#flat space feels wrong now why how why did i do this to myself

[rhoselacksthorns]

girl help I spent all day trying to figure out a way of mapping coordinates to a hyperbolic space in a way that a computer would like and all I got for it is an iterative fractal 2d array design to simulate a {5,4} tiling, the inability to stop thinking of and seeing things as being in hyperbolic space despite me definitely still being in normal happy not meaningfully curved space I'm pretty sure, and a really bad fucking headache

[jaylaxies]

TEASER: ONLY IF YOU SAY YES (please say yes)

pairing: heeseung x fem!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, smut, fluff, angst.

word count: estimated 15k words. (currently 8k)

teaser wc: 748 words!

synopsis: having your enemy in your friend group was tiring enough, but having him shift into your apartment at the same time all your roomie friends had their club’s exchange program? that was your final straw.

warning: the fic will contain 18+ content, minors dni.

a/n: hihi loves <3 sorry for the delay but the fic is getting longer than intended! so i’ll just leave a little teaser as something to compensate while i finish writing. also, the given teaser is unedited, changes might be included in the fic <3

taglist is open! comment/send an ask to be added <3 (make sure to have your age visible on your blog! blank blogs will not be added to the tl)

With tiredness still evident in your eyes, you worked the stove on, grabbing a pot to heat up water, standing still as you took the support of the marble countertop, your palms lay flat on it as you stared at the packet of mint chocolate that was in the shelf in front of you, something that Sunoo possibly had forgotten to take with him.

“Not sleepy?” A husky voice made you gasp and turn around, caging you right in between the counter and Heeseung.

“Fuck! You scared me,” you gasped at his shirtless figure, “why the fuck are you awake and why are you not clothed?” You asked, distressed.

“I heard noises from the kitchen so I obviously had to come over and check,” he said, tilting his head innocently right after, “I have to make sure the princess is safe, right?”

“I can very well take care of myself, thanks,” you huffed, waiting for him to move, which did not happen.

“Okay, then try pushing me away,” Heeseung said, a slight close-lipped smirk present on his face.

You simply made use of the little space to pour the hot water into the cup noodles, covering it with its lid.

“You love these games too much, don’t you?” You said, finally looking up to see his body right in front of your face.

With thick yet lean muscles, he stood tall, his clavicles visible in an attractive fashion as the dim lights of the room only enhanced the slight traces of his abs, making it evident that Heeseung included working out in his daily routines.

You gulped unknowingly, closing your eyes for a second before meeting him, only for his eyes to fall on your lips for a slight enough, just enough for you to miss it.

“Not gonna push me?” He asked, still playful, but with a gentle rasp in his voice.

“You’re not appropriately clothed for me to touch you, Heeseung,” you said, trying to muster a bored, unimpressed expression, as if your ears weren’t burning warm.

“Why? Does skin to skin contact scare you now?” He challenged, “one touch is all it takes, babe.”

“Oh lord,” you groaned, stretching your neck back, only to find Heeseung’s gaze more intense than ever, “fine, move.”

You placed your cold hand on his warm torso, right above his heart, and you could have sworn it was beating a tad bit faster than how a normal heart should be beating.

Pushing him was practically impossible, especially when he bit his lip and chuckled, not moving an inch despite your efforts. The room felt warm as you scoffed and retrieved your hand.

“Can’t move?” He teased.

“I’m just tired, move.”

“Or, you’re just weak.”

“That’s all you can do Heeseung, challenge a tired girl who’s trying to eat.” You pushed him again.

“I’m strong, princess. Don’t you see?” He pointed at his body, and you closed your eyes yet again, trying to convert your feelings into anger.

“Your body might be strong but your fucking ego is weak.” You said finally shoving him enough for you to move.

“Now, now. That’s wrong, princess.” He said, grabbing your cup noodles and testing your patience yet again.

Messing with you was one thing.

Messing with you while you were sleepy was another thing.

But messing with you while you were sleepy and hungry, that was war.

“Give me the noodles back you small dicked asshole!” You chased after him.

He stopped you easily with a hand, twirling you around and pulling you back, his bare chest pressed against your back.

“Small dick, hm?” He mumbled, keeping the noodles on the counter beside you, dragging his warm fingers across your bare tummy, stopping right on your belly button, “it would go up to here, yeah,” he caressed the area before letting go of you.

You stood there, breathing hard as your cheeks burned with the implication of his cock in your cunt.

“How do you even get women, all talk and no action?” You asked, walking back to your room with the noodles in your hands, avoiding the fact that you were completely flustered.

“Oh I’ll show you all the action you need to see, princess,” he winked as you turned to look at him, his hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatpants, “g’night, darling,” he smirked, walking away as you spent the night punching your pillow, eating your now soggy noodles.

Lee Heeseung was going to be the end of you.

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[saltnsugarbear]

Lip with “Fuck, wait — shit. Mm— fuck. Wh-where did you learn to do that?” “Well, the noises you make are a pretty good indication of how you like it.” “…God you sound so fucking cocky right now and it’s turning me on even more.” 

so like on the low i ate this up

word count: 1.0k

content warnings: KAREN SLANDER IM SO SORRY (I don't like her but I hate slut shaming more) they don't enthusiastically consent but they're both into it I'm sorry 😔, so ig dubcon, oral (m!receiving) (don't ask for this ever again), Lip is kind of mean (the voices olive got to me on that one)

side note: don't expect any bj fics again cause I hate the idea of giving men head SORRY also I like triggered my own life apocalypse (got sick at work, power went out, etc)

come celebrate!

One of Lip's favorite things about you is your competitive nature. Not that he'd ever say that out loud, but it's one of the things that endeared him to you.

It made him like pushing your buttons even more.

So complaining while you actually work on your group project is the perfect way to annoy you today. However you've stopped paying him any mind, about three minutes into his griping. So he tries a new approach.

Bringing up his most recent conquests. So obviously that means he feels the need to mention Karen.

And the fact that instead of being tutored, she gave Lip head instead. The story makes you roll your eyes, shaking your head when he comments that it's probably the best blowjob he's ever gotten.

"It could not have been that good.." You scoff, trying to focus on finishing the sentence you're writing. "Actually, I take that back. Given how big of a slut she is, she's probably had plenty of practice."

"Oh fuck you-" Lip starts.

"Am I wrong?" You challenge him quickly, glaring up from your page.

"You're just pissed off you're not getting any." He sneers. You roll your eyes, you're not having this conversation with him.

Lip takes your silence as agreement, snickering lightly. "No wonder you're so uptight, you're not getting laid."

You have to bite your tongue to keep from retorting. He's fucking insufferable.

"Everything makes so much more sense now. Because I kept asking myself, y'know, why you're such a bitch. But it makes sense now, you're not getting away so you need to take your frustrations out another way."

"You're such a fucking asshole, Gallagher. You don't know shit about who I'm fucking." You snap at him, putting your pen down none too gently.

"Right, like anyone would be able to fuck you. Probably too fucking tight up there, can't even get a finger in you." Lip's look is gloating, like he's won some verbal sparring match.

You don't know why you're moving. Pushing out of your chair and tugging Lip's back. Lip sputters at the abruptness of your yanking, arms flying out for balance. Once there's enough space for you, you quickly step in between his legs before dropping down to your knees.

You're a little surprised at the small tent in Lip's slacks already, scoffing after you piece it together. "You get off on the sound of your own voice?"

"What? No. What are you-" You cut Lip's questioning off quickly, pushing yourself up to rest on your toes so you can easily rest your arm on his thigh as you press your palm against his half hard dick. Lip's words are muddled as you bully him through the fabric, fighting himself for some composure.

With one last squeeze, you bring both of your hands to his hips, pulling him forward until he's sitting at the very edge. You don't miss how he inhales sharply at your rough handling.

Once he's positioned better, you sit flat on your feet before looking up at him through your lashes and leaning forward, licking at his erection through his slacks. Lip groans as you continue to mouth at his cock, head falling back as you suck softly around the fabric.

Once you're satisfied with the wet patch you've made in his pants, you bring your hands to unbutton and unzip them before tugging them down slightly. Lip helps you out by lifting his hips up, letting drag them down past his knees. Your saliva bled through his pants, dampening his boxers where you had been teasing him.

