#can't wait for it to be over but i also have zero motivation to work on it

[iamfuckingsorry]

status update: 15 days until the final draft of my thesis is due to be submitted to my supervisor.

22 days until my committee is getting it.

How much of my thesis is written you ask? About 1/2 of the methods section, by far the easiest section to write. I haven't even finished analysing my results yet.

And I'm working 3 days this week so can't even really spend the weekend catching up :)))

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

991 i hav emerjenci

Wow, what an absolute dumpster fire, right? *gestures broadly* ↓Below the cut↓ are some specific things as a reader/mutual/friend/etc you can do that will make things a little better.

You come across someone posting/using someone else's work without express permission to do so:

INFORM THE ORIGINAL CREATOR/POSTER (OP) DIRECTLY ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ Let OP know BEFORE you attempt to engage with the person on their behalf. ✧ OP will probably want to lay eyes on the situation, and, if the person stealing their work is tipped off, they might proactively block OP and/or remove posts before they can be verified as stolen. ✧ Do not harass the person who stole the work. It might be coming from a place of wanting to stick up for OP, but it ultimately doesn't help the situation.

OP is experiencing a hate brigade, nasty anons, or trolling over their fic:

PRIORITIZE ACTIONS AND BEHAVIORS THAT KEEP THE FOCUS ON SUPPORT FOR OP ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ Reblog the fic in question with a glowing recommendation or just leave a comment under it expressing your appreciation for it. Both actions will boost the work in question as well as show direct support for OP. ✧ Reach out privately through DMs if you have that sort of relationship, or send a supportive message through asks. Keep it simple and short as they are probably overwhelmed with the shitstorm at certain points. ✧ Speaking up with a supportive comment or post for OP isn't necessarily a bad thing, but arguing back and forth with the trolls/hate brigade/etc. - even if you are doing it with intention to support OP - only fuels the fire, and some of them are doing it for the attention anyway.

OP seems down / isn't motivated to write / is expressing considerations of leaving fic writing altogether because of the current climate on this hellsite:

GIVE THEM THE SPACE OR TIME THEY NEED, BUT ALSO LET THEM KNOW THAT THEY ARE VALUED ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ For the love of god please don't bombard them with asks about when xyz is going to be posted. This is a hobby for them, and they have jobs, families, and other life responsibilities that come first. Many would love nothing more than to sit and write all day, but that just isn't the reality for 99% of fic writers. ✧ Show their older works love, too. Many fic writers take the time to curate an organized masterlist of their works, and many have been writing for a while. There is a trove of wonderful content that can be read or re-read while you patiently wait for your fave to update. ✧ If you're waiting for an update on a specific fic, go back through the older chapters/updates and leave a comment saying you love it so much that you're coming back to visit older chapters while you wait to see what happens next in the story. I guarantee it will give them a boost of motivation for that story in particular. ✧ REBLOG AND COMMENT. Yes, do both of those things. I want you open up a fic you love and scroll down to the bottom where you can see likes, comments, and reblogs. I want you to look at the disparity between likes and comments/reblogs. Clicking a heart button is pretty much zero effort, and it comes across as such to many writers. It's not how Tumblr operates. This is a REBLOG site. That is how things make their way around. That is how posts get engagement. That is how other people can discover the fic writers you enjoy. Look, I even made a meme to show you what it feels like when after hours and hours of writing and editing you finally post a fic and then somebody only hearts it:

Even a simple "I loved this so much and can't wait to read more!" does wonders. A quick reblog that mentions your favorite part in the story is like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow for writers.

You come across people trashing a writer you like:

CONSIDER IF IT'S HELPFUL OR NOT TO ADDRESS IT ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ People are allowed to have negative/differing opinions about things. If they are expressing their dislike, even in a nasty way, they are allowed to do so. ✧ If it is a genuinely harmful/disparaging conversation, look to see what sort of traction the conversation has. Sometimes it's better to just let something die down before it can even take off. Examples of genuinely harmful/disparaging conversation include but aren't limited to: accusing OP of something egregious without any evidence to support it, framing rumors/gossip they've seen about OP as factual, deeming them criminally or morally corrupt based off a personal opinion they have of OP/their works. ✧ Remember that while serious concerns (like the above point) might be good to share with OP, not every instance of negativity or hate needs to be brought to their attention. If it's just some random jerk on a different platform talking about how much OP's writing is amateur hour, you should probably just leave it be. OP is a person at the end of the day, and sometimes things can be more hurtful than helpful for them to see.

OP isn't acting / responding in a way that you like:

REMIND YOURSELF THAT THEY ARE JUST ANOTHER PERSON IN THE FANDOM AND ARE NOT AN INFLUENCER ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ OP isn't in this fandom to be put on a pedestal (of course there are always exceptions, but I'm not talking about those people) and treated like an influencer. ✧ OP creates works in the fandom because that is how they choose to engage with the fandom. It is one of many ways that people can come together in a community and celebrate an actor/movie/series/etc. ✧ OP is not a content farm. They are writing and sharing because they genuinely enjoy it. They are not being compensated. They are not being endorsed by anybody or any company. They are a normal person trying to take part in a fandom they enjoy. ✧ OP is not obligated to address or comment on a situation, an interaction, discourse, etc. They are not an influencer and aren't equivalent to the parasocial relationships that influencers (aka people who make a living off the internet) have with their followers. OP is not required to "use their platform" for something. It's not a platform. It is OP's personal account where they engage and post in fandom. That is why it exists. OP is not some mega entity that has to speak on something because you demand or expect it.

OP blocked me:

THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ Listen, I know it can be hurtful/confusing if you are blocked, especially if it is a writer you really like. I guarantee you that it was not done out of spite and for no reason. ✧ Take a look at the circles you run in, the posts you like, the sort of comments you leave, etc. Many writers are quick to block these days because the climate of this hellsite is very charged and exhausting. If OP sees your username cropping up again and again in fandom drama or you liked a discourse post with a shitty take or your chummy mutual is going off the rails with some bullshit, you might just get caught up in the Block Party. ✧ Don't go through another channel/account to ask why you've been blocked. No, you aren't entitled to a reason. OP is allowed to protect their mental health and peace, and they don't owe anyone an explanation of why and how they choose to curate their experience on this hellsite. ✧ If you believe you were blocked by mistake (which, again, is very unlikely), just take the L, homie. I know that's not what you want to hear, but that's just how it is.

If you took the time to read this, share it, or just in general intend to apply it to your interactions, ✨thank you✨!

Here is a Pedro gif tax for your time and attention. 💜

[villainofmyownstory]

Three copies and some signatures

Simon/Reader/(Johnny)

I don't know I don't have an idea for a title, so I wrote anything. I know some people are waiting for the next part of Day Zero, I'm slowly writing the next chapter but need more time, but don't worry I didn't abandon it! I was motivated to write this thing by anon's shitty ask to @/rememberwren about “too many fics about Ghoap” lmao . So I also wrote something about Ghoap. Because WHY NOT? Aaaaand if you don't know Wren's wonderful work leave everything and go and read it -> HERE <3

I would like to write the next parts, but I can't promise anything.

tags: angst, hurt no comfort

don't know how to tag :< let me know what to add

______________________________________________________________

Of course it had to end this way.

It was more than certain that you would end up in this place eventually. With sweaty hands and a heart that was beating too fast and heavy. Your heart rate increased and your breathing quickened. Drops of sweat appeared every now and then on your heated forehead and you tried again and again to wipe them off. To dry your shiny skin at least for a while. At least look a little presentable.

The crumpled white shirt no longer looked like the one you had ironed for over an hour. Now crumpled and stained, it carelessly hugged your curvy body.

The chair creaked with your every move. Nervously every now and then you change positions as if at least the comfort of sitting would improve your situation.

More minutes pass and the door in front of you is still closed. The paint on them is coming off in some places, revealing the banal light-colored plywood. The entire anturage of this building cries out for renovation.

Despite the well-paid work of the people who work here, the base looks as if its glory years are long behind it and there are no funds to even refresh the walls. It's as if for at least 20 years no one has noticed the cracked walls, the paint falling off or the crooked fine wooden chairs.

Maybe it's just appearances.

You shift in your seat again. The creak of the wooden chair echoes through the empty and cold corridor. Despite the early hour of the day and the sun outside the windows, everything inside seems harsh and unfriendly. To your relief there are not many windows so the prevailing semi-darkness makes you feel marginally more at ease. At least a little anonymity. Maybe the small number of people who passed you walking through the corridor with a quick step won't remember you and when you leave these walls after all, no one will ever shout after you on the street. They won't associate you with this place. With him.

Only when that happens. When this hell will finally come to an end. How long will it be when you are free again? Because every doorbell ringing, every unfamiliar number on screen or finally an unfamiliar customer at work looking at you for too long. It won't all cause that nervousness, that cursed lump in your throat and more gray hairs on your head. Every fucking minute spent in fear.

Someone will finally find out.

Reasons.

Everyone has some. Everyone has a story, some problems, something that makes them look for solutions. The question is whether it was worth it to risk so much. Whether committing a crime was worth it to choose to live here. To continue living in this country.

To be alive.

In the distance you can hear someone's conversation, laughter interspersed with words. Empty corridors carry sounds that ring in your ears, but everything blends into an incomprehensible cacophony of sounds. Into one piece.

You know that resounding, hearty laughter well.

You have heard it many times.

The melody, once heard, is forever imprinted in your memory.

Rhythmically approaching footsteps, voices are getting louder. Two people.

They are close.

The danger makes you feel trapped. Like an injured prey caught in a trap on a hunt.

You nervously look around looking for any way to escape. However, the only way to get out of this place is through this damn corridor, the direction from which you hear the approaching voices.

Panic grips your body and mind, many thoughts appear one second not allowing you to focus and remain rational.

He is about to be right here.

As you involuntarily bite your lower lip and try not to sob, the door finally opens.

A tall and muscular man stands in the doorway, illuminated by the light from the room, like a knight on a white horse with a friendly and affable smile. He greets you and says your name. His name. 

Finally, he invites you inside. This time you managed to escape.

Captain Price. This much you know crossing the threshold of this room. In the morning when two sad gentlemen knocked on your door. You expected to be handcuffed, or something else entirely. Something you were being prepared for.  It could always happen. KIA.

