#i am fucking around instead of doing a work thing :)
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We "radicalize," they come with their guns and put us in mass graves. You've been playing a game you've been allowed to play because we didn't actually live in a dictatorship. Well now we do!
Are you fucking stupid?
Do you think I haven't been living here? Do you think that I'm not terrified that this is going to mean an end to protections for preexisting conditions that will see my spouse dropped from his insurance and killed?
Do you think that I didn't have people taken by the pandemic?
Do you think that I haven't been beaten and bashed for being openly queer and trying to form a community with the queer people around me?
Do you think that this, right now, overnight, is a dictatorship?
Do you think that the last twenty years HAVEN'T been a dictatorship on the border or against protesters and activists?
I am not playing fucking games I am asking you to stop lashing out at the people in the trenches with you and to instead go fucking feed somebody who is hungry.
Walk outside your home, take a bag, and pick up trash until the bag is full, then throw it away. There. That's work that somebody else doesn't have to do now. It doesn't fix things, it doesn't make you safe, it doesn't cancel your student debt or shut down title 42 or raise the minimum wage or protect abortion, but it's work that someone else doesn't have to do now, and they can do something else.
Go feed somebody. Go hand out baby wipes and clean socks and toothpaste. If you think we're living under a dictatorship do you honestly think that anything is going to get any better without us working to make it better?
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You’ll Get What’s Coming.
POTENTIAL TLOU SPOILERS!!! This is just a lil blurb about your reaction to Joels death. With all the images coming out of Pedro in season two…I’ve been mentally preparing myself and this came to mind!
Joel Miller x Fem Reader
Word count: 553
REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!
Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, Fem reader, major character death, murder, canon typical violence. Explicit language, let me know if I missed any!
I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.
Okay…So imagine you showed up with Ellie to witness Joel’s death. You’re being held down by members of Abby’s group. Thrashing around as hard as you can to get free in hopes of saving Joel.
“STOP! PLEASE STOP! LET US GO!” You plead.
“You’re gonna fucking die! Ellie screams.
“Kill me instead! Let him go!” You offer.
Abby shakes her head, having already made her choice. When Owen barges in demanding they get out of there. He worried that the rest of Jackson is going to come searching for you guys and likely kill them. They aren’t exactly wrong to worry.
“Let him go. Let him go!” Ellie begs.
--
“You’re done.” Owen growls.
“You want what I want, right?” Abby counters.
“End it. Now.” Owen concludes.
Everyone takes a tentative step away, Abby tightens her grip on the golf club, tears stream down your face as you prepare for the worst.
“Joel get up…Joel, fucking get up. Please stop! Please don’t do this…Joel, please get up!”
“Joel! Baby please you have to get up! Please let us go! Joel!”
With that Abby raises the golf club and brings it down. Successfully killing her target.
“NOOO!” Ellie cries.
“JOELLLL!” You’re sobbing at this point. “You fucking bitch! I will kill you!”
--
For reasons you will never understand, Abby let Tommy, Ellie, and you go that day. Since then, you have made it your life’s mission to track her down and kill her. Tommy was right there with you despite Maria’s protests.
“I got some intel…we might have Abby’s location.” Tommy informed you.
“Good! When do we leave?”
“First thing.” He stated.
“Are you sure you want to do this? Ellie asks.
“I’m positive. She took everything from me, and I am going to make sure she get’s hers in the end.” You said with finality.
--
Tommy’s intel had proven right. You had managed to track Abby down. The two of you had discussed your plan which was to kill everyone who was involved that day and when you found her, Tommy knew to let you pull the trigger. Joel may have been his brother, but he was your everything and he could understand that feeling.
“Ready?” Tommy asked.
“As I’ll ever be.”
The two of you made your way through the compound they’d taken over. Slowly but surely taking them out one-by-one. You were making your way down a long corridor when you heard voices, a man and a woman…you assumed it had to be Abby and Owen. They sounded frantic, trying to plan their escape from your tirade.
Tommy kicked the door in and immediately fired a shot at Owen. He dropped to the floor; Tommy made his way over to him and you stepped in behind Tommy. He was quick to fire another shot to Owen’s head.
You held your gun up in front of you, pointing it directly at Abby.