Taking your time, you go back to mouthing at his erection. You can hear him shifting above you, glancing up to see him bring his hands around. Lip's hands are pushy as they hold the back of your head.

"Uh-uh.." You pull away from his bulge, catching his wrists before leaning forward and tucking them behind his back. "Those stay there."

"Fuck..." Lip mutters.

"Lift." You tap his hips as you curl your fingers under the waistband of his boxers. Lip is a quick listener, lifting his hips up so you can tug his boxers down to his pants. He breathes out heavily when his cock springs free, hitting his stomach.

You're quick to take him in your mouth, sliding your tongue along the underneath of his length. There's a sense of pride as Lip struggles to form any words, the only things leaving his mouth a mix of whines and groans.

"Fuck, wait- shit-" Lip grunts as you sink back down to the base, glancing up at him with your nose brushing against his happy trail. "Mm- fuck. Wh-where did you learn to do that?"

You hum around his length, feeling how he twitches in your mouth before pulling all the way off.

"Well, the noises you're making are a pretty good indication of how you like it." You grin up at him, bringing your hand to wrap around the base of his cock.

"...God you sound so fucking cocky right now and it's turning me on even more." Lip's eyes are lidded as he looks down at you, watching as you slowly jerk him off. You roll your eyes at him, leaning back towards his cock.

"I liked you better when you could barely speak," you tell him before leaning forward and wrapping your lips around the head of him.

"Fuu- ughh.." Lip grunts as you suckle at his head. His hips buck up into your mouth, pushing himself farther in. You hum sharply, taking your hands away from his base and pushing back against his hips. Lip breathes heavily as you keep his hips in place, flicking your tongue over the slit before pressing gently at the underside of his head.

"Wait-" Lip chokes out, hips bucking up again. "Shit, shit- fuck-"

Lip's release is thick on your tongue and you're quick to open your mouth, letting him watch as his cum coats your tongue. Doing such makes Lip swear, another rope covering your tongue. You pull away from him, sticking your tongue out for him to see all of his release before making a show of swallowing it.

"Still think she gave you the best blowjob of your life?"

[norman-fucking-reedus]

Daryl Dixon, born to be a sweet mamas boy but forced into severe mommy issues. I will literally bury myself in this grave

Like okay sure the bad biker boy with a dominant streak is hot or whatever but realistically under all those layers of steel and dirt there’s nothing but a damaged boy.

I think about Daryl dating a woman of a motherly nature and how it would utterly fuck with his head. She’s more on the traditional side and usually expresses her love through cooking as well as baking.

At first, he doesn’t like any of it at all. The way you always want to cook for him when he literally didn’t ask you really bothers him, to the point he found himself not eating whatever you made out of sheer stubbornness, not knowing each plate was your indirect way of affection.

He doesn’t like the way you persistently try and get him to talk to you, because why do you even care? Sometimes the two of you will argue and Daryl will just storm away after a string of insults. He feels so gulity afterwards, especially when he knows that he really does need someone to talk to.

The hugs are the worst. The way you suddenly hug him makes his skin burn and he fucking hates it. Not physically, but he pushes you away. It’s what he wants of course, to not be around you and your forced niceness.

It’s what he wants of course, to be alone by himself. No background noises or smells. He can’t hear the way you passionately move around the kitchen or smell the mouthwatering smell of whatever you’re making. That’s what he wants.

When he comes back from a long run, so obviously shaken up and disturbed, there’s nobody to try and pry as to what happened even though he knows he needs to get it off his chest. That’s what he wants of course. He doesn’t need comfort, no. He never did. Never ever.

So why did he need it now?

Daryl thinks about you and how you did so much for him without him even lifting a finger, how you willingly put in the effort and he just threw it all back into your face without a second thought. He thinks about how hurt you he must’ve left you all the times he flat out refused even your prettiest dishes.

He thinks about the concern that etches your face when you practically beg him to talk to you, beg him to tell you what’s wrong so you can maybe help him. Daryl feels his chest tighten when he thinks of how he downright pushed you out his life, and feels a lump forming in his throat when he realizes that he needs you.

He was alone with only himself and his thoughts, ones that frightened him to his very core. He thinks about your hugs and how he yearns to feel the burn of his skin against yours.

Daryl wants to go to you, but he’s scared. He’s scared that you’ve already moved on and found someone better, someone worthy of a woman like you. He scared that you won’t want him anymore yet here he stands, nervously on your porch.

He’s not ready, no event in his life could have prepared him for this. He knocks with a shaky fist and can hear the sounds of his quick breathing.

The door opens just as widely as it always has, you standing there in your apron covered in flour. He thinks about turning around, you’re obviously busy with things much more important with him. As he opens his mouth to speak, you cup his face gently with soft floury hands as if insecpting it.

“Somethings bothering you”

Daryl nods, and he feels like he could melt into your hands.

You usher him inside, closing the front door and shuffling to the couch, dismissing his silent questions about his shoes. He joins you on the couch with a little space between you, he’s not sure how angry you are with him.

Daryl wants to apologize, he wants to beg for you to let him try again and let him do it right this time, but he just can’t find the words, twiddling nervously with his fingers in his lap. You watch him for a moment, reading his limited body movement before reaching up and brushing away a tear Daryl didn’t even know fell.

“Tell me what’s hurting you” You whispered, voice warm and comforting as your fingers danced across his cheek.

He found himself choking on the words, stuttering them out as he slightly flinched away from the contact although he desperately wanted it. “M-m’sorry. Fer being a dick to ya” Daryl mumbled, leaning back towards your hand. “I jus- I got scared”

You raised a brow. “You? Scared? Scared of me?”

He nodded. “I don’ understand wha’ ya want from me”

“I don’t want anything from you, Daryl… I just wanna take care of you and be there for you”

“Why? Why someone like me?” Daryl scoffed. “M’nobody”

“You’re somebody to me” You whispered.

“Wha’ did I do to deserve ya? Ya don’ even know me” He turned to you, the tip of his nose a light red and his eyes glassy.

You took his face between your hands once again, placing a soft kiss to his forehead. “But I do. I see it, Daryl. I can see all the hurt you’ve been through, everything you’ve pushed away, down, all of it. All you’ve ever known is pain and my sweet boy, I’m gonna take it all away for you” You smiled, pressing your forehead against his.

Daryl’s heart pounded so hard that he feared it would exploded, more full of love than its ever had the chance to be. You held him as if he was made of the most fragile glass, brushing your nose against his as he sniffled.

“I love you” Daryl suddenly blurted, because he had denied himself of the truth for so long. He wanted to be with you, wanted you to take care of him.

You gave him another smile, this time placing a gentle kiss to his chapped lips. “And I love you too. Say, I was in the middle of making a cobbler, but I just don’t have anyone to lick the spoon…”

Daryl raised a brow. “Is it peach?”

“Only cobbler I know how ta make” You tugged him off the couch, and he followed you into your beloved kitchen, stepping foot into it for the first time. He thinks about all the times he watched you twirl around, cooking something with love only for him to completely disregard it. The thought made him visibly upset. “Something wrong?”

“Jus’ wish I appreciated yer cookin’ more s’all” He mumbled, regret written on his face, even more when a twinge of hurt painted yours. It was clear as day his past actions really did hurt you.

There was an awkward moment of silence, before you handed Daryl a peach. “As long as you appreciate it now” He could almost cry from how many chances you willingly give you, chances he just didn’t deserve.

“Yeah. M’gon appreciate you too, how I should’ve from tha’ very start” Daryl whispered, biting into one of the sweetest peaches he’s ever had.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

oof I made myself cry and this isn’t even that good 😕😕

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

[isagispuzzle]

congrats on 200!!! this is for ur event hehe

my favorite trope is just lots and lots of tension between ppl who clearly like each other AHHH ITS SO OMG

thank you and sorry for the wait!! building tension is still so difficult for me, so thank you for requesting this so i can push myself haha, hope you like it!! (also, it gets a little suggestive at the end. but what else would you expect with oliver)

oliver is not slick. he might think he is, given how many women he's easily won over, but when his teammates see their poor captain gazing longingly at their manager, they can only sigh.

it seems like the entire world but the two of you are aware of the feelings oliver and you harbour for each other, and to be frank, the u-20 team is absolutely sick of it.

ever since you joined them as their manager, they've stopped hearing about oliver's failed dates, and they've stopped catching oliver flirting with a new girl in the front rows after every one of their matches. instead, oliver has added a new line to his template interview responses, thanking their "dear manager" for the unwavering support, and he's added a new stop to his post-training journey, where he'll walk you home before he picks up his takeout dinner.

neru even overhears oliver asking you out for dinner once. you turned him down with a smile, citing you already had plans, and told him to go ahead with the rest of the team. neru chokes when you tell oliver not to ask someone out for dinner with such a smile on his face, because he'll give them the wrong idea.