And now, sitting in a more comfortable chair than the ones in the corridor, you look at his Captain. A person you knew a lot about, as well as the entire Task Force 141.

After all, you are a good student. You diligently applied yourself to your lessons. You memorized every word.

Every truth and every prepared lie.

Your made-up life.

The captain leans back in his chair still looking at you, despite the stress of the situation a calmness beats from the man.

You expected accusations, shouting, nervousness and humiliation.

Nothing of the sort happens.

“It's good to finally meet you.”

He says, tilting his head gently to the side and grinning at you.

“When Laswell called me and informed me of the situation. Well. It was quite a shock to me. A positive one. But still... it's quite surprising.”

He doesn't finish the sentence because his words are interrupted by a rhythmic and loud knocking.

Damn.

***

Several hours have passed since those events at the base. Despite the fact that there are a few hours left until nightfall, you decide to spend the night in a nearby hotel and return on the next day, in the early morning.

You didn't even wait for the two gentlemen who brought you here.

You rent a car and return on your own.

You borrowed cash from the captain. The meeting at the base was supposed to be a secret, between you and him. No sign of your presence near the base. You couldn't use your credit card.

Another fucking lie in your life.

Or maybe everything else was untrue and what was happening now was reality. The truth you couldn't quite believe.

It wasn't just the frayed nerves of the situation that made you not want to drive today.

There was something else.

Today is Thursday. A day when when he had the opportunity, he called. He was close by, at a nearby training ground with recruiters. So you can certainly expect weekly contact.

The very thought turns your stomach. It was so ridiculous, infantile.

Unnecessary.

When 9pm strikes, as usual, evenly, punctually the familiar ringtone echoes.

You wait.

One-

Two-

Three.

“Hi”

You sit upright on the edge of the hotel bed, squeezing your thighs tightly together. You straighten your back unnaturally pulling your shoulder blades as close together as possible.

Finally, you hear his low voice.

“Hi love”

Love? Huh, that's something new.

“Hi”

You repeat the greeting in a trembling voice. Does he already know about your unannounced visit to the base. Does he know that his captain has finally found out. What if-

“I miss you, so bad.”

At these words you close your eyes.

There's nothing to worry about. A standard fake conversation between two spouses. In case of eavesdropping, in any doubt. At the risk of someone continuing to check up on you.

“I miss you, too.”

you answer with a learned line. As you do every time.

“I'm counting down the days until I see you again, love”.

You hate it. You hate hearing his words. You shiver. Swallowing the incoming tears.

You're unable to utter another theatrical phrase.

When a lie repeated so many times has become the truth for you. When pretending became a natural behavior. How it happened, that something inside you changed.

So pathetic, weak creature.

For the first time, you can't follow the script.

“ 'r you still there?”

The question hangs in the void. It reaches your ears. Further learned words, however, are blocked inside you.

You open your eyes and your gaze drifts to the floor, to the hotel's dirty carpet. Seconds pass slowly. Each moment makes you feel more and more miserable. You want to throw up.

“I miss you so much, Simon.”

Shit, you're such an idiot.

You quickly hang up, throwing the phone in the sheets and running to the bathroom.

Falling in love wasn't part of the contract.

***

He shouldn't smoke.

He quit exactly when he met you. That September night.

Now, standing behind one of the barracks leaning against a cold wall, he looks up at the same sky. Looking for what you were looking for then.

The sky is dark and cloudy.

“LT?”

He is pulled from his musings by a whisper. Such a familiar voice.

“Where are ya? Come back here, I'll freeze my balls off, if- ”

“I'm comin' , Johnny.”

Crushing the cigarette butt under his military boot, Ghost takes one last look at the sky.

No star. That night he sees none. There's nothing special.

As he enters the room, the small light of the nightstand illuminates the familiar room. When the door slams behind him, in this safe space, he pulls off his mask and walks over to the bed.

Shaking slightly, Johnny sits down on his bed, rubbing his bare shoulders in an effort to warm himself.

“You quit smokin'. ”

A dry statement, Johnny says the words and looks reproachfully at the man standing over him.

Ghost smirks, reaching out his hand to smooth the sergeant's messy hair. Like a tame wild animal. To calm him down. Meticulously styled mohawk was forgotten an hour or two ago.

His hand travels lower to finally stop on the man's jaw and with little force Ghost squeezes his chin, raising it to look him in the eye.

“Behave, Johnny boy.”

“Or what?”

With a cocky grin Johnny asks. He lifts one hand and sticks his fingers in the belt loop of his pants, pulling Ghost closer, so that he's standing between Johnny's legs.

“I don't think you're ready for a second round.”

Finally Ghost pulls away and heads toward the bathroom.

Johnny grunts back.

“I saw her today.”

Ghost stops in mid-step. He stiffens, but doesn't turn toward the man who already regrets his words. There's no going back.

“I want to finally meet her.”

Saying this, he gets up and walks closer. He puts his hand on Ghost's shoulder trying to calm him down. He knows it's too much. Not after what he heard during their weekly conversation.

But a life of lies was destroying him from the inside. He could feel the rot. The stinking evil he felt at every turn. While waking up and falling asleep. It was constantly accompanying him.

No one deserved such cruelty. If he even had to pay for it with his happiness. He would agree without a second thought.

It had gone too far.

“I want to meet your wife, Simon. She needs to know the truth. About all this.”

About us.

______________________________________________________________

English is not my first language, so probably many things are poorly described and the vocabulary is very simple. If you see any mistakes - let me know!

[drdemonprince]

Your blog is like a breath of fresh air. Thank you for all the wonderful thoughts and writing.

That said I actually have a question. I am pro-palestine(it feels stupid to call it that, as if it should even be a debate) and in a very left leaning friend group. But also a very white academic one. You know the type, read Marx, dream of the revolution but continue studying to end up in 9 to 5s instead of doing anything(I am guilty of it too, this isn't meant as insult just a description)

Anyways, as you can imagine they have been extremely hesitant when it comes to having any opinion on Israel or Palestine. That wouldn't be a problem in itself, I know how to start topics with them and get them thinking usually but in this case there is an additional problem. Whenever I try to broach the topic I get shutdown with "Look at all the shit that is going on here, our country is falling into fascism, I just don't have the energy to deal with this conflict. Please don't talk about it because it's triggering". And I have zero clue what to do. Forget getting them to go on protests with me, I can't even speak to them about it and feel really guilty. Its me bringing up a heavily triggering topic after all. It feels wrong to feel guilty though. I know at the end of the day it's not important if I could convince some people to give a fuck but do you have any advice? How to get over this guilt or maybe how to broach a topic with that considered?

My main problem is my fear of losing my friends because I have been ill for some time(as in physically unable to leave the house for more than a short grocery run, or my visits to the doctor, because of pain and my friends are what keep me alive) and losing their help would be not good.

My exact situation aside, do you have advice for someone to broach a topic that others describe as unpleasant/triggering without causing a huge rift in the group?

Thanks for your kind words and your question, Anon.

I think your friends suck and that you can do better than them. I think you should get out there and find yourself some Black, brown, working class anarchist and anarco-communist buds (and Marxists who show up for others in a real, observable way in their regular lives) as soon as you can.

I know that wasn't the answer you were looking for. But I have seen this kind of entirely theoretical, jaded, self-superior, passive, white well-off Marxist type a thousand times before, and I've failed to ever see them show up for other people in any kind of consistent way.

And it's not only the people systematically crushed beneath the wheel of Capital half a world away that they neglect, either. They tend to be pretty shitty friends and neighbors when it all comes down to it on the micro-level, too. Their smug over-intellectualism and dispassionate cynicism allows them to justify remaining disengaged and going along with the status quo in a way that ultimately serves capitalism very well.

There is a theoretical basis to this selfishness and disengagement, I will admit. This type of overly academic Marxist typically believes that the fall of capitalism is inevitable, that humans lack free will and only behave as befits their obvious material interests, and that there is nothing that one can do on a personal level to hasten any kind of Revolution, so there is nothing left to do but wait, and take care of oneself, and allow the future to unfold.

This is a perspective explicitly advocated for by people like the Chapo Trap House guys, and among academic white boy communist types, it is incredibly popular. I remember hearing Matt Christman saying on his vlogs that he essentially does not believe the conditions allowing capitalism to fall will happen in his lifetime, and so his only responsibility is to just take care of himself and his family and be comfortable.

Ultimately, these types wind up sounding and behaving exactly like capitalist economists who believe that everyone is rationally motivated only by increasing their personal wealth. They are disengaged from politics except insofar as they like to make snide jokes about current events for their own entertainment and enrichment, and they don't see themselves as having the capacity to exert a positive influence on the world, nor any obligation to. It's bleak shit.

At the same time, if your friends are in the circles that tend to read and listen to and promote this kind of stuff, surely they have also been exposed to popular leftist voices advocating loudly for the Palestinian cause. And yet still they have done nothing.

Hasan Piker has been vocally pro-Palestine his entire career, and his Twitch channel has been providing near constant coverage of Palestinian issues since October 7th. True Anon has had multiple episodes on the Israel Lobby, the suppression of pro-Palestinian activism and journalistic coverage, and has aired interviews with Normal Finkelstein. Palestine is the central topic of nearly every Trillbilly Worker's Party podcast for months now.

These are widely popular voices among the very types of Marxists that you say that your friends are, and many of these creators are close friends with the Chapo Trap House guys, whom your friends almost certainly are taking notes from. So it's nearly impossible to imagine that your friends have not encountered the near constant coverage of the struggle of the Palestinians that all the rest of us have. And yet still your friends do nothing. Still they do not care, and dismiss you when you share with them how despairing you feel.

Your friends have turned off an essential part of their hearts, I think. And I don't mean they lack empathy. Not having empathy is fine, I don't have it either -- but I make the conscious choice to care about the Palestinian cause and to advocate for it, because it aligns with my values. I give a fuck. My giving a fuck is conveyed through my actions, not through what I think about or how I feel.

