#hes a fucking tree at this point

[b0y-artist]

Just a little snippet of an old idea. May write on it more later, I'm really proud of how this came out!

"So, Mr. And Mr. Mason, I take it?" A young woman who looked to be in her early 40's asked. She was holding a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other. She wore an old washed-out jacket with flowers printed on the back, and a pleated skirt that reached her knees. The boys could hear the click of her heels as she led them upstairs through the apartment building.

Seven involuntarily felt his face heat up, he wasn't sure what to say exactly. She thought they were married? I mean, he can't blame her. They *were* moving into an apartment together after all. To anyone else they could easily be mistaken as a couple. *Maybe.* But married???

Not that Seven would mind if–

"Oh! Uh, n-no, w-we're not– he's Fellon, and *I'm* Mason." Mono mumbled, scratching at the back of his head nervously. Seven thought it was kind of cute whenever Mono got nervous. Wait, that sounded gay. Is he gay?

It's not like Seven had *time* to explore his sexuality. When there're giant monsters that stop at nothing to kill you, who you have the hots for isn't really a top priority for most people.

But it's different now. They've grown up, and the Signal Tower doesn't exist anymore. Life was finally going back to normal. With nothing left to fear, Seven is finally able to relax. Mostly, he found himself thinking.

Thinking. That was the problem. Beforehand Seven didn't have time to stop and think, because he was always running from danger. But now, Seven has *time* to think, and lately, he's been thinking of Mono. A lot. Way more than is typically normal for a person to think of another person who they deem a friend.

He doesn't know what changed, Mono's been by his side since they were little. So why now is he having these thoughts? Thoughts that he's *way* too embarrassed to say out loud. Like how much Mono's smile may be the best thing he's ever had the pleasure of seeing. Or how those dark eyes remind him of the night sky, sparkling with millions of stars.

AH! SEE?! there he goes again! Maybe it's just stupid teenage hormones and typical infutation, but something tells him that it's not, that it's something *more.*

–And that scared the shit out of him.

[backpackingspace]

Okay so with the line "the olive tree where we first met" we have two equal hilarious options.

When penelope was sassily like oh I'll marry you if you make a living bed out of this tree right here! Cue penelope stumbling over odysseus very very carefully digging up the tree "because how else is he going to get it to itacha we can't have a wedding bed out in the open in sparta duh"

Or

2. Penelope, knowing that Helen's suitors would soon be arriving to take over her home for a while. Snuck out and went on her own wacky shenanigan filled journey where she scoped out all the major players. Odysseus caught her spying in an olive tree. And when she got back she told Helen she had dibs on the cutie from itacha.

[crazylittlejester]

i’ve yapped before about girl dad Wars but guys, guys:

Girl dad Time.

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Both my parents actually suffer from HORRID emotional dysregulation and are prone to snapping and going into rages. My sister is the same way tbh. I am now realizing this is why they are constantly baffled by the question of whether or not I am mad at them.

I don't have external meltdowns.

I could. I don't let it happen.

I keep my rage on the inside and stay pretty quiet about it. It's just as strong as theirs [physically shaking nose bleed from high blood pressure kind of bad], but like as a kid I saw how terrifying it was to be around [dad breaking dishes, mom putting our lawn chairs into walls] and I just internalized that I wasn't going to wear that anger on the outside.

So my mother genuinely cannot tell if I am just being quiet or if I am silently hearing the dial-up noises of pure rage. This has lead her to both making strong and confident statements like "You are a pacifist who would never hurt a fly U.U" but also acting like I am secretly dangerous maybe... It's because she has never seen me snap.

She knows what her temper is like [throwing chairs through walls], she knows what my father's temper is like [pick up child and toss out door], and she can tell I am being tested, but she doesn't know what happens when I snap or where that breaking point is.

Her -perhaps unhinged- solution to this, my whole life, has been to do things that should obviously enrage me or shut me down completely, like ignoring important boundaries, repeatedly, punishing me for expressing emotions or needs at all, etc... And then to constantly ask me if I am angry with her when I get too quiet [right after near directly telling me to shut up].

It has occurred to me now, they have never once seen me lose my temper, so they literally just can't tell if I am angry at them. My sister is easy, my mother fights and screams with my sister constantly, my mother understands this. My mother doesn't have any grasp of feelings or boundaries that are not screamed at her [apparently, and I fear my sister is the same way]. Her and my sister are close despite constant fucking fighting because they understand each other.

They are trying to get me to engage the same way and it is not working. I realize now that this has been hard for them.

I was so successfully taught to suppress my emotions, by being punished for any outburst, that rage quiet looks the same as any other kind of quiet from the outside. To them anyway.