(of course, oliver didn't invite the others to dinner after that.)

neru tells the others about this, and they're equally as frustrated and perplexed, because how could you be brushing off oliver's advances if you were into him too? beyond that, why was oliver hiding behind the excuse of a dinner instead of flat out asking you out on a date? did he not notice the way your feelings bled into the way you treated him, versus the rest?

of course, the team knows you try your best to be professional and fair. they have no complaints about your care for them, other than the sickly sweet smile you'd have on your face when you go up to oliver first after every game to tell him good job, or the way you lean into his space and hang off every last word he says, or the way your eyes always stick to him like magnets whenever he's in the room. maybe to add one last complaint, they can't stand how you don't realise oliver does all that back to you too.

the u-20 team, excluding oliver and you, gather for dinner that night and conspire. they put together their observations of the two of you and assert their theories on why you're still not together yet, despite the obvious spark and oliver's usual straightforwardness. it's a rather comical scene, the nine boys speculating and gossiping about their captain's love life with seriousness that easily measured up to their post-match debriefs.

they leave their dinner-turned-conspiracy-meeting satisfied with their conclusion that perhaps, you brush off oliver's advances as just a part of him because you know about his flirtatious tendencies, and perhaps, oliver is getting discouraged by your lack of reciprocity, which is why he doesn't push you as much as he normally would.

what they don't know is that your rejections have only made oliver more intrigued and mindful of your boundaries, things he hasn't cared much about in the past, and they have only made him more addicted to the chase. oliver knows he'll have to work doubly hard to make you look his way, not as a part of the u-20 team but as a man, so for now, he'll revel in your scent when he leans in to help you with your bags. for now, he'll savour the fleeting touches of your fingertips when you carefully tape his knee.

because once he breaks down your walls, he'll be able to do everything he's been dreaming of to you.

[valas-illyn]

When I come to, I'm laying on some kind of hospital bed. My hands are cuffed to the sides. I don't immediately remember where I was before this, how did I get here? Where is here?

The lights in here are low, but still bright enough. The now opening door reveals a comparatively blinding hallway, and a silhouetted figure composed of writhing vines. Something about the perspective seems off, but I can't make it make sense.

Someone, somewhere, in another room is scared, terrified even. Angry too. Bursting with emotions, they want to scream and sob and thrash and rage. It sounds like a lot.

I just feel tired.

The thing moves into the room, and the door slides blessedly shut.

Affini. That's the word. Suddenly the perspective clicks into focus and the room makes sense. Affini are 10ft tall alien plants with a penchant for keeping other sapients as pets, the room is sized for them which is why everything feels wrong. I'm tall for a human but I'm not that tall, the bed is human sized though so it must be on some kind of raised platform.

My mind drifts off again, lost in visualising the technical specifications for a 5ft high hospital bed. Extra trains of thought spinning off into imaging what other situations one would even be needed, or in the comical image of a human nurse trying to wheel one about. Yknow, they're always complaining that they don't have enough space on the wards, with a 5ft high one you could have modular bunk beds that just roll over each other, you could double the capacity of a hospital. You'd have to add teeth to each leg and an electric winder to hoist it up and down though. Maybe some kind of quick release mechanism for emergencies? You could-

"Petal?" The affini is standing over me, the voice is... Soft. Not quite feminine, but maybe feminine by their standards, what do I know? Do affini even have male and female? Well, it'll do for now. Her voice is a gentle rustling rasp that I can barely believe is capable of human speech. "Petal, it's time to wake up."

I roll my head towards her. The someone is getting loud again. "I'm awake." My voice is flat, lifeless. Too deep. It sounds wrong.

She seems to shrink, like she's slumped. Relief? Despair? Maybe she's just tired too. How do you read the body language of a bush? "Good, I am Luminara Verdis, fourth bloom. Pronouns she/her. What should I call you?"

I was right, feminine. I try to answer, but instead I just yawn. Long and deep.

"still a little sleepy? Let's give you something to clear those sedatives out of your system." *She leans over and a loop of vine extends towards my neck. A light glints off the end of a sharp, needle-like point dripping with something viscous.

Sudden and visceral. An emotion floods through me, but I couldn't put a name to it. I yell "No!" far louder than I intended as I throw myself away from her, straining against my bonds. I realise my legs are bound too.

The bed wobbles and she holds it steady with a vine, preventing me from tipping it over in my... Panic? Panic. That's what it is. Somewhere deep inside, a part of me sees the absurdly tall bed again and wants to chuckle, another part of me notes the axis of the tilt and the centre of gravity, and mentally confirms the platform hypothesis.

"ok, its ok petal. Calm down." She makes a show of taking the needle away but I keep my eyes in her. My breathing is ragged now. My ribcage feels like it's shuddering.

"No needles." My voice is as shaky as the rest of me, but I say it with some force. I would be pleased by that if only I knew why I seemed to be so upset.

I settle back into the bed and try to rub my face with my hand, only I can't because it's still cuffed to the bedframe.

"No needle." She agrees. Her voice is full of pity, sorrow. She's making an effort to be gentle with me, I can tell that much.

A voice in the back of my mind whispers "needle. Singular. No promises past now." I tell it to be quiet.

"i- I'm awake now." My voice is steadier now, my body more controlled. The panic has faded, gone off to that other room. I can ignore it now.

"I can see that, I'm so sorry for startling you petal but I promise you I'm here to help. What's your name?"

"I'm- i-" my voice falters as my mind scrabbles for answers. "I don't know. I can't remember, there- there was more than one I think?" I know I should be frightened, or concerned.by this. But I'm not. I dont have the energy for it now the adrenaline has worn off, instead I'm just... A bit perplexed.

If I could read plant faces... I'm assuming she is showing the concern that I'm not feeling. I had best stop that before it becomes something, like another needle. "I-it'll come back to me, it always does. I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

She shows me a smile and says "Luminara. Lumi, if you like."

I smile back and tug at my restraint again. I really want to rub my face and it's bothering me that I can't. "Why am I chained to the bed?" I try to hide the frustration from my voice, transmuting it into concern instead.

"it's for your own safety, flower. Do you remember what happened?"

I raise an eyebrow at her. She chuckles.

"I guess not. You were in an accident before we rescued you. You were badly hurt and terribly confused, and you kept trying to attack the vets. They didn't know if you would still be violent when you woke up."

That makes sense. I have brief flashes of pseudo-memory; fear, anger, terrible terrible pain. I dont think it was an accident though. It feels like it was going on for a long time...

I shiver, and shake the sensation from my head. I'm still tugging on the cuff gently, I'm not sure I can stop, the feel of it is keeping me calm.

"I don't think I want to remember... Could you untie me please? I just need to rub my eyes."

[gor3sigil]

Detransition - My Story

[CW for Domestic Abuse, S*xual Abuse, Social Detransition, Misgendering, Alcoholism]

Recently, I watched “I Saw the TV Glow”, and it blew me away.

The ending really made me want to tell a story that happened to me.

Between the end of 2020 until the end of 2021, I detransitionned, mostly socially as I hadn’t started transitionning medically at the time. I did so because of many factors, and I never really wrote about it in details or reflected on it deeply as it was a very hard time for me. But I think that I now have enough hindsight as to why it happened and how it affected me to be comfortable sharing.

So, 2020 was a crazy year for everyone. I was in a T4T poly relationship, living with my partner of almost 5 years and started to go out with another trans dude. Long story short, because this isn’t about this, but I got into a physical altercation with my living partner during quarantine after years of emotional and verbal abuse, financial manipulation and isolation. I had to flee and live with my boyfriend for almost 8 months after leaving. And it was hell on earth.