Your friends are showing no interest in learning more about this genocide or doing anything about it. Perhaps some degree of ignorance or hesitancy could be justified early on because the Israeli apologist propaganda is so far reaching, but we're well past the point of that explaining away inaction by now. Over 100,000 people are missing and over 30,000 are known to be dead and little girls are being shot by snipers while seeking medical care while babies are left to rot in their NICU beds.

Your friends know this. Maybe not everyone in the world does, but if they're so well-read about leftist issues, your friends do. And they have chosen, for some reason, not to care. They've disconnected from the pain the Palestinian people are in, unplugged from the steady stream of upsetting information, sought comfort in a politics that says all too conveniently that nothing they do matters, and when you try to share with them how much anguish you are feeling about the mass deaths happening throughout the world, they're dismissive toward you.

Your friends suck. If acknowleding reality and confronting the horrors of a genocide is too tough and triggering for them, then a lot of horrors here at home will be too much for their fragile egos too. There are so many leftists you could be surrounding yourself with instead, I promise -- people who give back to their communities, people who are in the streets doing the tough work of feeding and housing and fighting for the release from prison of people every day, instead of using those local struggles as a shield for their inaction on a more global scale.

Fuck these people for real. This is a big glaring red flag and it will be relevant to your friendship and your life. One day many of them might see you and your problems and your human needs as too much of a distraction from their dry academic jerk-off sessions too. I've seen it a dozen times. Sorry to be so blunt. But you seem like a person who is putting their attention in all the right places and I don't want to see that compassion squandered on people who won't ever show you the same consideration. You can find people who actually walk the walk, they're everywhere.

[selarina]

She’s giving me The Maybes

→ Suna Rintaro x Fem!Reader

Summary: Suna isn't entirely sure why he’s driving at the peak of midnight to your place – a place that is almost half an hour away – to kill a fucking cockroach.

Content Warnings: friends with benefits, friends to lovers, fluff, smut (MINORS DNI), angst, realisation of feelings, suna’s perspective for the most part, cockroaches, unedited work

Word Count: 5.7k words

Author’s Notes: The final part. Beware of graphic description of a cockroach.

Not going to lie I lost motivation to finish this series up but I’m glad I did. This is part 4 of a series, but it can be read as a standalone.

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

You

12:03 am: Suna

Oh? He peers down at his phone, his palm covering the entirety of his phone in an inconspicuous manner. His brows pinch to the middle, as his eyes zero in on his phone. His hand comes to soothe his forehead like it hurt for him to frown. You haven’t spoken to him in a month.

You

12:03 am: come online 12:03 am: emergency

He reaches for his jacket before bending to put his shoes on, the laces sit undone on the foyer as he types.

Rintaro

12:03 am: What happened? 12:03 am: Where are you? I can come rn

He hears a couple of pings as he grabs his car keys and walks into his car. He attaches the car belt from over his shoulder. Then, he checks his phone.

You

12:03 am: *1 Image*

Suna hits download on the image and it slowly loads, a consequence of not upgrading his WiFi plan.

12:03 am: cockroach in my bathroom 12:04 am: and I really need to take a shower

He blinks.

He turns his phone off and his hands come to rest on the steering wheel in front of him, and he blankly stares at nothing in particular.

A beat later — What a fucking idiot, he thinks.

He’s shaking his head and yet, he’s driving in your direction anyway. He’s not entirely sure why he’s driving at the peak of midnight to your place – a place that is almost half an hour away – to kill a fucking cockroach.

He's almost there, and he thinks about how much of a humbling experience it is to drive at night – he seems to always feel rather tiny and insignificant as he sweeps through the empty night streets. There is nothing but the trees and the moon, both of whom only seem to tower over him. But today, he can't bring himself to focus on the trees, the road, or even the gleaming full moon and it seems to be the last part that bothers him the most if he had to emphasize.

He knocks on your door when he gets there. Two quick knocks, and you’re opening the door wide open like you were waiting right behind the door. Like you were waiting for him.

“Hi,” you say with a flushed face. He can see a tinge of sweat over your neck. Your hair’s tied up rather sloppily, and you’re holding a mop. At this moment, he could swear he would give anything to witness what you may have attempted to do with that mop and the cockroach.

But, more worryingly — the persisting, secondary thought that he seems to be having is that if he's being truly honest — he thinks you look properly beautiful. He isn’t sure if it is because he hasn’t seen you in a while, but he finds it odd all the same.

"Hi," he says, and then rubs his neck when you don't say anything in return.

You're just staring at him, rather wide-eyed and he’s sure you're going to ask him if he came all the way here for a cockroach. To which he would most likely respond, "Of course I did." Instead, he decides to ask, "Where is it?"

“Bathroom,” you say, and throw the mop towards him.

He’s startled for a second but he catches it and stares back at you, eyes brows raised questioningly.

“Use that,” you say. “To protect yourself.”

You say that so seriously that it genuinely kills him not to make fun of you. But things have changed, and he realizes it. He also realizes that he can't pretend nothing has changed because he knows you'd probably go along with it, which would probably kill him even more.

“On it, ma’am.” He hands the mop back to you, “I’ll probably just use my hand though, thank you.”

Your face crunches in disgust, and his lips twitch into a small smile before he heads over to the bathroom.

And it’s quick and simple really. One minute, it’s sitting in the middle of your bathtub, and the next minute Suna’s holding it up over your toilet with its antenna.

He decides to amp up the dramatics before he flushes it down though, holding it up and swinging it just a bit, which results in you scolding him and landing soft pats on his shoulders. He eventually flushes it down the toilet because his heart wasn’t in for playing around tonight, not when you looked more annoyed than amused.

He’s been wanting to see you for weeks, but now that he’s here all he wants to do is leave.

He washes his hands with hand soap, twice because you insisted. His hands smell medicinal and woody. You've changed your handwash since he was here last, and he misses the pomegranate one you used. He grew rather fond of it, maybe he’ll look for it in the store.

You’re sitting on your couch, cleaning up a bunch of papers scattered around the table. He presumes it’s from work.

“I’ll get going then,” he says, which makes you stop and turn around.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” You ask, and you look hopeful too. It’s not something you tend to wear lightly on your face.

“Not today,” but he will soon he wants to say. He’ll figure this out but not today. “I have practice.”

“Of course,” he catches the tinge of bitterness to your words but he ignores it immediately because he needs to leave so he nods, and gives you a soft goodbye. He takes one look at your face and swallows any desire that tells him to stay.

As he walks out, the sky is as clear as it can be, and the moon is stunning, he thinks. He walks over to his car, thinking he might be in love with you.

—

You sit there across from him on his clothes-infused drab, olive couch. You haven’t bothered taking your clothes back, and now they take residence on his couch and in his closet. He’s sure the two of you have managed to almost equally exchange your clothes – after all, he does the same. It’s akin to leaving little trinkets in his head. And, he likes your clothes – they’re warm and soft on cold days and somehow also cold and comforting on a hot day.

He realizes he has been staring for a while now. He doesn’t shy away from it, he continues to stare.

You look up but not before closing the book you’re reading. He scarcely hears you mutter a page number to yourself – 140? Just 40? He can’t tell.

"Do you have anything to eat?" You ask him as you finally seem to pay full attention to him.

“Not much. I have to order some groceries soon,” he says since he has mostly been eating at your place, he has gotten into a habit of leaving any food he gets at your place. But lately, the two of you have been staying at his.

It started because you wanted to stay at his since it was closer to your conference, which seemed to be too early in the morning. But somehow, you’ve been here even though that was two weeks ago. He knows you’ll go back once the holidays are over, but he likes this for now.

He likes staying at your place more though if he had to have a preference.

“There’s some fruit,” he adds after quite a bit. You look up from your book again – he didn’t notice you opening your book again.

“Okay,” you say, as you beeline to the kitchen.

A moment later, you return with an apple and a knife. You sit back, wiggling until you’re sitting comfortably. You open your creased book and place it on your lap as you go back to reading.

It’s rare for the sun to show itself during this time of the year but a distant, tapering ray of sun hits your face, and he isn’t blind to it but you look beautiful like this. You cut right into the middle of the apple from one side but you don’t completely cut the apple in half, you stop right in the middle before you repeat the same only a few centimeters apart this time. You cut out an imperfect semi-circle of an apple piece, and then you plop it right into your mouth.

He walks over to you and plops himself right next to you. You barely acknowledge him, too immersed in the book you’re reading before he asks “Can I have some?”

You don’t respond, apart from a soft barely audible hum. You simply continue cutting into the apple again, before you finally look up at him.

He thinks he should hold his hand out so you can place the piece in his palm but he hates eating fruits for this very reason. He doesn’t like getting his hands sticky, it’s a sensory nightmare. He could wash it off, but that’s just an effort on his part, he could just not eat instead. But before he could hold out his hand, you say, “Open up.”

He does.

You lean forward, holding the piece of apple between your thumb and the knife before you put the small piece of apple into his mouth. Your finger brushes barely against the corner of his mouth, but somehow the sensation lingers as he hears the crunches as he chews. The apple tastes sweet, with almost a caramelized taste to it this time.

You feeding him felt like you were carving a mark in his space, but you’re here just reading your book like it’s just another Saturday.

It was supposed to be just another Saturday but it wasn’t — not to him. Maybe it was because he couldn’t remember someone who fed him since after he was 5 years old, or maybe it was because it was the day he started to fall in love with you.

—

Two fingers support the bottom of the kettle, as you tip the kettle over towards your empty cup. Nothing pours out, there is no more tea. You frown as you place it back on the table. Your hands come back up to lift your book, as your eyes flit across the page to find where you've left off, and then you start reading, he presumes because your eyes squint ever so slightly.

He falls back to sleep a few minutes later. The weather was too hospitable to not take a nap, he pulls his blanket closer as he woke. He's no longer surprised at this, you always throw a blanket over him when he falls asleep on the couch. Sometimes, it's too hot for a blanket, he would prefer not to sleep with one but he finds himself still wearing it despite feeling slightly uncomfortable because you took the time to put it on him. It's only slightly uncomfortable after all.

"Hey," your voice comes from behind him. He sits fully upright, as he tries to fix his sleep-doused hair. "How are you feeling?"

"Mm. Better," he responds. The nap did help, his head still throbs a bit but it seems manageable, and only slightly uncomfortable.