I did tell her. For the record. I used my words. I did tell her very calmly that my response to rage, in order to avoid doing the things that terrified me as a child, was to simply leave [the autistic urge to GTFO]. When a situation or person causes too much of the dial-up rage noise, I simply extract myself from that situation, up to and including never speaking to a person again. I explained this calmly. I explained it calmly 100 times and I explained that I explain myself calmly as my rage response 1-5 [also pretty much every other negative emotion tbh], and I told her that what came next was me simply opting out and fucking off. I told her this. I couldn't understand why she never took me seriously, or why she never fucking understood.

I couldn't understand what made her like this.

But it's the same problem I have with everyone else multiplied by a factor of 10.

If I am explaining myself calmly, they can't understand that it's actually serious or that I am actually upset. ESPECIALLY because they read me as "female" and women "aren't that rational" so if I am not screaming and crying about something, which I never do, people assume I can't be upset and it isn't serious.

And then after having my boundaries ignored too many times despite having calmly explained how and why it's a problem [shaking inside or not]... I leave. I leave and everyone gets upset like this is unexpected behaviour, even though I told them 50 times that is how I would respond if they kept doing *the thing.*

And for neurotypical people especially, they are expecting there to be a disconnect between what someone says they need or feel and what their actually boundaries and feelings are, and they expect the latter to be demonstrated with emotions. Telling them bluntly you do not function that way somehow never helps?

My mother isn't just looking for normal yelling or a few tears to know I am serious, whether or not I do those either [I don't], she's looking for an explosion to know there's a problem at all.

Fucked if I know how she proceeds through life this way in general or if this is just her expectation of her own kids???

And I couldn't get why my mother couldn't read my emotions and didn't seem to think I have any. It's because she's testing for the rage limit to see where my 'actual' limit is instead of taking my word for it. Never the fuck mind that she could simply *not* test at my boundaries instead of letting me have them. Separate issue.

I couldn't figure out what made her *like this*

She's expecting me to throw a giant meltdown violent tantrum at people when I have 'actually' had enough. Maybe she got away with those being like 5'4" in another time, but I am the size of the average man, I do not get to have giant screaming rages, whether or not people perceive me consciously as a woman, and least of all because a lot of people -at least unconsciously- read me as 'masculine' or at least always "they guy" of the situation compared to all other women and some men [bigger stronger and more rational, more able to just absorb the damage and let it go so the less rational screaming/crying one doesn't have to be dealt with]. Even if it was in me to be willing to terrify people [usually never], there are such limited instances where it wouldn't just blow back on me. Potentially very dangerously.

I am going to be the quiet calm one. You are going to have to let me use my words, bitch.

So she kept ignoring my boundaries until I had to cut her out of my life, and she probably doesn't understand and probably thinks it feels sudden -after 36 long years of bullshit- abrupt and unfair.

But I told her hundreds of times.

I probably should have just screamed at her.

[shieldmaiden19]

The Bridgerton boys really are all hoes.

Anthony - the ‘so intense it makes him stupid’ hoe

Benedict - the ‘hoe for a good cause’

Colin - the ‘self-absorbed, dumb of ass’ hoe

[gxlden-angels]

Bro I hate fundamentalists and culturally-fundie parents they'll say shit like "spare the rod spoil the child am I right haha yea my parents used to have to beat my ass with a switch almost everyday but I sure did learn my lesson" but like??? no you didn't??? you were hit multiple times for something you very obviously did not, in fact, learn

Like studies about how harmful even lightly spanking children is aside, you're literally contradicting yourself?? Some even admitted they got worse as they got older cause they wanted to see how far they could push their parents before they got punished

And studies not aside, you're gonna get child raising advice from the same book that tells you to stone your wife if her hymen doesn't break on your wedding night instead of the decades of research we have now?? Just say you're a bad parent and move on my guy. Skill issue

[habibisagi]

idgaf if this is crazy to say but i'd fuck oliver if he was dressed up as santa btw. i'd sit in his lap telling him what i want for christmas in a lewd and playful way and i want him to be surprised by it for a sec and then play along too well

[universalthaumaturge]

so. chapter 5 huh.

[the-gayest-tree-you-ever-did-see]

finally caved and started reading all for the game. two chapters into the foxhole court and what kind of gay fucking shit is this! also did not know there were sports in here

[latinokaeya]

rr is so bad with timelines and ages literally would hazel not be 14 already by the time of son of neptune. am i the crazy one here

[thelostgirl21]

That moment you realize that, technically, Radovid is more of "elven blood" than Ciri herself is...

I've also noticed that Radovid would never have been Prince, much less King, if it wasn't for Falka's rebellion.