I tried to not make a big deal out of what happened, but the fact of the matter was I had no place to call home, I was separated from my cat because she couldn’t live with us as my boyfriend’s place was a one room student flat and we struggled to live both of us here, and I had very little money due to not being able to work because of Covid.

What happened next to me leaving was constant harassment for weeks, the people whom I called friends siding with my abusive ex, and I felt so defeated. I couldn’t go back to my local trans community out of fear, and the community that I still had I struggled to trust again. I was supposed to start HRT before Covid hit, but it was cancelled. I got so much shit for just telling my story because so many people treated it as “slander” to accuse a trans woman of abusing me. I had receipts but never showed them, to protect her and myself. While she hurt me, she still was in a vulnerable position and it was out of the question to put her in danger. Let’s just say that I didn’t receive the same treatment in return and got lied about, harassed and bullied by people who thought she could do no wrong.

I started to totally lose trust in the community I used to feel safe in. And one day, I met a cis man. I talked to him, we got a coffee, he invited me to his place later, he got drunk and SAd me.

Two weeks passed, two excruciating weeks during which I felt so far away from everything and everyone, I coped by smoking a lot, I was in a deep dissociative state. I was disgusted, I felt so betrayed, I felt like I had no safe space. I still can’t explain why I did what I did, but after these two weeks, I still had the hoodie he handed me to go home, and I decided to meet him to give it back and talk.

He gaslighted me, using the fact that I was mentally ill to prove that I must have imagined what happened, and I believed him.

Meanwhile, I started getting nasty comments from my boyfriend and his friends for going out with a cis man.

Let me say that again.

My boyfriend was not upset that I was putting myself in danger, that I was starting a relationship with someone who had abused me, that I was in deep distress and not trusting anyone from my community anymore so I basically ran the other way, in the polar opposite way, with someone who treated me like a woman and called my desire for top surgery “mutilation”. What he was the most upset about was that I was going out with a cis man.

I became a running joke.

And when I told him that I had slept with my new boyfriend, he told me that I had “slept with the enemy”.

We had a two weeks break, after which I broke up with him for good. I had my own flat, and I was so fucking traumatized about what had happened with my ex and the vitriol I received for my new relationship that I decided it was enough. I was trying so hard to fit in my local trans community, that barely supported me when I got abused, and now what was left of it shat on me for going out with a cis man, it was the last straw.

For a year, I was having the most isolated relationship I ever had.

J, my new boyfriend, was my world. He told me that I thought I was trans out of fear. That it was a lie. That I just was scared of being abused again so I decided that to become a man was to be safe, but it was not. That all I felt was internalized misogyny I could work on, find my inner feminine self again and be happy as a woman. And I believed him. Oh, how I trusted him. I was not even in my mid twenties yet and he was in his early thirties, he must know better. I started using my deadname and feminine pronouns again. I bought dresses, skirts, even wore make up on occasions.

For a year, I killed myself. Slowly but surely. I was a full blown alcoholic, the relationship was becoming more and more abusive and isolating, I spent most of my time with him, most of the time we were drunk, most of the time things weren’t consensual, and it became my new normal.

I was retraumatizing myself. Relieving things I lived in the past because I felt so betrayed.

I had no friends left, the only one I still had didn’t hear about me until the end of my relationship with J. One time I saw her in the street, I was drunk, and J corrected her when she called me “he”. Said it was “she” now. And I said nothing.

We were in a poly relationship, and after the one year mark, after a few traumatizing hookups with random dudes on Tinder, I found my current partner. And when I started to get treated like I deserved to be, I started to snap back. I started fighting back when J acted out, I started seeing the dark place I was in.

Two things made me realize how bad I had been lying to myself.

The first one was a TikTok trend, the one with the song “My Little Dark Age”. The first time I saw a trans man doing this trend with photos of him being himself, then going back to the closet, and in present times, out. “Just know that if you hide, it doesn’t go away”. I sobbed uncontrollably for hours after seeing it.

The second one was one time, drunk, with my partner, I was telling them about the “time where I was trans”. And I was telling them about binders, and offered to show them how it was when I was wearing it. I had thrown away everything I had related to being trans in a cardboard box. I took it out and put it on. Looked at myself in the mirror. And burst out in tears. My partner hold me while I said in between sobs: “how could I do this to myself ?”, “it feels so right, why does it feels so right ? I though I’d be happy as a woman !”. And I cried and cried and cried.

Two weeks later I changed my name again. 2 months after, I broke up with J.

I wanted to tell this story as a cautionnary one. I know that I failed myself. But I can’t help but think that I was also failed in a way. By my community, by the spaces I was in both online and IRL. I am not blaming the individuals. This isn’t about “detransition”. This is about care.

This is a reminder to care. To be kind.

I don’t regret what happened. It’s part of me now. But sometimes I can’t help but wonder how things would’ve turned out if, instead of making fun of me for going out with a cis man, my then friends would’ve asked me kindly why I decided to go out with him. What changed in my mind between the night he SAd me and now. Or just offered a shoulder to cry on. What would’ve happened if I had been offered support for the trauma I was going through, if I hadn’t been told that in the end, J had won, he “have gotten what he wanted”.

“Why is it always so easy for cis men, to get what they want ?”

And in these statements, I became an object. A “want”. And I think that’s one of the main reason I lost every ounce of trust I had left in people who swore they were on my side and had my back.

You may not understand why people make some decisions. But please, before any politics get involved, remember than whose around you are people. Human. With complicated and sometimes conflicting feelings. Flawed. And worthy of your understanding.

This is about not letting politics and theories make you forget to care for one another, to protect each other, and to be here. It can change everything.

[liondrakes]

Nonhumanity: A Change of Pace

by Sivaan of Candlekeep

This post was written for the following challenges created by @/who-is-page:

Day 29 of the Alterhuman Writing Challenge

Day 7 of the Folcintera Week Challenge

7. Some view their nonhumanity as a blessing, while others view it as a curse— where do you fall on this spectrum? What are your opinions about your personal nonhumanity? Are you grateful for it? Would you rather not be nonhuman at all? Why do you feel this way?

My nonhumanity is neither a blessing nor a curse. It's my life. Simple as that. As life goes, it has its highs and lows. My nonhumanity yields plenty of complexities, just by how confusing polymorphism can be. At the same time, my nonhumanity has its moments of simplicity. This morning, I watched Wild Africa and became an oryx upon watching members of my species spar with each other. For the time being, it was nice. No questioning or doubting, just me, Sivaan the scimitar-horned oryx. As I type this, I am now a Gemsbok.

I think the best way to describe my nonhumanity is transformative. It is a massive change of pace from everything I’ve ever known. Honestly, I can say this about my alterhumanity as a whole— not just in terms of my species! I’ve garnered all sorts of lifestyle practices and philosophies to experiment with, thanks to my alterhumanity. However, I’ll dial back a bit for clarity’s sake. Nonhumanity is the focus of this question.

Through discovering and exploring myself in this way, I feel like I'm approaching everything with a fresh perspective. I can say wholeheartedly that becoming a part of this community has given more meaning to my life and how I engage with the world around me. Becoming more involved also pulled me out of my slump as a writer. College drained me of any drive I had. I've scrapped manuscript after manuscript while trying to complete undergrad. I did it, thankfully. Yet, I also grew distant with the craft I've loved since I was a child.

My journey as a transspecies beast gave me the opportunity to write again. This time, it wasn't for a deadline or a grade. It was for me. I am grateful that I revisited these feelings from my teenage years. If I hadn't met my nonhuman friends along the way, and decidedly took the chance to embrace my identity, there's no telling if I'd even have the motivation to write again.

I imagine my life wouldn't be all "doom and gloom" if I hadn't revisited my past with this community. That said, I do believe I'd feel like something was missing. Perhaps, I'd pick up something else to fill the void. I did mention the likelihood of me becoming a furry lifestyler in my previous response. Or, there's always the possibility of the community finding me again. After all, TikTok has a pretty sizable group of therians. Granted, there's the problems of that platform to consider. Those spaces are rich with things that annoy me such as old discourse being recycled, outdated or even flat-out wrong definitions, and the appeasement of anti-kin/therian humans. Regardless, those are possibilities that didn't come into fruition.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: "What if" moments are hard to speculate on. I'm better off leaving them be as passing thoughts.