"Need some food? Tea?"

"Mm," he tries to make the choice. "I'll have tea. Chamomile. Don't want it too hot though. And, no food. I wouldn't want your burnt food to kill me," he snickers but he's only half-joking.

Given the choice, he would like to be the only one cooking. He likes it – the ritual of following a well-written recipe, but he likes it when you cook your comfort dishes since you're so familiar with them. He likes watching your hands move almost on their own like its muscle memory from a dance you've practiced for years. In a way, you have. And, he trusts that you will not burn the kitchen down while cooking those specific dishes.

"I could always poison your tea if it pleases your grace," you squint as you mockingly bow to him, before you come up to cross your arms to your chest, "Now – say 'please' and I'll consider bringing it to you."

He smiles. "Pretty please, make me some tea. I'll eat you out in return." He grins wider.

You squint, but a smile graces your face, ever so slightly, "Fine."

—

He’s resting against his arm that’s desperately holding onto the ceiling strap of the train. It’s not much of a rest if he’s getting bumped into by the same passenger who for some reason is refusing to hold onto anything. He contemplates pushing him off the next time he bumps into him, but he doesn’t want to start a fight. He wants to go home and sleep until tomorrow afternoon.

He feels a soft thump against his back and looks behind him to push him off but it’s you. He raises his eyebrows in questioning.

“Pregnant,” you mouth. Before he gets to nod in understanding, the same passenger that was bumping into him bumps into you, which leaves you squished against another passenger, whose elbow strikes you, and that leaves you hissing as your hand comes to rub the sore elbow.

“Okay. Okay, Sir.” He calls out to the passenger, who turns around with a shocked look and a sweaty face. “Here, take my place, and feel free to hold onto this completely free strap meant only for you.” The passenger switches with him, missing or ignoring his passive aggressiveness.

“Thank you,” he turns around, rolling his eyes. His eyes soften, “Are you okay?”

You nod. His hands rise to your waist as he feels the train sharply make its stop. A slew of people begin to disembark, and he realizes it's only a matter of time before the next swarm of people piles in.

Suna catches you by your arm, and says, “Come here.”

He maneuvers the two of you into a corner near the door, making it easy to make your exit. Your back is now against the glassy window. Suna places one hand on the door, and his other hand wraps around his strap in front of you to create a comfortable distance between you so you can finally breathe.

That doesn’t last long because as much as he wanted to give you enough space he was pushed closer and closer to you. You seem to notice because you move to him, showing him that you can lean against the soft pads against the windows, therefore creating more space for him to move closer.

“It’s hard to breathe in here but at least our stop’s next,” you say, and he feels every word of it against his neck. He agrees except he’s not sure if it’s because there are too many people inside the train. He takes a deep breath and looks up at you.

You're pretty, he silently admires. Even when you appear sweaty and flushed out from your intense walk to the station. And he hated to admit it but he remembers how terrible he was at taking his gaze off you when you dressed yourself up in your room this morning.

After you had sucked him dry, he was lounging in your bed as you got up to get ready first. His gaze remained fixed on you — the way you put on your bra, the way you adjusted the straps of your dress, the lipstick you meticulously applied — the ritual of it all. It was absorbing, but only because it was you.

He must admit he sees you differently from when you first met him in college. He has always seen that you were pretty because he has eyes, but the way he sees you now is different and it can't quite place it. His hands spontaneously rise to brush a strand of hair away from your face.

And you stare at him, clearly surprised. "Could have poked your eyes out," he says.

"OK," you say, your eyes squinting together, but that's all you say openly before reaching out to push back the poking hair on the other side of your face.

“That was fucking horrible. This is why I don’t go use the trains during the weekends,” you say as the two of you make your way out of the train station.

“I want ice cream,” he says all too suddenly. He didn’t even know he wanted it until he said it.

“We need to have some dinner first,” you say.

“I want ice cream,” he repeats as though he hadn’t heard you. You groan and softly chuckle. “Fine, you big baby. There’s ice cream at home.”

He opens his mouth, before you beat him to it, “Yes, there’s black currant.”

He smiles, as the two of you walk home.

His tongue darts out from between his sticky lips, dragging it against the spoon, before he licks his lips clean. “This is so good, you should get these more often.” He says.

You hum, your tongue dragging across your ice cream spoon. Suna always found chocolate ice cream to be far too rich in taste, to the point where it made him a bit sick every time he ate them.

“I think I’m getting too old for this,” you motion to your dress adorned in minimal glitter in the light.

“You said the same thing in college, shush.” He chuckles.

You glare back at him, with your eyebrows furrowed and he senses that you genuinely feel bad, so he adds, “You just hate traveling back home, you should let me drive us back next time.”

“You don’t get to drink then,” you say.

He shrugs because he doesn’t drink much anyway. He’s a professional athlete, and given the choice, he would never drink, it lost its appeal since college, and now he mostly does it for formality.

“You don’t really mind because you get car sex out of it,” you say, grinning.

His mind didn’t necessarily go there but now that you mention it, every single time the two of you dress up and take his car, it ends with the two of you in the backseat. He grins back at you, with a shrug once again.

Suna returns his gaze to the ice cream, smacking his lips as he swallows the mouthful. And then he lifts his head to see you staring at him. You slowly reach out to take his ice cream tub in his hand and place it on the kitchen table before pulling him in for a kiss.

You pull back with eyes infused with sleep. “Let’s go back and sleep,” he says. “ ‘M tired,” he yawns.

You hum, leaving a soft peck on his lips again.

—

It's around 5 in the evening, and it's raining pellets, which is normal for this time of the year. He doesn't like it one bit, he thinks as he sits on the couch. His suit is infused with small water droplets from rushing in from his car.

He always hated this time of the year, but he remembers when his father would make them chicken soup whenever he would feel annoyed with the rain and would mess with the TV cable.

He remembers his mother sipping on hot tea, humming a soft tune as she walked into the kitchen placing a kiss on his father's cheek. Later, she would come with the chicken soup his father prepared and she would offer to feed him the soup but 11-year-old Suna would insist that he was old enough to eat by himself.

He would secretly hope that she would ask again — one last time because he knew he would have said "Yes" if she did, but she never did.

He's not sure if what he remembers is a specific day or a combination of all the days it rained and he ate chicken soup, but it was a memory or memories he cherished.

He thinks back to when you fed him, he goes back to that memory a lot, and it's not surprising to him anymore. The first few times, he stopped himself but now he lets it play out. Now, he even smiles to himself knowing he wouldn't be able to stop himself if he tried.

He thinks back to when he told you about the story of how his mom left on a quiet afternoon. No notes this time, no explanation, only her absence. Just empty cupboards empty of her clothes, empty spaces empty of her soothing voice.

He remembers telling you about the blazing sun and its burden on his then throbbing head. You held onto his hand as it was hailing rhythmically outside. You told him she didn't deserve to come back into his life but if he wanted it, you would support him because of course you would.

He smiled then, knowing no one ever cared enough to get mad on his behalf of him, not even himself. But you did, and it made him happy for a second there.

And now, he's here, not having spoken to you in months, and he knows it's all his doing.

He also knows that this creeping feeling, this scared and humiliating feeling is love. It didn't occur to him through any whimsical epiphany, it simply occurred to him one evening after practice.

He went back to his apartment feeling rather empty, and null. He remembers pouring himself a drink, a scotch maybe? He's not sure, could've been a bourbon. He poured himself a drink but didn't take a single sip of it. He just realized he loved you, not in the way he had already confessed. He loved you in the way lovers did, with yearning hands and heavy eyes.

He gets up now, walking to his car keys, not bothering with an umbrella. He rushes into his car. He doesn't avoid much of the rain, it's raining more heavily than when he got into his house.

He starts the car, but it grrs a bit, and shuts down. He tries again, a couple of times more before he realizes it's a lost cause. Clearly, something's wrong with it but his mind's too occupied to think about it.

He gets out of his car and simply runs.

—

You rush out with an umbrella, your heels clicking against the pavement before they splish and splash against the wet mud.

"What the hell, Suna?" Your voice reaches him before you reach his side, holding the umbrella over his head.

He doesn't say anything, he's only staring at you with eyes a bit teary, but he knows you can't tell, it's raining and he's drenched. He hopes his eyes aren't red, he hopes you can't see the desperation in his eyes.

"Are you done with work?" He asks.

You squint your eyes, clearly agitated by his lack of response to your question. He feels the urge to smooth down your creased eyebrows, he feels the urge to yell out wax poetry of confessions. But he knows this isn't the place, it's your place of work. He already created enough of a scene by showing up this way.

You turn your face neutral, clearly making the best of the situation. "Yeah, I was packing up."

"Okay," he says. He gulps and purses his lips before he says, "Ca—” He wipes his face, the water dripping off his chin. “Can we have dinner?"

You say nothing for a bit, he expects it all — some yelling, some pushing, alternatively, you just turn away and walk away from him. That would hurt the most, he thinks but somehow, he knows it's not like you to do that, not with him. You could leave, you could always leave but he knows you would tell him first.

You sigh, "Okay, I'll see you in 10." You shrug yourself out of your coat. It takes him a bit to realize it's for him, he was thinking about how you agreed, he's not sure what comes next but you agreed.

He wants to refuse the coat, but he's cold so he takes it and lets you wrap it around him properly. You then pull his hand, placing the umbrella in his hand before you rush back into the office, avoiding the rain.

He should have walked you to the entrance but maybe it was good of him to not show up like a sad, drenched puppy for your coworkers to see.

After the longest minutes of his life, you walk out, a black bag in your hand and your phone clutched against your chest.

"Let's go," you say as you get under the umbrella. He holds it out and higher for you, he feels his shoulders get wet and heavy once again, but you're completely under the umbrella so it's fine.

"Where's your car?"

"I didn't get it," he says.

"How did you come here?" Your quirky brows up, a bit guarded with your expression, evidently upset with him.

"I walked," he answers.

You cinch your brows once again and look at him with apprehension.

"From?"

"Home."

Your brows cinch harder, and this time he doesn't think when he brings his fingers to smooth them out.

Your face softens. "You can't just do that," you tell him sternly. He sees the edge sleeve of his coat drip a drop of water on your office shirt. He immediately moves his hand away.