Since I didn't put all the children's names in the family tree (only those that inherited the throne), basically, what happened is that Radovid III and Vizimir I were brothers, and Radovid III inherited the throne after their father, Radovid II, was lost at sea.

When Radovid III died of meningitis at age 49, his son, Vridank, became King.

King Vridank had a daughter, named Falka, with Beatrix of Kovir, but divorced her when he fell in love with Cerro, and sent her and their daughter back to Kovir.

King Vridank and Cerro then had two sons together:

- Prince Heltmult, and

- Prince Denhard.

They also adopted Riannon, the daughter of Lara Dorren and Cregennan of Lod (Ciri's ancestors).

So, normally, after King Vridank's death, Prince Heltmult or Prince Denhard should have inherited the throne (depending on which one was the eldest).

But Falka murdered her father, Queen Cerro, and the two princes during her rebellion, and caused Riannon to go mad (plus, she was already married to the King of Temeria at the time).

So, the still living uncle of King Vridank, Vizimir I, inherited the throne from his nephew at age 52, and went on to rule until he was 96!

And King Vizimir I is the ruler that Vizimir II and Radovid V both descend from.

Then, there's also the whole story with their father, King Heribert, having chosen to marry a noblewoman against his father's wishes, with the clerk having documented the union as a morganatic marriage.

So technically, had that note on the marriage documents been respected, Prince Vizimir II and Prince Radovid V should never have been allowed to inherit the throne...

But their mother apparently did something to that note to make it look like it was just some scribble on an old dusty document or something...

I don't know if either princes were ever told of it, though.

Could you imagine Radovid finding out, and showing up with the documents proving that his father and mother's morganatic marriage was meant to prevent any child of hers from inheriting anything from their father and going "Sorry! According to this I can't be king! Bye everyone! I'm out!"

[nostalgia-tblr]

There's a certain kind of Loki fic where the premise of the story is that this man is physically repulsive or at least so weird looking that nobody would see him as attractive:

His weedy little body is but skin and bone, he can barely lift a leaf without using his (really amazing but also NOT impressive) magic powers:

Sorry I had to stop for a moment to recover my wits, he's just so ugly. Even looking at him this much is making me want to throw up :(

Yet I am, as true fan of Art, willing to suspend my disbelief in this Everyone Has Terrible Eyesight AU. I am willing to pretend that I think poor little Loki would snap in a strong breeze.

Oh yeah also he has never trained to fight anyone. He'd probably cut himself if he used a sharp knife at the dinner table.

But it is difficult and sometimes it is too difficult and then I have to make tumblr posts like this one, to vent my inner bitchiness into the atmosphere so it doesn't build up to deadly levels then I click the tab closed and move on and never say a word about it to anyone, like a good girl.

[zoebelladona]

PIA ZOEBELLADONA YOU ARE SO RIGHT !!!! the thaluke goggles NEED to be on. personally, i think it is entirely possible that luke knew about the fleece bc he had researched it priorly to attempt to save thalia from the fate she had been subjected to by zeus. the luke goes on a quest for the fleece is too real of a possibility if you ask me 😵‍💫

in canon i cannot decide if luke knew or not that the fleece could bring thalia back. if he didn't i see it this way: luke poisons thalia's tree so chb is given a quest to get the golden fleece so he can get the golden fleece and revive kronos, he always planned to let the questers take the fleece back after he was done with it because he wouldn't have let thalia's tree die that was never his objective, he did not want to kill thalia. if he did it's like you said: he poisons thalia's tree in a bit of a desperate attempt to find a magical object that, after doing some research, he realises can not only revive kronos but bring thalia back. did he blindly believe she would side with him? probably. but the point stays the same: luke did not plan to let thalia die, if she came back it was a bonus, he could not let thalia die.

which leads to my "luke goes on the fleece quest" fic. it's an au where luke does not join kronos and in a desperate attempt to free thalia from her fate he poisons her tree to be given a quest for the one object that could save her ✨️

[flowercrowngods]

and today in sometimes i write shit that fucks me up for weeks: time travel au steve & trees

Steve gets up. Goes into his room — not his room at all, it’s not his home, it’s not his — knowing Hopper won’t follow him, locks the door knowing El will unlock it if she needs him, and crawls under the blanket. He doesn’t cry, just curls up and lies there in numb misery of feeling too much, thinking too much, knowing too much, and not having the right words to express anything.

The air under the blanket gets too warm to really be comfortable, but he doesn’t want to move. He’s turned into a tree again, as El would put it. Another pang of guilt and misery runs through him, because he doesn’t want to be fucked up like that, fucked up enough for a child to call him a tree because he loses his reality a lot; but then the thought of being a tree almost feels so relieving it makes him want to cry.