“Please! You have to understand! He killed my father. My only family!” Abby tried to gain sympathy.
“Your father was trying to kill an innocent child.” You spat.
“He was trying to save us!”
“And Joel was trying to save Ellie. Her life isn’t less significant than anyone else’s.” You explained.
“Please! He was my father!” Abby pleaded.
“And Joel was my husband.” You spoke, pulling the trigger.
#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel the last of us#joel miller fanfic#joel miller tlou#joel x reader#joel x you#joel miller au#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x you#the last of us hbo#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us fic#the last of us au#swept away fic#joel miller smut#pedro pascal#tlou fanfiction#fanfiction#joel miller one shot#pedro pascal fanfiction#the last of us#joelyyyy#tlou#joel tlou#joel x y/n#pedro pascal characters
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the txt members as brainrot
(fuck @/always4gowon u trump supporting bitch i hope u and you mama fall down the fucking stairs, poorly educated prolly a casserole eater (white person) fuck. u dont understand how politics works and u should not have an opinion. i wouldnt be surprised if ur IQ was under 70 because ur dumbass self brings religion into politics but the thing is u believe in a religion that has more sexual abusers and pedophiles than normal, well educated, independent, mentally stable people thats js crazy imo!! hope u get mental help cause something aint right in ur brain, you think slower than the average person and i wouldnt be shocked if u was a white female who lives in Delaware. fuck your racist ass and fuck ur mama for raising you like that)
i dont fuck with the trump supporting individuals, this post WAS but is not inspired by anyone that i know of. idgaf if u “made” this trend or wtv, until u show and tell me you political beliefs and views this post is my idea idgaf
thank u for reading that and i dont give 2 shits if u agree or not, as a woc i have the right to say this idea is mine until you show that ur beliefs are the same as mine. im not giving any credit to a fucker who wants abortion gone, immigrants gone, groceries higher and who brings up religion when we are discussing something that could genuinely affect more than 3 billion lives
doing the txt members cause i didnt script a friend group in my txt dr, and no i do not affiliate myself with that weirdass ho. lets continue on though
YEONJUN | 연준
fein, lunchly, thats what they called me in highschool
“fein fein fein fein” how about u start feining for a job!!!! IM TIRED OF HEARING FEIN
“5 minutes before we go on stage” “fein fein fein fein fein fein feinnn ohhh yeah fein fein” i have unwillingly picked up this habit
“did u guys see that four legged beast over there” “thats what they called me in highschool”
i cant say Shit around rhis man without him saying “thats what they called me in highschool” YOU ARE 25 YEARS OLD.
“i like my cheese drippy bruh” how about i slap u into next week u poorly educated bafoon
SOOBIN | 수빈
gap gap wap wap, 𝓲𝓶 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 𝓿𝓻𝓸, sigma/beta/alpha
2 am at the dorm, the sounds u will hear is
loud clicking noises (beomgyu playing games)
‘hmmm’ every 5 seconds (yeonjun deciding on what clothes to buy)
laughing and giggling (tyunning watching a tiktok together)
and soobin saying “gap gap wap wap” for the 289th time that day (KEEP IN MIND THAT ITS TWO AM.)
“𝓲𝓶 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 𝓿𝓻𝓸” ur born in 2000 and im born in 2002 if we think harder about this i have the right to sue u
instead of u saying “𝓲𝓶 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 𝓿𝓻𝓸” to me how about u get a girlfriend and say that to her u LOSER.
“ur definitely a beta and im definitely an alpha” im employed what does this mean?
“isn’t hueningkai so sigma” uhmmmmm what
BEOMGYU | 범규
livvy dunne, baby gronk, gyat, everything.
most brainrotted of them all. hes too far gone
“oh my gyat what the skibidi!! livvy dunne got a sigma gyat and vro i just saw this edit an epik moa made of me and i look like such a mogger in it instead of a POTATO ;-; 🤫🧏 THOSE WHO KNOW💀💀 gimme mah kookey :c”
he uses any and ALL brainrot from ALL OF THE YEARS. how are u using vro and talking like ur role playing in “Adopt and Raise a Cute Baby🏠” ???
nothing he says makes sense at this point.
TAEHYUN | 태현
i forgor, perchance, paracetamol, galvanized square steel
he’s secretly brainrotted dont let his magic tricks fool u.