"Sorry," he says. He doesn't know what to say next, he knows he should be doing more.

"Where are we eating?" You ask, taking the lead.

He sighs and feels a sudden whiff of confidence. "It's just around the corner."

—

He sits across you, hands shaking partly from the cold, in a dingy restaurant that has its appeals when set against the pouring rain. You haven't said anything since the two of you arrived, and his eyes have been following you almost in a daze as you order soup for the two of you.

He focuses on the restaurant, hoping to zero in on details, hoping it will calm him –  the décor is almost rustic, and there are brick walls and wooden floors that give this place a shabby effect but it seems charming for the very same reason. To add to that, there is soft lighting everywhere, yellow hues from overhead lights that only mildly light the space, and the candles on the tables lighting up each individual table even more.

He looks up and sees that you are done.

“Care to say something?” You say, and your guards are up, he can tell. Rightfully so, he thinks, but this only makes it harder for him.

“I missed you,” he says, not knowing what else to say. I am in love with you is certainly not something he can start with.

“Suna, you can’t j—”

“I know. I know, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for treating you the way I have been for the past few days. I just— I've missed you so much.”

You don’t say anything for a bit, and it doesn’t scare him surprisingly. He could sit in this silence if he needed to — you have been for weeks after all.

“Me too,” you say defeatedly. “I don’t understand — I don’t understand.”

You’re lying, and he knows.

“I just want things to go back to the way it was, Suna.” You say that with a certain longing, a longing he had never seen on your face, a longing that made it seem like you may have missed him even more than he missed you.

"I don't. I—” But he does, he does want things to go back to the way it was, but he also does not. It's complicated really, but all he wants, he thinks, is to lie limp in your bed, your hair tickling his chest, your body warming him as the cold night air flits through, and he's talking — about you? About the future? He's not sure, but he's relieved knowing that you're listening and knowing that you'll say something after he's done. And then you'll fall asleep, and he'll draw out his consciousness — just to stare at your face before surrendering to the sleepy haze.

And he’s not sure if it’s the way you looked with the yellow hue of the candle flickering ever so slightly against your face, or if it's the soft muted jazz playing in the background, or if it’s even the old couple in the back who are kissing each other – but he tells you, not for the first time, “I love you.”

Your eyes widen, and then you smile — a warm smile and he knows. He knows.

—

You stumble into your apartment, immediately finding the couch to fall into, the exhaustion seeping into your calf muscles. Suna insisted on commemorating your first date as he called it with an ice cream trip. Sadly, the closest ice cream parlor was quite a bit away from the restaurant. Your hands reach down to languidly stroke them to ease the pain.

A few seconds pass before another body stumbles into your house. The sound of keys being hung, shoes being taken off, and the front door being locked before you see him walking towards you.

He shrugs most of his clothes off almost immediately, knowing about your distaste for wet clothing, but to be fair, his clothes seem to be almost dry so it seems rather unnecessary and rude of him to flaunt his beautiful abs.

He plops himself next to you. His hands reach to push the hair that curtains your face – a new ritual he seems to have started ever since you started sleeping together. He does this mostly after sex, in the gloomy haze of the night, in the heated haze of the afternoon but now, it feels different, it feels careful and methodical, and you can’t help but rewrite the past with your new lens.

"Tired?" He asks, it comes out as a mumble.

You nod, too tired to speak. His eyes flit down to your rubbing hands before your hands are replaced by his own, calloused ones. They press into your muscles, a lot harder than your exhausted hands did. You feel nice, and he can tell by the way you're slightly groaning.

"Let me take you to bed, hm?" He reaches for your hand. You take it, the purse on your lap abandoned on the living room couch.

You fall onto your bed, and he's on top of you, his forearms supporting him to be just inches away from your lips. His lips graze against your own, testily, before they press against yours, a bit gentler than usual.

He keeps kissing you as your hand finds purchase in his hair as you carelessly stroke him. His soft and citrus-scented hair. His hands come to lift your top as the chill air hits your skin. You feel the whoosh of the goosebumps erupting on your exposed thigh.

And just as quickly as you fell onto your bed, you're out of your clothes, sitting completely naked beside an equally naked Suna who's kissing up and down your neck. Littering soft, warm kisses, his hands run up and down your body. Pinching your nipple, squeezing your waist and thighs before he moves away from you to move you in front of him.

You sit a bit oddly with your back facing his front before he comes up to your neck again. He starts littering soft, warm kisses, as his hands come to part your legs. He doesn't do anything else but kiss your neck for a bit and it has you whining before he decides to indulge. His one hand rubbing just below your stomach but not quite, his other hand pulling your neck back onto his shoulder to kiss you.

His hand on your neck reaches further up to your mouth and you instinctively suck on his fingers. You can see him watching you from your peripheral vision, you turn a bit to catch his eyes, and then down to his lips — they're parted a bit with anticipation, or something else? You can't tell, but you let your eyes linger back to his eyes and they're intense and fixed and it sends a chill down your spine in anticipation.

You move your hand to his, finally bringing them down between your legs.

—

“Missed you,” Suna murmurs against your neck. You feel the wet sensation of his tongue sitting cold against your skin. “I hated—" He groans, "Don't ever not fuck me for a month."

“A-And whose fault is that?” You say, more or less rhetorically. You manage to wriggle yourself free from his grip, but his hands seem to trail behind you in tandem. His hands stay connected to the dip in your hip, lightly mapping out the curves, deliberating if he should do more, deliberating if he has convinced you enough to forgive him.

“I’m sorry,” he says as if it pains him, or maybe it’s just the effect of your teeth sinking into him.

You stop, your eyes flitting up to meet him. Your lips turn into a soft smile. "It's okay," you say.

"It's okay," you reassure him, as your fingers are coming to stroke the edges of his jaw.

His brows uncinch, his hands coming up to meet the hand that’s on his jaw. He moves it closer to his mouth, placing a soft kiss on it. Your smile widens, a lot more visible now, and at that, he smiles back at you.

The two of you smile at each other like idiots, and you feel a bit embarrassed. And you think, maybe he senses and feels it too, but he doesn't stop smiling back at you, so you don't either.

You understand now what people meant in all those poems about love and vulnerability because you can admit now that you're in love for the very first time — you feel a bit slit open. Like your guts are falling out of you; with only him to hold them, with only him to care for them.

His fingers come up to brush your cheek, barely touching you, but you feel it, and then he presses a chaste kiss against your lips. You don't rush anymore, because this is different from your heated kisses, this feels like it's something more. You want to tell him it's something more, you want to tell everyone it's something more but when he slows down to pull away, with lidded eyes and a goofy smile, you know he already knows.

[queenvhagar]

if they decide to make daeron a bastard imma scream... aside from the fact that it makes alicent even more of a hypocrite daeron being valyrian looking is actually pretty fucking important. in the books jace and daeron are only a few months apart in age and everyone was like "omg look at the queen giving birth to another targaryen looking baby while the princess had a baby that looks nothing like her or her husband!" also how the heck did daeron get a dragon if he's a bastard!?

first they give us no nettles now possibly this shit... I'm so over them adapting grrm's work into a version of whatever they think is cool.

also who the heck was princess aeriana. ik some folk are saying that it's possibly a made up character before aegon's conquest ... but the targaryen's weren't royalty at that point so wtf are the show makers high on, and i'm still mad at the stupid northern plot where they have jace talking about how aegon the conqueror went up north, plus cregan talking about how alyssane and jaehaerys visited winterfell during his dad's time which again makes zero fucking sense ... it was during alaric stark's time and he's probably cregan's grandpa or smth.

don't get me started on how they switched up addam and alyn's ages, plus didn't give us anything on marilda of hull ... oh and rhaenys apparently is totally cool with corlys having bastards and even thinks the boys mom must have been so pretty ...

this season is so boring and overall without context. daemon spends his time being high on harrenhal. alicent is going through major depressio arc. helaena is her usual mumbling self without any agency of her own. aemond is terrible. rhaenyra is ... idk what they're doing with her but i don't like it. aegon ii seems to be the only remotely interesting character but now he's gone.

so glad there's only one episode left of this disaster to get through ... can't believe they made us wait so long for this shit ... personally won't be waiting for season 3 because at this point it's probably going to be just as boring.

so disappointed we never got to see... jace negotiation with manderly's, sara snow, nettles, rhaenyra going mad with grief over luke, b&c going according to the books with helaena offering herself instead of her children, daeron in oldtown, book! accurate alyn and addam and daemon doing something instead of imagining how it'd be to fuck his mom...

sorry for the rant lol everything's just piled up for me since i waited until now to watch the shows and avoided spoilers to the best of my abilities. please do feel free to delete if you wish.

When people tell people that Game of Thrones was slow paced and technically very little happened and this season is just like that and to cope... nope.

As you mentioned in the second to last paragraph there were so many interesting things they could've done with this season to fill the time and expand on the story and characters... Instead there are 3 locations where morning scenes happen that don't grow the characters at all, nobody has any realistic motivations or emotions and reactions to events (and if they do they're framed as incorrect, like Jace or Aegon). It's oversimplified and redundant. No thoughts to be provoked. No depth to explore. No arcs for characters except maybe Daemon but it's been stretched way too far out and made irrelevant. No intrigue or politics. No scheming. Characters seem displaced from the setting...

I hope season 3 is the last season, and I won't be tuning into any other ASOIAF adaptations based on the crap fanfic quality of this one that they're trying to present as profound, deep, groundbreaking television.

[antianakin]

I can't remember exactly which post it was on or the exact wording, but I saw you make an offhand comment about Ahsoka's decision to release Maul on the 332nd during Order 66 in one of your posts- (it was something about it being a bad decision, or indicative of her only caring about getting Rex out safely or something, I really am sorry I can't remember) -and I was wondering if you'd mind elaborating on your thoughts about that.

Oh gosh, yeah I probably discussed that back when I was writing stuff about the TOTJ episodes or something.

I think my opinion on it... sort-of evolved over time as I thought about that episode of TOTJ with the training and I kept going back over what Ahsoka does in the final 2 episodes of TCW.