I'll tell you what's not a "What if" moment, though. I finished one writing challenge, and tomorrow, I will finish another. Looks like killing two birds with one stone truly did work out. This is the first writing challenge I've finished since high school. Do I have my nonhumanity to thank for that or myself? The way I see it, it's a little bit of both!

[lovenotesxcitygirls]

Why Am I Even Writing This?

Honestly, I don’t know why I’m starting this blog. Writing about something as controversial as love and romance feels like stepping into a battlefield armed with nothing but a pen and a lot of opinions. But here I am, because as someone who genuinely loves connection and wants people to just get to the love already, it feels like the right thing to do.

I’m tired. Tired of the podcasts, the red-pill rants, the TikTok discourse where everyone talks but no one listens. And while I can’t explain why I feel the need to contribute to the noise, I figured I’d take a shot at adding something meaningful. People have been telling me for years, “You should start a podcast!” But let’s be real—I’m not a podcast person. The idea of sitting in front of a mic, trying not to cringe at the sound of my own voice? No thanks. I’d honestly probably ramble. Writing is my lane. Maybe one day this will evolve into a podcast, but for now, this is my space to think out loud, wine in hand.

It’s funny, though, because this has nothing to do with my career, my ambitions, or my five-year plan. People have even told me, “You’d make a great therapist!” And to that, I say: absolutely not. Shoutout to the therapists out there—I respect you, but I’m not built to sit and listen to people unpack their problems all day. What I am built for is love. Not just the rom-com kind, but love in its truest, rawest form: deep, unfiltered, messy, and magical.

How Did We Get Here?

There’s no shortage of theories about why modern love feels like such a disaster. Someone once told me, “Men are looking for women who no longer exist, and women are looking for men who don’t yet exist.” That hit me. Because honestly, it feels true.

Some people blame it on R&B—“Men aren’t out here begging anymore.” And listen, I laughed, but they weren’t wrong. Where’s the Keith Sweat energy, the Boyz II Men drama? Where are the love songs that make you want to call someone and cry?

Others say it’s because we’re living in unprecedented times. Women are independent in ways history has never seen before, and with the rise of AI and a rapidly changing world, the things we find valuable are shifting. We’re in a cultural transition, and everyone’s trying to figure out what love looks like when the old rules don’t work anymore.

What I Hope to Do Here

So, as I sip my wine and play the “Who is Jill Scott?”album (because yes, that album is still undefeated), I find myself wondering: How do we bridge this gap? How do we move past the noise and get to the heart of what love is supposed to be?

This blog isn’t about preaching, and I don’t have all the answers. I’m not here to tell anyone how to live their life or what their relationships should look like. But I do want to have real conversations about what love means today—the good, the bad, the confusing. I want to explore what it looks like to love deeply in a world that often feels shallow, to connect authentically in a culture obsessed with the next swipe, and to hold space for something real in the midst of all the chaos.

Maybe this space will grow into something bigger. Maybe it’ll just be a collection of thoughts and stories, scribbled down in between sips of wine. Either way, I’m glad you’re here. Let’s figure this out together.

[mx-smileo]

Hello guys!! I just want to address something real quick..., will be mentioning something that's been bugging me for a while, and has recently resurfaced because of the incompetence of @/littlehistorian to just accept they have done something wrong, and STOP MAKING PEOPLE FEEL BAD FOR SOMETHING YOU WONT ACCEPT YOU DID. 💀

This really quite annoys me...

what she is referring to in the image above is an incident where they took the idea and character of my CountryHuman china; who, if you dont already know, is the antagonist of my CHau; he harasses America at any chance he gets in a p3rv3rt3d way.

I've expressed my discomfort with hem making jokes such as these in my discord server, which was SUPOSSED to be a safe space for my friends and I, which at the time, I saw Historian as a friend.

Now, what is my problem with this if I am also using this character? Well, Historian was using this character, without permission, AND made recurring jokes of (S/H) about China with their OP countryhuman Oc.... which is the same age as them; 14, even thinking it was funny, normalizing it?? Like what the fuck.

first of all, I have never done that, and I never WILL do that, it is just downright horrible and gross, that OBVIOUSLY realize it's wrong, yet still jokes about it...

as a victim of it myself from close relatives- this agrovated me severely, but i tried to stay as civil as possible-

I had confronted them privately aswell, about how what they were saying, "reciting" even, was wrong, and that they shouldnt ever be saying stuff like that at ALL, since it is literally a form of gr00m1ng. They did not take well to this, however, as they victimised themselves near other friends that we share mutual friendships with, AND acted in self-sorrow. The image below is proof of this. You can also see that this was a while ago too.

seeing this topic coming back as Historian makes themselves the victim really aggravates me, and I WOULD keep this civil, IF It wasnt for the fact that they turned at least three of my friends on me and my server.

She also told nobody WHY she was kicked when they asked, making it sound as though she had done nothing wrong, making ME seem like the villain, as my (ex) friends constantly pestered and guiltripped me the way she did for kicking her out, as if I had forced her to lose contact with them.

Thank you for reading this, obviously this is only a shortened version of what has lead to this post, but I'm very thankful unlike some people you will be able to hear my side of the story :,)

I hadn't done anything of the sort, and had given her and others in my server OBVIOUS warnings beforehand, which they flat out ignored.

[salsedine]

15 Questions for "15" Friends

Tagged by @greypetrel - thank you! :*

Are you named after anyone?

50%-50%? My parents swear that they weren't influenced by Greta Garbo in any way or form - they just liked the name. Stella is for my great-grandmother (hungarian origins, archetype of the "strong woman of the family definitely born in the wrong era").

When was the last time you cried?

Last week. <- Same, wohoo! But it wasn't a big cathartic cry - kind of a disappointing one, really. Yes, I'm a Pisces, of course I sort the act of crying in different categories.

Do you have kids?

Premise: I don't hate kids, and I feel strongly about the fact that they should be more respected as individuals / human beings with their own agency. That being said, I'd rather torn my uterus apart with my bare hands. Or gift it to somebody who wants it. So no: I never wanted any.

What sports do you play/have you played?

Various - tennis for a few years, soccer at school, some athletics. But my love was (is?) dancing - I did modern jazz and then contemporary dance for about seven years. Currently I'm taking hatha yoga classes, which is quite painful most of the time - but necessary, since I have a full time office job and I'm glued to the chair.

Do you use sarcasm?

Me? Never ;)

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

How they move/occupy the space they are in: if they use a lot their hands while talking, how they laugh, their voice etc. I'm a "I first see the broader context and then the single detail" person. And no, I don't judge.

What’s your eye color?

Green/grey

Scary movies or happy endings comedies?

It depends on the definition of 'scary', I suppose. Since that's ambiguous, I'll go with comedies. The right answer is: period dramas, obviously.

Any talents?

I have a very strong memory (name/surname and voice and things they confessed to me of my classmates from Scuola Media, and that was 15+ years ago), which is both useful and anxiety-inducing. I have a pretty good balance, and with some stretching I think I can still put my foot behind my neck?

Where were you born?

In a hospital ;)

What are your hobbies?

Painting/drawing, swimming, photography, reading, trying to find plants that I won't manage to kill. And listening to music - I'm useless with instruments, tho. BUT I do have an electric guitar that my father gave me and I'd love to try to learn something, as soon as I'm not renting and I have a proper place.

Do you have any pets?

Does a seaweed (yes, a marimo) count as a pet? I grew up with a dog, and he died many years ago. Since then I had no pets. Now that I live on my own (very discreet flatmate aside) I'd like to have a cat, but I think it would be better to have a bigger flat, and just more space in general. I'd hate for them to feel bored and costricted, it doesn't feel fair. Right now I don't plan on getting another dog, for various reasons.

How tall are you?

My ID cards have different ideas: the new one says 168 cm, the old one said 170 cm. We shall never know!

Favorite subject in school?

Art history, history, philosophy, biology, and chemistry applied to fine arts.

Dream job?

AHAHA Anyway! Illustrator or teacher. Ideally both. I'd love to work in a museum too, since I already have some experience in that field. Overall, I guess that I need a mentally stimulating job that makes me feel like I'm doing something meaningful - in a way or another. (This is why I briefly considered looking into art therapy, but knowing myself I'd just feel like a huge fraud). ...and I just noticed that all my dream jobs are based on communication (either through visual arts or...talking?) and relating to other people, which is hilarious considering my whole self.