“hey taehyun” “wait i forgor” “HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😭😭😭😭😭😭😂😂😂😂😂”
it was a SPELLING MISTAKE. NOT ME ACTUALLY SAYING I FORGOR.
“i forgor but this might perchance be paracetamol” he MIGHT use sigma every once in a while
“paracetamol, paracetamol, perchance paracetamol”
LORDDDDD SHUTT ITTTT IVE BEEN HEARING GAP GAP WAP WAP, FEIN, GYAT, RIZZ, AND PARACETAMOL ALL DAY.
he tries to be all big, buff and mysterious but if u say perchance he bust out laughing and suddenly everyone can hear him.
he genuinely watches those galvanized square steel videos because he thinks he needs to know how to build a house for 1.982 decilion people.
“perchance this is galvanized square steel and can u get me some… i forgor oh i remember! can u get me some paracetamol?” and keep in mind, HES LAUGHING AS HES SAYING THIS ??
HUENINGKAI | hueningkai in kr
rizz, sus, BOII 🫱🫱🫱, 👌
ik u saw that clip of hueningkai saying taehyun is lizz king.
he uses rizz on a daily basis
“you have so much rizz on stage..” STOP IT.
“this is so sus.. like among us his evil laugh”
i fear he says “BOII” whenever hes playing games with yeonjun
“look at my shoes dude… 👌” you are 22 years old not 12 years old.
“should i turn to my left or right when i do this?” “ur left side looks so sus today.. ur right side has so much rizz!!!”
I ASKED YOU WHICH SIDE LOOKS BETTER NOT WHICH ONE HAS MORE RIZZ.
#fuck trump#reality shifting#shiftblr#shifting community#shifting#shifters#shifting blog#law of assumption#desired reality#loassumption#huenistar#huenistar tubatu#huenistar hates trump#trump go kys#fuck u and fuck ur ugly ass orange skin#kamala harris was a better candidate from the beginning idgaf#fuck trump supporters
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Theft in the Family...By Jason Todd Chapter 3
This chapter is a bit shorter, Exams are stressing me out xD
I have Chapter 4 done, it'll be posted once I finish chapter 5
The last week had calmed down some for Jason. He was slowly gaining control of the other gangs in Crime Alley, so now his job is mainly enforcing his rules and continuing his climb up the metaphorical food chain.
Currently he was on a rooftop overlooking the usual corner the working girls frequent.
He feels his half cape/cloak thing (Jason still doesn’t know what to call it, ok) waving gently in the breeze. It felt nice to have a moment of downtime, even if it was in the middle of the day.
Just as he was getting used to the (very rare) almost peaceful atmosphere, a child’s yelling cuts through the air.
Jason rushes off in the general direction of the sound.
He arrives just in time to see a large man slamming a kid against the wall, one hand wrapped around the kid’s throat.
Jason growls, jumping into the alley. He rips the man away, pushing himself in between the kid and his aggressor. “Leave. Him. Alone.” He draws one of the swords on his back, leveling it at the man’s chest.
Instead of scrambling back, the man stares at the sword and chuckles, pushing it away and drawing a gun. “The kid’s comin’ with me.”
“Yeah, nope. Not happenin’, jackass.” Jason draws his own gun with his other hand, this time aimed at the guy’s head. “Don’t think I only brought a sword to a gunfight. Besides, I guarantee you, I’m faster.”
Jason spares a glance behind him, and his heart nearly stops as the kid sits against the alley wall with a dazed look.
Fuck
That’s Damian.
Alright, fuck mercy. This guy is dead.
He uses the flat edge of the sword to knock the man’s gun hand wide, closing the distance between them. He uses his body to pin the man to the wall, and sheathes both weapons.
With his hands free, he wraps one around the guy’s throat (we’re gonna call him Chad now), and the other wrenches the gun from Chad’s grasp. “See? I’m faster.” Jason almost chuckles, before his tone turns dark again. “Do you know who I am?”
Chad barely manages to nod, and gasps: “Phoenix.”
“Good. Do you know what my main rule is?” Jason doesn’t even give him a chance to answer this time. “Do /not/, under /any/ circumstance, mess with kids.”