I know I did originally see it as Ahsoka being attached to Rex, that she refuses to leave without him because she likes him, he's her friend, and she just quite simply wants to save him. But saving Rex requires a distraction that gets him alone and all she's got that's capable of providing that level of distraction is Maul. And while she refuses to hand him a lightsaber, she has to know that that's not going to really slow him down much or keep him from hurting/killing all of the clones she's intentionally hoping will go after him. I don't think she considers that Maul is going to provide his OWN distraction in the form of destroying the ship so he can escape, but I think that she WANTS the clones to try to stop him, knowing that it's very likely going to get them seriously hurt or killed in the process. So from that perspective, Ahsoka is choosing to sacrifice the rest of the men on the ship for Rex. She could've just... left. She might've been able to just make it to the shuttle on her own and snuck off the ship and the clones would've been enslaved to the Empire, yes, but they also would've still been ALIVE. And that's why I saw it as an attachment to Rex, and I think I sometimes used it as proof that Ahsoka seriously struggled with it as an impact of her training from Anakin.

HOWEVER.

Post-TOTJ, as I thought about it and argued about it over and over again, one of the things that came to mind is that Ahsoka may NOT have been able to make it to the shuttle on her own at all and she might have known that. She knew that the men would be waiting for her in the hangar and didn't have a way of sneaking in that she trusted would work. What she needed was an ally, someone who could potentially help her get past the rest of the men so they could get to the shuttle as bloodlessly as possible. She CANNOT make it off of the ship alone and Rex is the only one who appears to have hesitated in responding to Order 66 and was able to get a warning out to her, so he's the obvious choice to try to save. He's also the highest ranked on the ship, which helps, too.

So saving Rex may have been less a choice based on attachment and more of a choice based on strategy and the "lesser evil." She releases Maul because she NEEDS Rex, she can't survive without him, and she's hoping that the men will be able to put him down without her (although some part of her has to know that they won't). She just wants to get off this ship, she just wants to survive and she needs someone on her side in order to do that and it HAS to be Rex. Releasing Maul was a move made out of pure desperation, knowing that it will result in the probable deaths of a number of the men, because she has literally zero other real options available to her. It's putting her survival above the men's, sure, but her only other option is to just let them execute her or make a hail mary run to the hangar by herself that is very likely to get her killed anyway and doesn't make any real strategic or tactical sense.

It could also just as easily be a combination of both motivations. She needs an ally to survive at all and it makes the most sense to try Rex first, but she also just wants to save her friend because she cares about him more than the rest of them. The first one allows her to justify the second one.

And this sort-of newer interpretation of the scene brought to light part of why that TOTJ episode really frustrated me and made no sense. A MAJOR element of the final two episodes of TCW were to showcase Rex and Ahsoka's relationship, to show that it's THAT RELATIONSHIP that saves Ahsoka in the end at all. It's Rex's hesitation, giving her about 10 extra seconds to figure out what's happening and respond that no other Jedi is ever given, and his information about finding Fives that allows her to understand what's going on with the chips so she can remove it from Rex, that gives Ahsoka the headstart she needs to survive where very few other people did. It's ALL ABOUT REX, it's about how much Rex cares about her, and how much Ahsoka trusts and cares about him in return. THAT'S what's different about it. It's not about Ahsoka being more skilled or trained than your average Jedi Master and so she can go up against the clones alone and live.

The WHOLE POINT is that Ahsoka never would've survived without Rex's hesitation. And Rex never would've hesitated without Fives' sacrifice and information. Ahsoka is saved because of Rex and Fives, not Anakin. Fives couldn't save the entire Order or the Republic or the rest of the clones, but his efforts did save Rex and Ahsoka. And that's where the emotion comes from. He couldn't save everyone, but his actions did save two people and it left Rex and Ahsoka alive to go save more people. One small pebble leaving ripples in a very large pond. Pretending that Ahsoka survived instead because of some sort of abusive training she got from Anakin that makes her better, faster, stronger than everybody else just devalues that entire message and I hate it.

I recognize I got away from the original question a little there, sorry. I think that basically whether you believe she did it out of attachment or desperate strategy, the important part is that it's about REX, that Ahsoka cannot survive without him in this moment. She may not be making the RIGHT choice to release Maul, but, as Yoda says earlier, she may be making the ONLY choice she can really make at all in this moment. She saves Rex, she survives, but it comes at a cost. And once Order 66 had hit, there was never going to be an end to that story that didn't come with a cost somewhere, it was just a question of what that cost was going to be and whether she was willing to live with it or not.

[barbatusart]

hey that ask/answer about sad sack/sortie semiotics reminded me to ask u a question I've been thinking/journalling about for like weeks now: how deliberate/intentional/meaningful is the symbol of mask-wearing in sad sack? I've been concocting a theory about the significance of Garv being the first to take his mask off in A Small Plot of Land & Sal being the only one still wearing a mask in AMF & how the concealing/revealing of the face maps to shame/acceptance of their own acts of violence, and I'd love to know if I'm reading into it way too hard lmao

along those same lines when I read the lil scene towards the end of A Small Plot of Land in which Stone can't take his own mask off by himself, I immediately interpreted it as a metaphor for Stone having something to hide about his own motivations in his relationship with Sal, which. uh. hoooooo boy I was not expecting the direction that would ultimately take but MAN it was fascinating to see that go down

you do some amazing work dude, you're an incredible storyteller and I'm stoked to see the direction that sortie goes (I haven't read any of it yet bc I read sad sack like a month ago and I'm waiting to read sortie until I feel like I'm done rereading/thinking about sad sack)

ahhh fuck goddamnit you caught me on glass no.2 hahaha. ah man im thrilled about this ask, thank you for taking the time to really mull over the visuals! putting this under a cut because it's long winded + includes some spoilers for SAD SACK & SORTIE alike

the mask is extremely deliberate & something i use as a touchstone for sal's psych profile work specifically. (though arguably the entirety of these comics are about metaphorical Masks lol) sal is an incredibly dissociative individual by the time SORTIE rolls around but arguably kind of always was - i deliberately went out of my way not to write DID, but i wanted to explore the space of fugue states & the messiness and muck of first person dissociation by the time we hit SORTIE.

he has a perception of his Self that exists in fragments, which all serve the purpose to continuously pass the buck on any responsibility for his present poor behavior. he in fact sees his normal self that people on the street as "the mask," and the ski masked man as his true self, ie someone selfish who takes what he wants through brute force. simultaneously then the masked man is "the mask," because whatever violence he engages in as this persona isnt something he himself (the normal everyday man) would do. you're 100% on the money on the reveal of The Face being this sort of full blunt acceptance, which sal in particular cant handle - even on the street, he goes out of his way to obfuscate himself in that manner.

he's incredibly low EQ with zero concept of his own inner world, overall. with that being said, there is a great deal of Headless motif in SORTIE that im excited for you to hit when the time comes, with all this in mind

also, garv taking his mask off first in SADS2 was absolutely deliberate as well lol i was trying to paint him as the odd man out from the very start (the first tip-off was him being conspicuously absent from the epilogue) to start planting a sort of ? seed about him.

[zumicho]

ree!! hello helloo!! I'll be straight up honest I'm nervous typing this out because you intimidate me in the best way possible 🧍🏼‍♀️ maybe that isn't the best way to start this off BUT what I mean is that I just wanted to let you know how much I look up to u 😞 I mentioned it in the ask i sent ness but i really really do!!! so so much!! and I've said it already but stamped really did have a lasting effect on me and I can't wait to read more of your works!!! I'll find the motivation soon I believe atleast that 🙏🏼

anyway, can I also say that when you followed me back I almost absolutely screamed my lungs out because I just think you're so out of my league and it's crazy that I've gotten even the slightest bit of your attention ☹️ you just seem so great as a person and AMAZINGGG as a writer!! I honestly can't express how you're so AAGHHHHH I hope this whole message didn't weird you out, but these are the most genuine of genuine thoughts I could squeeze out of my sleep deprived head 🫡 pls keep doing what you do, you're the best!!!

hellooo frans !!! ♡ ♡ ♡

don’t worry about reading my works I have yet to do a deep dive into yours !!! stamped is easily my least favorite out of all my stuff so I do admit I’m a little 🤏 just a little — excited to see what u think about the others ( absolutely zero pressure tho !! I hope they don’t disappoint )

I am out of no one’s league 😭😭😭 I started posting on here a little over a month ago, if anything ur out of my league !!!

AND AHHH I PROMISE I DON’T BITE !! ik I come off as aggressive sometimes but I swear I’m nice 🙂‍↕️ take up space in my asks anytime i know dms are scary bc I too am afraid of them

[seraphtrevs]

my monkey brain saw fargo so i have to ask, how would you rank the seasons?

I hope you're still around anon because I love this ask. I just wanted to wait until I was finished with s5 to see if it effected my rankings, and turns out it did! Two caveats - I have only seen each season once so I don't have 100% recall on them lol and 2) I have not seen season 3 yet! which is completely insane because I love Ewan MacGregor. That's next on my to-watch list, but for now, here's my ranking of the seasons of fargo, from best to worst (I'm also going to grade them on a scale out of 10 because I think it's important to note that when I have criticisms, I still think this show is consistently excellent):

Season 2 - one of the best seasons of television in television history. An incredible work of art. This is the season that really exemplifies the kind of profound absurdity that defines the series. The comic and the tragic are perfectly blended, and the characters are all depicted with an unsentimental empathy that I found very moving and enlightening. All of the moving pieces of the plot slot together so perfectly and there is zero handholding. Like I love a show that respects me enough to not spell things out so I can have a little think for myself, as a treat. Perfect season, no notes. rating - 12/10

Season 4 - I guess there are people who don't like season 4?? I don't get it. Maybe I'm just predisposed to like it because I love the historical setting, feuding crime families, plucky girl detectives, and female serial killers. It doesn't get on the profound level of season 2 but it's very entertaining. rating - 9/10

Season 1 - there was a lot to love but i feel like they were kind of finding their footing. It's not as polished as the later seasons, and I actually find this one unpleasant because I hate Martin Freeman's character so much - like, he's meant to be hated and they did a super good job of making him hateable, so I can't knock them for it exactly. But seriously there was nothing to like about this guy and watching him was often very unpleasant. Obviously I love Malvo, because I can't resist satan-coded characters. But sometime I felt like they went a little too far with him - like sometimes his only motive is that he's just so cccrraaaazzzzzy! Like there were a couple of moments that were moriarty from sherlock kind of lameness. But those are very minor complaints. Rating - 8.5/10