Tag time! :D Maybe @birdkeeperklink - @pyritefes2 & @mafaldinablabla could be interested? Absolutely no pressure tho, feel free to skip this if it's not your thing!

Byeeee

[rantsofamadam]

TW: mentions of depression/SH/suicide and mental health

Depression sucks.

Last night my list was a full page long of everything I wanted to get done today.

Now it’s 9:18 and all I’ve done from that list is do my laundry.

I should shower tonight. I don’t even want to do that. Nearly at all.

Depression ig?

But why? Wrong meds? Off meds? Hormones? Trip depression? Life?

Augh I don’t know.

I just know there’s too much wrong with me and I’m too tired to care.

Death and sex, my two main thoughts.

Oh to be a teenager.

What else is new.

God I’m a fucking mess.

I barely feel like a person enough as it is- and here I am.

2:23 am on Easter Sunday.

Crying.

Because I fell asleep too early like an idiot.

Too apathetic to do much else than sleep. So that’s all I did.

I didn’t really mean to, it was just supposed to be rest.

But now it’s 2 am and everything feels wrong.

My phone is still here. My door was still half closed.

I pray my mother came to check on me even if she knew I was asleep.

My meds are un-taken,

My teeth are un-brushed,

I didn’t shower

My clothes aren’t in the dryer

My hair is matted

My body has new scars,

And my back is aching so badly because I fell asleep on the wrong side.

I woke up with a bloody nose,

There’s an empty suitcase talking up space in my room,

My pillows are flat,

My sheets are coming undone,

Now there is fermenting apple juice in the bottom of a plastic bag on my floor.

I’ve grown so familiar with the smell,

I leave everything how it is.

Because it’s 2:26 am and I’m crying.

None of that will be solved now.

My charger is dead.

My headphones are dying.

My phone is at 18%.

I don’t care anymore.

At least I found my once lost headphones. Even that I barely got right.

I didn’t do any of my homework or clean my room nearly at all.

Can’t even take care of my basic self.

My face is fat and ugly.

I can’t stop being tired.

And now I’m expected to see family and go to church tomorrow?

I hope we don’t.

I hope my brothers sickness lets us just stay home. Not worry about judgement from family. Not worry about Easter. Just be. Please. Just be.

Lord, I think you would forgive us if we just- were. For a day. I know it’s Easter Sunday.

But isn’t this what you died for?

For us to- forgive each other. Lift each other up. Give each other time, space, love, moments to cherish, be together and breathe.

Please.

I need that from my family more than going to church.

My hairs getting long but I’m kind of a fan.

I dream of painful tattoos decorating and scarring my body.

The lines I create are therapeutic in that way.

I stare at my red scars in the mirror.

My shoulder and thighs.

I admire them. I want more but don’t want to ruin their symmetrical, abstract perfection.

Hitting myself is easier than taking action.

Hitting myself is easier than processing.

Hitting myself is easier than receiving love.

Slap. Punch. Slam. Slam. Slam.

I wish I could knock myself unconscious instead of just creating bruises.

I can’t do this.

The anxiety grows to an unbearable point.

Please leave.

Please stay.

Please let me beat myself to a pulp until the cops finally find out.

And rip me from myself.

[herscratchedscribbles]

Closure

I still sit here wondering and reflecting, looking back over the course of the last year in an effort to reconcile where it all went wrong. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness for the little girl I could see in myself; how I operate through introspection to unfold the heartache and the hurt, as if finding the first loose string would help me explain why it all unravelled. That somehow this would be the closure I needed, if I could just find the answers. 

But closure had already come, I just have kept wedging my foot in the door, trying to slip my fingers in the cracks, not afraid if they get pinched or broken. An actual memory from my past, so vivid, in an effort to make someone just look at me and see me. Always at a cost to myself. Closure happened when my requests were met with disgruntled responses, that only come from emotionally unavailable humans, where my basic needs were made to feel like they were too much, big asks, instead of the crumbs that we leave behind that pigeons would peck at. This was a lesson I had learned already, it was hard to have to learn it twice, that people can come into your life and use your resources, time, energy, and space and leave when it no longer suits them. 

It had been time to let go, if anything it should have never started. But instead of slowly loosening my grip on the rope that was rubbing my skin raw, the rope that felt like a noose. I held on, surprised when just like in a game of tug of war when the other person abruptly let's go, you always end up, laid out, flat on the ground. It got to that point, forceful disengagement. 

I can look back and think of every memory shared and created, of every hung back moment to talk, of every phone call on a drive home, or every time they said, "I wish you were here, I always wonder what it would feel like if you were." Every promise that was uttered, now broken. I can still hear their voice, saying "I wish I'd met you sooner, the universe is cruel." I can still recall being told, "I gravitate towards you." I could revisit every text, call, or conversation and hold on to what I thought was sacred. But the reality is, after all of that, we are strangers again. 

So, healing will be hard, but it will come. I cannot understand the ending, but I don't think I am supposed to. It may never make sense to me, and that's okay. I do not need to chase down the snake that bit me, left me for dead with poison seeping in and instead of trying to mend and heal, I went to find out "why" and prove to them that I didn't deserve it.  How crazy that this is what I have always done, to over explain myself, for someone else's failure to recognize their part and take accountability - that is a trauma response, I can name it now.  Some people are committed to misunderstanding me, despite their desire to be understood without communicating.  To ask someone for something, you must be able to deliver that same ask but they ask for more than they give, those are not my people. This is not my person. I knew where I stood, hope blurred that line. And while they wrapped up all my successes, opportunities, and options in their web, under their hand, it feels like losing more than just a friend, it feels like the collapse of who I thought I was creating. It is just the death of the version I was, death of the ego. Resurrection will come, unattached to anyone else's name, and at the end of it all, I will realize I did this with strength, will, determination, and ultimately, grace, all the while passing this on to my future that was growing inside of me. 

[kyrodo]

I deal with significantly less selective bullshit than I used to. Ever use wordplay for anything other than manipulating and gaslighting people?

i used to use it to communicate negative emotions and thoughts. I would think up a negative or painful word to express what I'm feeling, find edgy art, or I'll just straight up retweet a post if I can't find furry artwork with it, that is not gaslighting. That is a direct reflection of emotion. Or I would retell recent events in my favorites cause that was my obsession at the time and perhaps still so. And then find random art to bury it so stalkers aren't finding it right away. That used to be my stupid form of leaking emotions into the public space. On the other hand what the fuck were you doing?

My inner thoughts leak like an open wound when I am stressed I just don't bother to obfuscate it anymore. That's the difference between now and then. I don't care what you think or feel about me because that ship has already sailed so I'm free. I'm free to be as literal or figurative as I want to be. I'm free to monologue as much as I want even when it's excessive, because it doesn't fucking matter who's reading it anymore.

I like it better when you're not there to respond and twist everything beyond recognition. When you're not there pretending like you actually gave a shit, excited about things that were never going to happen, because you wouldn't drop the mask for half a second and actually give it a chance.

Boundaries, relationship status, what I can say, what I can't, what I have to let go, so much of that could have been padded out with time, communication, peer pressure whatever the fuck needed to happen. It seemed so simple in my head. But I'm the only one that understood that.

It wasn't a great time for me and I used you to cope with it like a wet rag. But I would have gotten better later. And your role would have changed even if just as a friend or an acquaintance. I would've eventually stopped being codependent on you. And things would have died more peacefully. Feelings and such time fixes those things sooner than you think. If I didn't need to be there for us to recover there were better ways for that to happen too. If me lurking was an issue, you just had to give me time or have everyone block me. I was persistent but not that persistent. Or at least you should have tried it first so I couldn't make that excuse. Instead I was provoked beckoned encouraged manipulated so your friends could have fun and traumatize for no other reason than spite. And that shit hurts and that shit lasts and it still hurts. And I'm still stuck here asking myself why. Why did I deserve this? Why can't people talk to each other instead of half ass everything they try to get across, be reasonable, act reasonable, resolve conflicts instead of actively and excessively make them worse? I'm sure I seemed overly tenacious, but the fact that you plainly didn't even fucking try is still there. The whole taking a hint thing kinda went out the window when we just completely gave up on human language.