Because trees don’t think about their friends dying. Killed. Murdered. By forces greater than this world’s imagination. Trees don’t watch the blood seeping from them over and over again until they lose their minds and go into shock that this world doesn’t support, instead tugging him back and forth until all there is is nothingness, because there is no time to think or feel or process, and once there is time, there is too much to even start. And no one to talk to about it. No one to listen.

If he could turn into a tree and never have a single thought again, he would without hesitation.

But he can’t, so he thinks, and the thinks until he falls asleep and the thoughts turn into memories morphed with fears until it’s Steve who kills them. Steve who fails. And Steve who does it over and over again. In the Upside Down, in Eddie’s trailer, at school, in Mike’s basement.

It’s Steve. Like it was Billy.

[…]

Walking on legs that haven’t quite accommodated to being upright yet, stiff and heavy in the dark of night, Steve makes his way through the forest, tumbling and stumbling, but never enough to make him stop. He’s heaving breaths now, willing the cold air into his lungs to stop everything from feeling so wrong, to break through the haze and the fog and the cotton, to pierce his insides with little pinpricks of ice as December is fast approaching. It only serves to make him more dizzy, his head spinning, glowing spots of black and white appearing in his field of vision until he leans against a tree, catching his breath and holding it.

Holding onto it with whimpers and wheezes and pathetic little groans that make him want to scream. He punches the tree, his hand numb with pain upon impact, his knuckles stiff and scraped up; bloody, even in the pitch black darkness.

Bloody. His hands are always bloody. It stains them, has seeped into his skin, like a reverse tattoo that only he can see. This, though… This is real. It’s his blood.

And so he punches again. And again, until his breath has evened out, and the pain has moved from his arm and his side over to his hand. Over to something real.

He flexes his fingers and watches them, can barely make out their shape, and focuses on the pull of his skin, the scrapes making it feel too tight — but in a real way. In a way that… he’s not going crazy. It’s real. It’s all real. And it’s burning, sizzling along with all of that anger, the grief, the confusion, the complete and utter fucking lostness. The loneliness.

Steve punches the tree one more time, then turns around to put more distance between him and familiar walls and stale air and worried glances so heavy they slowly scrape away the scar tissue growing over all those rawest of feelings.

He walks and walks without direction or destination, simply placing one foot in front of the other as his racing heart calms down and he is overcome with an absolute, all-consuming kind of exhaustion that makes him sway the very second he stops. His eyes are getting heavy, like his body is slowly coming to the realisation that his beside clock said 3:38 a.m. and that he hasn’t slept through the night for some days now, or maybe weeks, always awoken by nightmares — on days that he even dared to fall asleep.

No one should have to feel this kind of exhaustion, Steve thinks. Even after the Russians, after torture and fighting and more torture, followed by running and more running and almost dying in a car crash and then in a fire… Even after all that, he wasn’t as exhausted as he feels right now.

Probably because back then, he had Robin. Robin who would hold his hand, Robin who would share a glance with him and resuscitate everything that died inside of him with just one brave little smile.

God, she was so brave.

Steve leans against a tree, closing his eyes for just one second as he pictures Robin — alive and smiling and determined. Robin, in the passenger seat of his car at ass o’clock in the morning, grumpy and tired, leaning in to give him a hug hello and a hug goodbye. Robin, who would roll her eyes at his antics, his insecurities and his worries — Robin, who would explain hours later, her hand in his, that he had no reason to doubt or worry. That he was fine. That he was perfect. That everything else would slot into place soon and be perfect for him, too. Payback, she’d called it.

Payback, he thinks now as he heaves another breath, willing it through his constricted throat, and just barely keeping himself from screaming. Payback, because he failed. Payback, because he watched her die and nothing, nothing good will ever come out of that.

As much as he will try to save her, she will always have died. As much as he can try to keep her safe this time around, he will always have failed her.

That’s nothing he can take back. Ever. Nothing he can fix. Nothing he can make un-happen.

It’s the cruellest constant.

One that won’t leave him alone. One that won’t let him sleep at night, one that won’t leave his head even for a minute, flooding his consciousness with memories of blood and failure, weighing down his conscience until he can’t fucking breathe, and—

A sob escapes his throat even as he stumbles forward, continuing on his nonexistent path that feels a lot like running, fleeing from this new life, as though he could magically make his way back to the old one. Because they have died. They’re dead. He watched them. This new world won’t fix that. Won’t fix him. And he doesn’t deserve fixing anyway.

So he runs.

[nervousdemeanor7]

crossing my fingers that when Nora said "TSC is a love story" she is talking about Jean falling in love with life.

[s2pdoktopus]

Totally normal 10 year old mindset