Season 5 - I still really enjoyed the first half of this season, but the back half really rubbed me the wrong way. I loved Dot and I especially loved that when you discover she's a secret badass, it's not because she's really good at martial arts. Instead, her strength is in her quick thinking and ability to construct elaborate home alone traps, which is so much fun. I also love the actress - this is a great performance. John Hamm is also really good. But the whole season had this maudlin tone that was very at odds with the other seasons. Lorraine's character didn't work for me at all - like her "no daughter of mine will be held captive!" moment was supposed to make us feel good, i guess? except it felt so forced and unearned. And I really have no idea why the narrative decided that she was a cool girlboss for using her power to control people via their debt for....good, I guess, by giving the cop lady a nice job and using her influence to punish john hamm via prison violence. That last part I particularly hated - not that i have sympathy for asshole rancher john hamm but the idea that prison violence is a righteous part of the justice system is very fucking gross and they really wanted me cheering for that. the battle of the sexes aspect in general was very on the nose, and it read like a fantasy of domestic violence by a man who feels very upset and guilty over the fact that women suffer from domestic violence than a more serious look at the issue. I also HATED both of the deaths in this season - I'm not against character deaths but they both felt completely pointless and just there to add to the body count. rating - 7/10

[tobiasdrake]

Amazing how, despite the absence of Peacekeepers in our face right this second, this is nonetheless the worst its ever been.

I'm not saying Makoto fucked us all. ...but I'm not not saying that. If things continue down this path, Makoto will have killed Huesca and destroyed the Nocturnal Detective Agency, something Yomi's been trying and failing to do for weeks, all in one fell swoop. Yomi will get to ride the high of killing us all and Makoto gets to go home secure in the knowledge that he made this checkmate happen.

Assuming this is the outcome that he intended to happen, of course. But I've watched Makoto work Yomi over. Man's playing 4-D chess while we're all playing checkers. It is highly possible that he meant all of this to happen.

So this is our motive. To escape the base, we have to find Fink and prove his existence to Yomi - Which will likely involve some retaliatory soul-reaping to avenge Yakou.

Probably not. Like I said earlier, if all of these security measures are stopping us from leaving then they may be stopping Fink from leaving too. It's possible he's still in the building. If he didn't get out before they turned off the elevator, he may even still be on this floor.

Right now, Yomi's licking his wounds and figuring out what to do with us. We have breathing room. This is the perfect time to act.

Desuhiko's not wrong and this is a common complaint I have with Yuma's behavior. But it's better than sitting around with our thumbs up our asses, wondering how long until Yakou draws his final breath.

If Halara's with us then we must be on the right path! Let's do this!

Astral projection. Which means if we hold his hand, we can astral project too.

Hold up, condition? You gonna tell me what that means, big guy?

I will tear you in half little man.

I mean, I won't. But if you swing on Vivia, I will offer Halara a fiver to snap you in two. I don't even care that Vivia could outfight you in his sleep. They can both kick your ass together.

It's astral projection. I knew it. This spiritual ability is probably also why he can see Shinigami. He has one foot in the plane that she exists on.

This is going to be fun. I can't wait to Coalesce with it! Vivia, you and I are going to be the best of partners.

CHOKE ON YOUR TONGUE. I wanna be a gho~ost! T_T

He is looking right at Shinigami as he says this. He knows exactly what's going to happen if he helps us.

No, we won't. Yomi's a fascist prick. Before Halara showed up, he was kicking Yakou's body to help him die faster. We're supposed to trust that guy with Yakou's medical care?

You and me both, my guy. I feel you. I'd love to live in that world too. But it isn't what we have. It's important to always keep moving forward, to keep striving to build a better world to live in. But to always keep one eye on the world that presently exists.

I wish I could believe that Yomi is a good-hearted well-meaning guy who will engage with us in good faith and offer Yakou the care that he deserves. I wish I could have faith that our situation is such.

But I don't. His behavior has given me zero confidence in his willingness or ability to treat us fairly.

Too harsh, Halara. While I agree that Vivia should help me commit long-range remote-murder, I can't fault him for his reluctance to do so. He's got a good heart.

Yes to that first one; He does seem violently concerned about the presence of the Book of Death among us, and its involvement in our activities. Rightly so. It's killing people.

Vivia once again cutting to the thematic heart of these investigations. Through the Mystery Labyrinth, the price we pay for the answers we find far outweighs the value of those answers. We trade lives in exchange for secrets that weren't worth those lives.

Should he truly help us do it? Take the blood upon his hands, the same as ours? Desuhiko and Halara can't fathom what he's talking about because they don't know. They don't understand what's at stake here. But Vivia knows. He sees the monster that lurks over Yuma's shoulder and feeds on souls unjustly condemned.

I hope he sticks to his guns. I know he won't, 'cause we have a case to crack and game mechanics won't let us just call it here. But this is a strong moment for him.

Oh, we're going to trick him. Wow. That's dangerous. We don't even know if we'll be able to get our soul back in its body without his help.

Never mind, he knew exactly what we were on about.

Yeah, he rolled over fast. "I won't do the thing because I'm morally opposed to it. I have no qualms with helping you do the thing, though. It's not the doing of the thing that I'm against; I just don't want to do it myself."

SPOOKY GHOST. This is awesome. I'm going to investigate so many things and they won't be able to stop me. And maybe finally take my chance to rub my butt on Yomi's desk like I promised.

Gotta keep my word, y'know. It's called integrity.

[trillscienceofficer]

☉ or ✄ ? I’m interested in your process

from the Fic Ask Game. Thank you!!

☉ what do you do when you get stuck writing? I wish I had a proper method for overcoming stumbling blocks (whether big or small) that I could share, but in reality it comes down to two scenarios...

I struggle with lack of motivation, so what I've been doing since 2020 is that I participate in fandom exchange events where there's a deadline and a person on the other side who's waiting for me to write them a fic, and that generally makes me actually work. It isn't foolproof though, I've been very very close to missing the deadline, which makes me panic and go into avoidant mode!

When I'm stuck on some aspect of a story I either complain on here or I talk to a friend about what's bothering me in what I'm doing or what I can't figure out. Oftentimes just the act of laying the problem out for someone else helps with making the gears turn again in my brain. This also isn't foolproof! Sometimes people will point out further problems that hadn't even considered, and then I'm in trouble. But most of the time it really helps.

✄ what’s your editing process? Here is another question for which I wish I had a methodology I could share... but I don't, because ultimately I'm not a methodical person, I think. When I write on a blank page I can't really put down something that's not somewhat legible already, I'm not a 'draft zero' person (I tried, it didn't work). I think I partly edit as I write, finish the chapter/story however long it takes (I'm slow, unsurprisingly), then next day I reopen the document and reread it to fix what I think it's not working. I've never really entirely rewritten a chapter/story in a separate document, though I often rewrite extensively and move things around a lot. When I'm done with that and I'm lucky enough to have found someone who offered to read over my fic, I send them the document, and then implement their suggestions. That's pretty much it.

I think what I write would be better if I did 'proper', multi-step editing, but I often... end up very close to deadlines with still a lot of work to do, and don't leave enough time for trying something different. That's definitely something I would like to change.

[majingojira]

So I read your post and all I have to say is no. No. No. No. NO. NO!

Sjbattleangel and Samasmith23 are not nor ever have been motivated by "righteous malice" or any of that nonsense! All they ever wanted was for you and your friends to do better!

Those posts made by HellYeahHeroes, Ubernegro and others were ALWAYS wrong and so was Nostalgia Critic and Mr. Plinkett in encouraging that sort of behaviour! AVGN and Linkara have long apologised for this sort behaviour and strived to do better. The worst Linkara ever did was call Joe Quesada a "moron", "dickhead" and "hack" but now he realized how out of line he was and, like I said, has APOLOGIZED for it. As for the MANY false equivalences: The way HellYeahHeroes, Ubernegro, Farsight-The-Chad and TheFemaleFury treat creators and the way Linkara goes after-let's say-Frank Miller and Gary Brodsky are two completely different things: 1) Miller and Brodsky are ACTUAL loud and proud misogynistic bigots who deserve Linkara's tongue-lashing! 2) Tynion, Snyder, Williamson, Slott, Cates, Hickman, Aaron and others are NOT "hacks", "bigots", "TERFs", "eugenists", "misogynists", "perverts", "fascist sympathizers", "closeted Neo-Nazis", ect. Especially when there's ZERO evidence to prove otherwise! HellYeahHeroes, Ubernegro and others have every right dislike their work, every right to be angry but to spread misinformation about them and attack them as people is, was, and always has been wrong!

Just because something was once acceptable, doesn't make it right!

Also, hyperbolic attacks against these creators ISN'T the same as MST3K 's snarky jokes towards B-Movie filmmakers!

"Don't make my friends apologise for being toxic because it distresses them!" So you constantly move the goalposts, deliberately turn a blind eye to actual evidence of their toxicity towards creators, always making excuses for them. There are words for that: Complicity and enabling. Is this the community you want? Are these the people you'll happily defend just because you happen to share the same beliefs? If they ever enact out hurting any of these creators due to some twisted sense of justice for fictional characters, how will you defend them then? Sjbattleangel was right. You, HellYeahHeroes, Ubernegro, Farsight-the-chad and the others are no better then the far-right hate mongers of Comicsgate and The Fandom Menace.

Enjoy the community you made.

Looks like you exploded, must have hit a nerve.

For someone who is trying to defend people to make it appear as though they aren't full of Righteous Malice, you sure are expressing a lot of it yourself on your self righteous proclamations. Like, your rant does more to damn you and your allies than anything I've said about them.

Me, I personally have an apology I waiting to the appropriate parties, and I am not a person who demands personal control over every acquaintance and their choices. You, however, demand it of any and all that you see. By what right do you do so? How much damage will you do in your pursuit?

I also know that I can be a complete tool. You, however, have done no self reflection for someone so sheeted in righteousness.