The man looks truly scared for the first time in this interaction. “I—I’m sorry! I didn’t know he was yours! He’s a Bristol kid, look at ‘em!”
“/All/ kids are under my protection. But you won’t get to make the same mistake twice.” Jason draws his gun again, aiming not at his head, but his groin. A cruel smile splits his face, not like the man can see that though.
The man whimpers, and Jason glances back at Damian again. The kid is still dazed, but he was standing and watching the scene play out.
“Get outta here, kid, I’ll catch up and make sure ya get home safe in a sec.”
Damian seemed to struggle to understand the instruction, but when he did, he stood firm. “No.”
“Kid—”
“No.” Damian scowls at him. Jason rolls his eyes, but mentally shrugs. The kid was raised by Ra’s Al Ghul, he’s seen worse.
With that, he turns his attention back to the weeping man in front of him. He debates saying something else, but decides against it. No need to draw this out any longer.
He takes a step back, and fires. The man screams, collapsing to the ground in a crumpled heap.
Jason holsters the gun (he’ll finish the man off in a second) and steps over to Damian. Kneeling down, he reaches out a hand and runs it through Damian’s hair, searching for injuries. “Y’alright, Habibi?”
“I have had worse.”
“I know, kid, but my question stands.” His glove comes away bloody when he reaches the back of the kid’s head, and Damian flinches slightly. “Alrigh’, I’ll take you home and clean you up, but you’re telling Bruce. Where even is the Old Man anyway?”
“I presume he is back at the diner, where I left him.”
Jason rolls his eyes, picking Damian up and settling him on his hip. “‘Course ya ran away. Now I’m gonna have Bats after me.”
A bark sounding through the alley snaps Jason’s attention away from his brother, and he sees Bruce and Ace running into the alley.
“God dammit, speak of the devil.” Jason mutters, eyeing the duo warily.
“Give me my son.” Bruce speaks lowly, clearly eyeing the distance between them.
Jason scoffs, “You lost him. I found him.”
The man on the ground groans, and Jason is reminded of his unfinished business. Without taking his eyes off Bruce, he fires another bullet into Chad’s skull. Bruce flinches at the gunshot.
“Give him back, before I call the cops.”
Ace growls, stalking forward. Bruce drops the leash, and the dog lunges forward.
Jason turns, making sure his body is between the snapping teeth and his brother.
Just before biting, Ace stops, his nose twitching as he sniffs the air, and his tail waves in the air. The growls turn to whines as he noses at Jason's leg. Something in Jason melts a little at the sight of his childhood dog.
“Ace!” Bruce calls, but the dog ignores him in favor of Jason.
“I think you have broken the dog,” Damian comments, and Jason pets Ace before pulling out his grapple gun.
He fires the grapple, watching Bruce’s eyes widen as he feels the familiar tug of the line hooking. Bruce lunges for him just as the gun pulls him into the air. In the short trip in the air, Bruce has pulled out his phone and is frantically talking to whoever he called.
In the same moment, Damian wraps his arms around Jason’s neck, and Jason remembers that this would be his first experience with grappling. With flying.
Jason smiles at his brother when they land on the roof, before realizing he wouldn’t be able to see it.
Jason grapples back to his apartment without saying another word.
When they enter (through the window, of course, no doors allowed), Jason sets Damian down and starts taking his gear off.
The hood and cape are first to go, followed by his masks and gauntlets. When he turns back to Damian, the kid is pouting at him.
“The hell are you pouting for, I thought ya wanted to see me?” Jason grabs the med kit from under his sink and walks over to his brother.
“I thought you would come back with me.”
Jason sighs, “We discussed this, Habibi. I can’t go back. Besides, Bruce doesn’t even know it’s me who has you. There’s gonna be a fuckin’ manhunt now.”
“He took your book,” Damian’s pouty face somehow… gets more pouty..?
“The one I gave to you?” Jason had to suppress a chuckle, but goes about cleaning the cut on Damian’s head.
“Yes.”
“What’d ya do to get him to take that from ya? He never took my books.’
“I may…or may not…have attempted to stab Drake.”
Jason scowls at him, “What did we talk about, Damian?”
