described voting as harm reduction. Even if two candidates are "the same" on one thing you care about, they probably aren't the same level of bad on everything. Your task is to figure out the best person to do the job. It's not about a fucking tribalist horse race. A vote is your opinion on a job interview, you fucks. We have to work with this person.

Anyway, I'm probably going to go back to shaking quietly in despair for a little longer and then pick myself up and hit the grind again. If I'm fast, I might still get the grant in this miserable climate if I run, and I might get to actually keep on what I'm trying to do, which is bring research on sex differences, neurodivergence and energy balance as informed by non-binary gender perspectives and disability theory to neuroscience.

Fuck.