I'm used to Omi's group, I'm not used to yours, and yours is underdeveloped as fuck. Either that or the personality of it is complete ass. I know for a fact we wouldn't do that shit to someone. Does Omi Lucas Belle or Kay seem the type? Didn't think so. Nope it's just fucking you. Guess you can't approach everyone the same way huh? I mean I don't share lyrics and vent imagery with them but the point still fucking stands. Why are you a fucking dick?

Do I make sense now? The man behind the curtain? Still waiting for you to. The contrast with my personality irl, to the one I show people that are dicking around with me, you gotta fucking earn that. You gotta be doing something wrong. And even then I'm blowing hot air on a keyboard not raiding your fucking apartment.

You don't know how stupid it feels to think you mean something to someone only to finally talk them and fall flat on your face like it was all a complete joke. Of course I was mad, and people are allowed to be mad at you. Being mad at someone is not a fucking crime. Showing you're mad at someone is not a crime. Making someone's life miserable directly because you're mad is. And no amount of technicalities and wordplay makes that okay.

Having someone to squeeze a pillow and obsess over, it seems I do that from time to time, you're the only that's hacked me for it. Hell you're the only one that's caused any real drama for it too. Guess you'll need to find someone else for Luke to have a manipulative power trip over. I don't know if you noticed yet but I'm not the type for that shit to work on for very long. If I didn't ground myself in enough logic back then back when I was pathetic and crushy I certainly have now. The ground beneath me is full of fucking concrete and I'm not desperate for some asshole that keeps trying to hurt me wherever they know Red can't protect me.

Bringing Red up to speed sucked but your leverage fucking died. All I had to do was give up on you. Something I really shouldn't have had a hard time with, cause you don't deserve it. You did everything in your power to kill that off.

As silly as I presented my mental playground back then I have an extremely hard time trying to figure out what mental gymnastics it took for you to make your stupid ass decisions. I like how I went from romantic bullshit to being the one telling everyone common sense is a bitch

[valas-illyn]

Update on my still untitled HDG story:

Part 1 - Awakening

When I come to, I'm lying on some kind of hospital bed. My hands are cuffed to the sides. I don't immediately remember where I was before this. How did I get here? Where is here?

The lights in here are low, but still bright enough. The now opening door reveals a comparatively blinding hallway, and a silhouetted figure composed of writhing vines. Something about the perspective seems off, but I can't make it make sense.

Someone, somewhere, in another room is scared, terrified even. Angry too. Bursting with emotions, they want to scream and sob and thrash and rage. It sounds like a lot.

I just feel tired.

The thing moves into the room, and the door slides blessedly shut.

Affini. That's the word.

Suddenly the perspective clicks into focus and the room makes sense. Affini are 10ft tall alien plants with a penchant for keeping other sapients as pets. The room is sized for them, which is why everything feels wrong. I'm tall for a human, but I'm not that tall. The bed is human-sized though, so it must be on some kind of raised platform.

My mind drifts off again, lost in visualising the technical specifications for a 5ft high hospital bed. Extra trains of thought spinning off into imagining what other situations one would even be needed, or in the comical image of a human nurse trying to wheel one about. Y'know, they're always complaining that they don't have enough space on the wards. With a 5ft high one, you could have modular bunk beds that just roll over each other. You could double the capacity of a hospital. You'd have to add teeth to each leg and an electric winder to hoist it up and down though. Maybe some kind of quick release mechanism for emergencies? You could—

"Petal?" The affini is standing over me, the voice is... soft. Not quite feminine, but maybe feminine by their standards, what do I know? Do affini even have male and female? Well, it'll do for now. Her voice is a gentle rustling rasp that I can barely believe is capable of human speech. "Petal, it's time to wake up."

I roll my head towards her. The other room is getting loud again. "I'm awake." My voice is flat, lifeless. Too deep. It sounds wrong.

She seems to shrink, like she's slumped. Relief? Despair? Maybe she's just tired too. How do you read the body language of a bush?

"Good, I am Luminara Verdis, fourth bloom. Pronouns she/her. What should I call you?"

I was right, feminine. I try to answer, but instead I just yawn. Long and deep.

"Still a little sleepy? Let's give you something to clear those sedatives out of your system." She leans over and a loop of vine extends towards my neck. A light glints off the end of a sharp, needle-like point dripping with something viscous.

Sudden and visceral. An emotion floods through me, but I couldn't put a name to it. I yell "No!" far louder than I intended as I throw myself away from her, straining against my bonds. I realise my legs are bound too.

The bed wobbles and she holds it steady with a vine, preventing me from tipping it over in my... panic? Panic. That's what it is. Somewhere deep inside, a part of me sees the absurdly tall bed again and wants to chuckle. Another part of me notes the axis of the tilt and the centre of gravity, and mentally confirms the platform hypothesis.

"Okay, it's okay, petal. Calm down." She makes a show of taking the needle away, but I keep my eyes on her face, not her—hand? Vine? My breathing is ragged now. My ribcage feels like it's shuddering. I try to force myself to take deep breaths.

"No needles." My voice is as shaky as the rest of me, but I say it with some force. I would be pleased by that if only I knew why I seemed to be so upset.

I settle back into the bed and try to rub my face with my hand, only I can't because it's still cuffed to the bedframe.

"No needle." She agrees. Her voice is full of pity, sorrow. She's making an effort to be gentle with me, I can tell that much.

A voice in the back of my mind whispers "needle. Singular. No promises past now." I tell it to be quiet.

"I—I'm awake now." My voice is steadier now, my body more controlled. The panic has faded, gone off to that other room. I can ignore it now.

"I can see that. I'm so sorry for startling you, petal, but I promise you I'm here to help. What's your name?"

"I'm— I—" my voice falters as my mind scrabbles for answers. "I don't know. I can't remember, there—there was more than one I think?" I know I should be frightened, or concerned by this. But I'm not. I don't have the energy for it now the adrenaline has worn off. Instead, I'm just... a bit perplexed.

If I could read plant faces... I'm assuming she is showing the concern that I'm not feeling. I had best stop that before it becomes something, like another needle. "I-it'll come back to me, it always does. I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

She shows me a smile and says, "Luminara. Lumi, if you like."

I smile back and tug at my restraint again. I really want to rub my face, and it's bothering me that I can't. "Why am I chained to the bed?" I try to hide the frustration from my voice, transmuting it into concern instead.

"It's for your own safety, flower. Do you remember what happened?"

I raise an eyebrow at her.

"I guess not," she chuckles. "You were in an accident before we rescued you. You were badly hurt and terribly confused, and you kept trying to attack the vets. They didn't know if you would still be violent when you woke up."

That makes sense. I have brief flashes of pseudo-memory; fear, anger, terrible, terrible pain. I don't think it was an accident though. It feels like it was going on for a long time...

My body shivers, and I shake the memories from my head. I'm still tugging on the cuff gently. I'm not sure I can stop. The feel of it is keeping me calm.

"I don't think I want to remember... Could you untie me, please? I just need to rub my eyes.

__________________________

Part 2 - Rescue.

The ship was found drifting at the edge of a red dwarf system. an old medical transport and, according to the report, woefully outdated even by the standards of the feralists. The ship's computer system was fried long before the rescue ship arrived and large portions of the database were badly corrupted. Some parts even physically destroyed. I'm told It will take time to rebuild the entire database, and with the near total absence of written documentation that leaves us for now with very little idea of who our adorable new florets even are.

The medical transport appears to have suffered catastrophic computer failure and been left dead in space, unable to avoid several impact events. There were 7 humans on board still alive, and several more who were killed by whatever happened there.

My human seems to be a young adult male with some primitive augments, integrated military hardware it seems. This one was still conscious when the rescuers arrived, conscious and delerious. Cold, hunger, and malfunctioning implants had left them insensible and violent, they had to be heavily sedated before the rescuers could bring thim in.

It most of a week for the vet Sjahi worked to repair all the damage, but even so they woke up several times and tried to attack her. She haf to cuff the feral human to the bed to prevent them from harming themself and undoing all her hard work, poor petal, but even Sjahi said the look in its eyes was only an animal terror, nothing malicious or even deliberate.