“You said not to kill or maim anyone! It was just supposed to be a light stabbing…” The kid is sulking now. It’s almost cute, if Jason weren’t a little pissed at him.
His phone ringing cuts off any reply he may have had. He fishes it out of his pocket, answering it and setting it to his ear before going back to cleaning the cut on Damian’s head. “‘Sup?”
There’s silence on the other end of the line, before a faint voice comes through. “...Master Jason?”
Jason almost drops the phone in shock, and it takes him a second to remember how to use his voice. When he does speak, he’s choked up. “Hey, Alfie.”
Alfred takes a shuddering inhale before continuing. “It is good to hear your voice again, my boy. Although I do have a rather urgent reason for calling. We seem to be missing the child you delivered to us three weeks ago.”
Jason raises an eyebrow at the kid in front of him, finally putting down the gauze and medical supplies. “Are you now?”
“Yes. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you?”
“Nope, not a clue. You should probably keep better track of your birds.”
Alfred sighed, seeming to realize the bluff. “Shall I inform Master Bruce that he is taken care of?”
Jason chuckles before answering. “Nah, let him panic. It’ll do him some good. Besides, finders keepers. Kid’s mine now.”
Jason can hear a hint of a smile when Alfred speaks next. “Hm. Well, try to have him back at the Manor for Sunday crepes. You are welcome to join as well.” It’s Thursday. That gives him four days with his baby brother.
And four days to make Bruce panic, which is always a plus.
He will have to move safehouses though, he wasn’t exactly watching out for cameras on his way here.
“Will do, Alfie. I’ll drop him off Sunday morning.”
They exchange goodbyes, then Jason drops the phone on the couch.
“Wanna explain why ya ran away?”
“I wanted to see you, Akhi. I had not heard from you since you dropped me off.”
Jason sighs, sitting down and pulling Damian closer to him. “You could have asked Alfred to contact me, kid. It’s not safe for you to run around Gotham on your own.”
“I can protect myself!”
“Like you did today?”
Damian scowls, “It is not my fault he caught me off guard.”
“Dames, no matter how highly trained you are, the people here will still win the fight when they are two to four times your size. You have to stay with an adult.”
Damian just huffs in response, and Jason gives the argument up. He’ll just have to keep a better eye out from now on.
#jason todd#batfam#batman#my fics#bruce wayne#fic writing#jason todd fic#fics#and sweet jason#jason todd and damian wayne met in the league of assassins#fluff#very little angst
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cart holy fuck i am NOT NORMAL about this AT ALL. i am "surprise i wrote 3600 words in one sitting" not normal about this. i am so sorry.
Ford hears the door to his lab open and puts his face in his hands.
He doesn't have to look to know who it is -- nobody else stops by, unannounced, without so much as a knock, after all. But he also doesn't want to see Constance's face when he breaks the news to her. She's going to be devastated, and it's going to be his fault.
Not for the first time since he started working on this latest compound, Ford deeply regrets having produced the first one.
It's his own fault, he knows that. Even if he hadn't meant for all of this to happen, he has only himself to blame. Stan hadn't asked him to spend two and a half weeks obsessively formulating a topical ointment that would reduce the visibility of cellulite. He did that himself, unprompted. All because his sister had been a little upset.
But she wasn't just a little upset, was she? a traitorous little voice whispers in the back of his mind.
Stan had never cared enough about locking a door, and after so many years of sharing so little space, she had a distressing lack of concern for being seen in her underthings by her brother. Ford would complain more about that if he wasn't--
Well.
Walking in on Stan half undressed wasn't a novel occurrence, was the point, no matter how certain base functions of his physiology always wanted to treat it as such. What was novel, however, was walking in on Stan scowling at her reflection in the single full length mirror the apartment housed. And not her angry scowl, either. It had been an expression that Ford recognized, one that he knew meant Stan was upset by something but found being angry about it easier.
He didn't have to ask. He didn't even have time to offer up a performative apology for interrupting before Stan asked:
"Do my thighs look bad?"
Ford distinctly remembers the question because he'd been staring at the reflection of those thighs when she asked it. Luckily, so had Stan, so she'd missed the way he turned as red as her work blouse. She'd been standing with her back to the mirror, twisted around to get the best view of the back of her thighs. Her completely bare thighs, uniform skirt tossed haphazardly over the back of a chair and the cut of her panties horribly narrow.