You can do no wrong, because you don't truly know what it is.

Or, to paraphrase another great writer:

"You can't call yourself the good guys and do bad guy things!"

Remember when SJW battle angel tried to weaponize another group when the creator was trying to take a break but wouldn't back down? I do. It was hilarious.

Your call for justice is shallow and superficial.

I mean, you are so full of yourself that you failed to realize that Linkara hasn't scaled back that far, he scaled back even further, limiting himself to the behaviors rather than the people 99% of the time. The other counterarguments are equally ignorant.

Hell, your reading comprehension is so poor you failed to understand that the core of the points we've been trying to make are the thing you think is a moved goal post.

HYH not talking about this stuff anymore for mental health reasons. Do demand an apology out of them now is a dick move. If they change their mind, then you may proceed -- once they start up again.

Once upon a time, you could have talked to us about the subject and gotten defenses or apologies for recent, active behavior.

But the statute of limitations ran out.

No, really, if you wanted to view any of what we said as libelous, the statue of limitations on it are one year, and (IIRC) only the affected party could file suit.

But that's just the legal take on it. And what are uncontroversial laws in the face of self righteous internet jackasses like you?

That's the difference between us.

I know I can be a monster. A long winded, condescending jackass who uses his higher than average intelligence as a cudgel and barrier against criticism. It's gotten me in hot water before.

And I've had to eat crow more than once.

While you think your farts smell like roses based on what you've been doing here.

That you devolve into Slippery Slope reasoning based on talk that hasn't been engaged in for several years is telling! How can they go down a path they are no longer on?! It only shows the depths you have gone to justify harassment.

Belated harassment at that.

Like, it just goes to show your incompetence that it took you this long to react.

"You are no better than far right hate mongers!"

Oh, really? That just tells me you never actually dealt with any of them directly.

Me? I've been fighting Creationists and Anti Abortion activists online and IN PERSON for over 2 decades now. You would shrivel up and die if you were exposed to half of the horrors I've endured.

Personally, I find it amusing that your crusade devolves into such blatantly bad logic. I particularly it funny that you want to go after me as if I had some control over other people.

"But you still hang out with them!"

You've never hung out with people who had different opinions than your own? Who you never disagreed with?

No wonder you are so brittle. You lack flexibility.

[calalac]

Alright alright a couple of short(?) rants because my brain is kinda sad today, feel free to scroll on by

I have zero motivation to do my job because the task I've been given to do to fill in the gaps when there isn't enough of my actual job to do (which is about 90-95% of the time) has no real deadline so there's not really any reason for me to care about doing it, which means I basically spend the whole workday scrolling on my phone or dissociating (side note some people when I tell them about this are like Wow! I'd Love To Be Able To Do What I Want All Day And Still Get Paid and... trust me yeah it sounds great in theory but in practice it is absolutely mind numbing)

I'm lonely most of the time because I work remotely so I have so little human interaction during the day other than through my phone

I'm also lonely because I moved to this city about two months ago and although I'm gradually making some friends, so far I don't have any who I feel really comfortable just messaging out of the blue to be like hey let's hang out! or whatever so instead I'm in a cycle of "I'll just wait for them to message me first" - I also think I'm probably coming on too strong, which I always do when I meet someone new that I like spending time with

I haven't been able to settle into a comfortable routine yet where I'm actually doing my hobbies regularly, I've barely touched a book or a video game or my piano or anything crafty or writing-y since moving here. I think it's adjusting to living with my boyfriend and we still need to find the balance between spending time doing stuff together and apart, but so far (and this is entirely on me and my bad habits from past dysfunctional relationships, nothing to do with him, he is great and tries to encourage me to do my hobbies) whenever he gets home from work I just do what he wants to do (so like, make food, watch TV, go to bed)

to go back to the first point, my job is extremely dull and unsatisfying but it pays so much better than anything I've done before so I know I really shouldn't complain given the cost of living etc etc but I want to do something more fulfilling, something that actually makes me feel good and means something??? but I don't know where I'd begin to look because 95% of translation jobs out there are severely underpaid (barely over graduate wage) and I'm...... not really qualified to do much else

My dad has cancer for the third time in two years and I've immediately compartmentalised it like I always do so I Do Not Know how to feel about it

I haven't had the motivation to properly finish putting some things away/putting decorations up in our house which is slightly frustrating for me but also I know my boyfriend finds it more annoying than I do but isn't saying anything because he knows my brain is a mess and doesn't want to come across as bossy

I can't really connect to any of these emotions to analyse them properly because my head is filled with sand and static

(if you made it this far, here you can have this > 🎁)

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

Hi, idk how to call that question so I try to explain it with an example: I want to learn something so I tell myself "For every page read, you may have a cookie". Then my (usually pretty small and inactive) part of me that does the self-care kicks in and says."Why? You never got anything good in your life without working for it. Why starving yourself of good things too?". Which is a valid point for me. So I will eat the cookies and then learn, but not as long and concentrated as I (imagine) I'd do if I still had a motivation to do so.

And if I force myself to do, I will very quickly get issues eating cookies without learning beforehand. That link "Treat X only after work Y" will be bound fast and strong. This doesn't only apply to food. And also long term rewards like "If you learn 10 times you may buy Y" don't work bc A I need my reward immediately or B I don't have the money.

Maybe worth mentioning that I had anorexia and back then did the same "You are only allowed to eat X after Y", as firm rules.

But most motivation tips work like this and tbh I have zero intrinsic motivation. Also stuff like "My bf tells me how proud he is afterwards" doesn't work.

I also don't want to make this a bigger issue than it is by "training my brain to stop making the link". You know, forcing myself to eat cookies after learning and when I eat cookies in my freetime saying to myself over and over "You may still have those without learning!" it might still work (after some weeks or months) but those will feel like full of punishment and the issue isn't big enough for that.

I hope you have some ideas how I can motivate myself in another way or how to overcome that issues without making it a long term project.

Have a nice day

Hey there nonny!

Motivation can be a really tricky thing, especially for people who are smart. Let's be real, why would I want to wait for something I could have now? Things that you can move up on your own to have before doing the task almost never work for those who reason like we do. If you're set on that method, though, I suggest giving the reward to someone else for safekeeping, so you can't give it to yourself early, or, eating half of it now, and half of it later if you have the self control for that, satisfying that "reward now" part of you, but still leaving some motivation.

If you're looking for other motivation mechanisms, try activities or things that come in steps. For instance, I enjoy art a lot. If I have something I need to get done like an essay, I'll sketch out some ideas for a new piece of art, and either a certain amount of paragraphs into the essay or after 45 minutes, whichever comes first, I'll do the next step of my artwork. That serves as both motivation for me, and a resting period from work.

A lot of times, a big part of not finishing tasks is because our brain can't stay engaged for that long. A good idea is to set some breaks. Ie: once I've finished this much of my project/once I've worked for this amount of time, I'll be able to take a 20 minute break. Then set a timer, and take your break. When on that break, it's important to stay off of things that will get you "hooked," or things that aren't easily stopped for you. Things like scrolling tiktok, watching shows, etc, tend not to be the best for you because you either "haven't finished the episode," or "it's only another 30 second video," etc. Things that make you get up and really take a mental break or physical break (depending on your task) are great. If I've been sitting for a while focusing, it's nice to go outside for a bit and put on some music or something. If I've been working outside, it's nice to come in and get some water and rest for a bit.

[attackedastoria]

I have too many feelings

So like, it's bad enough that I'm completely fucking traumatized from my mother having a psychotic break and physically assaulting me multiple times. I spent an entire week monitoring her with barely sleeping because I was honestly terrified of her. And guess what!! I was right to be, because I found MULTIPLE KNIVES hidden in her room she was probably planning to use because I wouldn't let her leave the house! So yes, I am STILL fucking traumatized by that, and no amount of "Oh its just the disease it wasn't really her" IS NOT GOING TO FIX THAT. christ, I still wake up in a cold sweat panicking because I hear a noise that sounds like floorboards creaking, thinking its her. So no, I'm not fucking over it, and no, I don't really wanna go see her in the fucking psychiatric hospital yet. I'm still coming to terms with the fact that my mother, my best friend, is essentially dead and some psychotic stranger is wearing her skin. Forgive me if I'm a little fucking fucked up about it.

Oh, but that's not all! Two days after mom is taken away, I get to be informed that my family is selling the house asap, because of course, they failed to get her proper insurance coverage despite assuring me it was all handled. So now they're freaking out about the cost, and they want me out ASAP. Because I have soooo much money to make that happen in the middle of January. Its not like I haven't been able to work properly for 2 years due to taking care of my stepfather, and then my mother. Apparently I'm supposed to just pull housing and money out of my asshole for that! And it's all my fault for not planning properly, you know, when I was under the impression her disease was still being managed well and she had another few years before any worse progression. I should have somehow gotten a job while also looking after her 24/7. Yup.

Also, fuck whatever is going on with my mental health that makes me struggle the entire past year, I'm totally not suffering caretaker burnout, yelling at me is definitely the best motivating course of action.

Luckily, I have a Saint for a best friend willing to give me shelter, but its across the country, so it's going to take some time to plan the move and you know, find a fucking place to live. But oh no, that's not acceptable! You need to be gone ASAP! Also, while you're struggling with your personal housing and mental crisis, please work 12hrs a day packing and cleaning the house so we can put it on the market asap! WORK FASTER YOU LAZY CUNT YOURE NOT WORKING FAST ENOUGH, ITS NOT LIKE YOU HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO!! God. I've been tempted to really fuck them over by claiming tenants rights so I have longer to prepare, but I know they'd just completely shut me off from moms money which I need right now.

I know they can't wait to get rid of me and never see me again(and honestly, same at this point), but I just... I'm so fucking exhausted. Mental, emotionally, physically. I've had zero time or room to grieve. My entire life is being uprooted with zero preparation or warning. I have to rehome our dog because no one in the family can take him. I'm also sick now with some kind of hell cold. I just... I've contemplated killing myself so many times the past few weeks, because what's the point? I'm tired of being in constant despair. I'm tired of being angry. I'm just fucking TIRED.

Fuck. I just needed to get some stuff off my chest.