That is how my floret looks the first time I see them in person. Pale, still yellow in places from old bruising, hair patchy and just starting to grow out. The few patches of bare metal or chrome ports showing what remained of their implants. Laying there asleep in only a medical gown, arms and legs bound to the bed by thick cuffs. I know instantly that we will love each other, mistress and floret.

A medical screen informs me my floret is still sleeping, though coming around slowly. I stand with Sjahi in an adjacent observation room as she gives me the medical report.

"... unusually tall for a human, so keep things back from the edge of the counter. Badly malnourished, I've sent you some dietary recommends to fix that. There was extensive physical damage including multiple fractures and two broken bones, all of which is fixed now along with the frostbite damage to the extremities. There was some damage to the nervous system too but nothing major, just some fried nerve endings from the implants overloading. I removed most of them, they were military tech anyway. Rudimentary but advanced by terrain standards."

"Most of the implants?"

"yes, there's a basic terrain net interface and a replacement ear still, and one arm is synthetic from the elbow down. I have repaired them all and made sure they're compatible with our systems."

"I see", I hope my floret wasn't too attached to their little mods. "Could the damaged augments be responsible for the violent behaviour?"

"very probably, yes. There was a complex cocktail of combat drugs being fed into the bloodstream, and at least one implant was suppressing parts of the brain. I expect they'll be much calmer now but do expect some confusion when they wake up, after such an ordeal some temporary memory loss would not be unusual either." An alert from the medical screen tells us the Terrain, my human, is coming around and Sjahi waves me through to say hello.

The waking human lays on a terrain style hospital bed atop a low table, bringing the floret up to my chest level when I sit in the accompanying chair. The bed was my idea. I hope it will be familiar and comforting. The lights in them room are still dim from the sleep cycle and their eyes are heavily lidded, barely awake.

Leaves quivering in anticipation, I step over beside them and lean down to whisper "Petal." They sigh softly but otherwise don't acknowledge me. "Petal, it's time to wake up."

Their head flops over in a disconcerting manner and they distractedly mumble "I'm awake."

Not ideal, but I persevere. I should be patient for now. "Good, I am Luminara Verdis, fourth bloom. Pronouns she/her. What should I call you?"

My poor neglected human doesn't answer, just stares blankly at my face. "Still a little sleepy? Let's give you something to clear those sedatives out of your system-"

"No!" They jerk away violently, face contorting into a mask of pure terror, they throw themselves so hard I have to grab the bed to stop it toppling over. Okay then. I make a show of taking my thorn away from them.

"Okay, it's okay, petal. Calm down" I say, trying to soothe and keep the panic from my own voice but they don't break eye contact for even a moment.

The raw animal terror in my humans eyes is gone now. replaced by fear, distrust, maybe stubbornness? "No needles." Impressively demanding given the state of them quivering like a new leaf.

"no needle" this time. I can't promise to never use one...

The rest of the conversation was... Concerning. I know the vet said that memory loss was to be expected, but the reality of the situation shook me somewhat. My poor petal was so obviously distressed the whole time, but bravely putting on a mask of humour.

It was not long before they fell asleep again, worn out by the emotional exertion and sleeping naturally. Sjahi was uncertain about it, but I insisted I take my human home with me then and there. I want them to wake up somewhere more comfortable, and without the restraints.

While I wait for them to wake again I receive an update on the analysis of the unknown ship. It seems the TAS Vulcan was a feralist research vessel that went missing some decades ago, disappearing into the void shortly after the war with the compact. It seems the computer failure was a deliberate act of sabotage, by one of the "research subjects". The language used in the recovered data makes me shiver, these people were used for testing experimental weapons platforms specifically to fight the affini, and they were not all willing participants.

The patient records are still fragmentary and it will take a while longer to match them with individuals. but even there they are referred to by 5 digit numbers, not by their names. I can feel my thorns growing, expressing my rage.

My reading is interrupted by noises from the bedroom, my petal is tossing and murmuring in their sleep. I lean closer, hoping to catch some clues about their identity.

"no, it's not right. wrong story. I have to change the story."

___________________________

[heylinfanclub]

Me kickin my feet and thinking bout jack

Reasons I burnt out largely to do with the way tumblrs changed but also, self discovery. For a while Jack was my defensive bundle of ‘let out emotions of ugh and hrgh about the world, that need to destroy and disconnect’.

But now I’m becoming a more. Thoughtful bout my experiences person. Perhaps I am simply no longer a young-young adult. (More reasons to play adult jack).

But thinkin bout it I did go back, how I’d go about it.

No fancy blog decor anymore, I’d make a caard link to about/rules or somethin. Barely anyone goes to the blog page proper, and the effort felt like something that alienated people who couldn’t make the effort. I paid for my last blog set up. Paid. For a graphic designed background and basic coding. Stuff I coulda learned to do myself if I had the time and energy. But why should I feel I have to? It’s like makeup. Not for everyone. But nice and showy as a concept (Jack likes it. Jack doesn’t want his blog to be plain. But fuck em he’s just a character).

Goin back to him would be very. ‘Alright. Jack definitely audhd like me (and it’s played for laughs in the show. Some folks don’t like representational HCs bout characters who are treated poorly (usually cause they don’t wanna think of the other characters as BIGOTS but sometimes people r just bullies and don’t know why they’re bullying someone, they just Do It, especially teens). Jack definitely gender queer (also mocked in the show and makes him very jaded toward the heroes. Who, let’s not be surprised, were already sexist, and I won’t change that, cause it’s a fuckin Cowboy, a sheltered monk and a wannabe playboy. Ofc they’re fucking sexist). They can grow up but Jack will hold onto grudges. Kimiko the only Real One to him, and she still calls him a mamas boy (she’s not wrong).

The audhd lense is so much stronger than adhd alone to rationalize some of his behaviors. The startled screaming (I get scared of LEAVES FALLING IN MY PERIPHERAL VISION); the millions of hobbies but low maintenance for all but a couple of his special interests (machines, weapons, costumery); rigid moral values (not Justice, but EVIL, but he sees his evil as righteous [as in, he’s in the right to act out however he pleases], so that’s another part of the moral soup he feeds himself); HE STIMMY MY STIMMY BOY; Bad at basic socializing (intense, bad w personal space, doesn’t listen well, easily manipulated by strangers) but Talkative, Informative and Capable of Scripting (literal and metaphorical);

Ofc this means jack has a huge soup of ‘shit that’s ‘wrong’ with me’ now and wondering how much I wanna curb his internalized ableism as not to rp sadness always. Like he certainly fights himself on the mental health front, thinking he either doesn’t have problems or it’s OTHER PEOPLE WHO HAVE PROBLEMS. He’s very good at fixing up flexible workarounds for his issues as have his parents always been there to push him (past his limits or, rarely, in a way familiar to themselves (genetic audhd), that actually helps). So he doesn’t think he ‘struggles’ and shockingly, doesn’t moralize his failings (he turns them into physical health issues or just says he IS DOING IT ON PUROSE). Being Tired; Being Bored; Being Burnout. It’s all better excuses than ‘ah I have a developmental disability’.

Decidin to make him less self conscious of the albinism. Yes his parents encouraged him to dye his hair and wear contacts. But he’s the one who eventually took that to wearing Red contacts and dying his hair red too (it was already orangey at the roots by the time he was an adolescent. The white-white color was like, towhead childhood (it’s a bit of a bad beauty standard issue to assume all people with albinism are just this sheer flat white. Lots of freckly, red cheeks, reddish or brownish hair). Though the monkey fur still comes out white. Cause an albino monkey is still white).

Ofc his adult verse is my favorite so when he IS kicked out of his parents house, he DOES begin to struggle. Much like me. And I guess it was hard to write bout that MID STRUGGLES. Doubt Jack is gonna get therapy any time soon, but he does have a lot of ‘breakthroughs’ with himself. Bout how he’d prefer to do his crime. How he’d HAVE TO, without his parents dime. (Not counting all the wealth he saved up in his youth waitin for this day,,,). Gotta really budget now. His parents were already weaning him off the family bank card season 3ish.

Wanna write a couple sentences per character in the series bout how he feels bout them. But knowin me I cannot keep things short lmao.