"Wh-What?" Ford croaked.
"My thighs! Do they look bad?" Stan had asked again, turning away from the mirror to turn her 'upset but pretending to only be angry' scowl on him.
Ford remembers swallowing down all the things he'd wanted to say -- about how her thighs were perfect, about how much he'd always wanted to feel them, wanted to see the way they'd look and how much they would give with the divots of six fingertips pressing against them. Other things he'd thought about pressing between them--
"Since when do you care what I think of your thighs?" Ford had asked instead. "Didn't you tell me last week you'd bought shorts specifically to, ah, show them off at the roller rink?"
Stan had grabbed her lower lip between her teeth and, graciously, turned back around to look at her own reflection instead of the increasingly uncomfortable state Ford found himself in.
"....Yeah, I guess I did say that."
"Then why do you think they look bad now?"
Stan huffed, planting her hands on her hips and pushing her lower lip back out in a way that drew entirely too much attention to it.
"I didn't!" she said firmly. And then, with uncharacteristically less certainty, "I don't."
That had finally shaken Ford out of his decidedly unbrotherly attention. "Stan?"
"Ugh, it's so stupid," she said, turning away from the mirror to snatch her skirt off the chair. "Some grody spaz at work said I had cottage cheese thighs."
"What?!"
"I know, right?" Stan had laughed while yanking her skirt back up, but there wasn't any humor in it.
Ford frowned. "It's not like you to let one ignorant customer get to you like that," he said, and the silence that followed, Stan's pointless fussing with the waistband of her skirt, had been telling. "...Was it more than one customer?"
She'd shrugged, still not looking at him. "Group of 'em. All got a laugh outta it."
"Stan, I--"
And then she'd tossed her hair out of her face and flashed him the gap in her teeth. He remembers her lips forming the shape of a smile but her eyes had been shiny, the skin around her neck and ears ruddy with embarrassment.
"Eh, don't sweat it, Sixer! I'm not gonna get bent outta shape over a couple of wannabes taking potshots at the waitress."
But she had, and Ford knew she had. He knew it in the way she wore stockings to work the next day and how she chose jeans instead of her new shorts to go skating in. He also knew, with less immediate evidence but with the same certainty, that it wasn't just a shitty comment from a stupid customer at the diner that was upsetting her.
It was being on the other side of the country and still having stupid customers at a diner. It was so much of her being pressed into so little space, carved out in the margins of Ford's college experience. The Stan that still believed they would sail away from New Jersey together would have found a whole tub of cottage cheese from the cooler and upended it on those idiots.
The Constance that had been sent with him to Backupsmore was folding in on herself more and more as the days dragged by.
Ford knew he couldn't fix the second problem, the bigger one. And he also knew that creating a cosmetic to reduce the visibility of her cellulite wouldn't necessarily fix the first problem, either. But it felt like the very least he could do, to give his sister a shield. A bit of her confidence back.
To the chagrin of their mother, Stan had always been loudly and unapologetically confident in her body and the attractiveness of that body. The idea that something as ridiculous as the texture of her thighs could be unspooling that core tenant of her?
Absolutely not.
So Ford had spent the next two weeks taking every advantage of his chemistry labs and his star pupil status, studying and mixing and studying and mixing. It had been over two weeks away from his personal projects and had cut tremendously into his time to prep for the third theoretical physics elective he'd been considering. But the look on Stan's face when he'd finally handed over the unassuming little tub of ointment had been well worth every minute spent pouring over cosmetic compounds.
He wasn't surprised that it worked. After all, he never would have given it to her if it hadn't. But he was a bit surprised by how well it worked. Or at least how well Stan insisted it worked. Honestly, the back of her thighs were just as appealing as they had ever been. And when she'd grabbed him by the wrist and yanked one of his palms to land entirely too high on the back of her leg, supposedly to feel the new smoothness of her skin, Ford truly hadn't been able to feel anything beyond how warm and soft she was.
He also hadn't heard a damn thing she'd said while his hand was glued just under the curve of her buttocks, barely two fingers away from the scalloped edge of her panties. He couldn't remember what Stan said, but he absolutely remembered how stark the emerald green of her underwear had stood out against her skin.
And when Stan had beamed properly up at him, showing off the gap between her teeth and the bright, hopeful shape of her eyes, and asked if he could make more, how could he say no?
He'd missed the part about selling the stuff. He'd missed it right up until Stan turned their tiny dinette into an impressive packaging station, all pleasantly pink boxes and customized logos and flyers boldly inviting women to "MAKE A RACKET."
".....Constance this...this is a racket," Ford had protested weakly when she explained the business model -- Mary Kate and Avon if they were run in as tight of a loop as Amway.
And she had grinned at him over a mess of pink and white shredded filling paper. "Exactly! That's what makes it funny," she'd said. "But don't worry, we're gonna market it like one of those ‘well behaved women rarely make history’ kinda slogans."
"We?"
"Of course! Someone's gotta make the product," she'd said, easy as you please. And when Ford had displayed some visible sign of hesitation, she'd stuck that lower lip out at him. "Oh, c'mon, Sixer. I already got four girls at the diner who want in after I showed 'em how good your stuff was!"
And then, softer, picking at the crinkled strips of paper between her bitten down nails, "If it doesn't work out, I promise I'll drop it. But I just...wanna try something different, you know? And I can't do it without ya. Please?"
And that's when he'd realized that maybe, just maybe, he could fix the second problem. The bigger one.
How could he say no?
But that had been nearly eighteen months ago. And now, hunched over his desk with his palms pressed hard over his face, Ford knows he should have said no. Because Stan had been so good at it. She had taken that little tub of cream, gotten a veritable gaggle of women hooked on it and convinced that gaggle that they should have a flock of their own. Once all of them had gotten accustomed to beating back basic biology, it was hard for them to go back.
And then Stan started cutting product size, raising kit prices, and introducing new merchandise to keep them on the hook without forfeiting an inch of her profit margins.
But the new merchandise was carefully selected and strategically introduced. Over half of the MAKE A RACKET catalog didn't do a single thing it advertised. They were largely white label products, purchased at viciously negotiated wholesale prices, and resold with a cheerful pink logo and an exorbitant markup.
And yet, Constance Pines had a devout, cult-like following of bored, suburban women who swore they saw results with every product, and who convinced other, gullible suburban women to pay into the funnel.
Because some of the products did work. The cellulite cream had never lost popularity, and it was regularly pointed to as proof of the effectiveness of the whole bunk catalog. Alongside it, their hair thickening oil and line-reducing eye cream (which was just a smaller amount of the cellulite cream but colored pink) produced real, noticeable results. And so long as Stan had one legitimate product she could throw in for every five or six scams, the triangularly shaped market under her continued to grow.
And that was exactly the problem.
He hears Stan making her way further into the room, her shoes clicking louder than normal, like they're out to drive the nail into Ford's proverbial coffin on his behalf. He slumps further in his seat and wonders if he still has time to slink completely under his desk. Maybe he can buy himself a few more hours before he has to admit that he can't do it.
And that's the double-whammy, isn't it? It's bad enough that he's going to disappoint Stan, that he has to tell her that he doesn't have the new product he'd promised for the winter catalog -- the Christmas catalog.
But he also has to admit that he's failed.
Either oblivious to his mounting dread or simply unwilling to give him a graceful out (either is possible with Stan), he hears her come to a stop on the other side of his desk.
"So, whaddya got for me, Poindexter?"
He swallows, twice, before he can make the words come up. He doesn't lift his head. It's a coward's choice, he knows, but it's the one concession he allows himself. Without a proper hit to drive sales and pull in new "Racketeers" through the Christmas season, the likelihood of MAKE A RACKET maintaining its trajectory falls off a cliff. He's going to single handedly force his sister back into her waitressing uniform, and it's going to kill him.
"....Nothing," he says. He intends to be blunt and to the point, but he finds he's whispering to the desktop instead.
"Huh?"
"I don't...Stan, I don't have anything for you," he admits, voice and spirit meek. "I can't make it work."
Ford hears her shoes again, circling around the desk, and he manages to catch a brief, blurry glimpse of them - heels, she's wearing heels, oh god since when? - before he screws his eyes shut. And there's shifting, and he's painfully aware of the warmth of her next to him.
Even still, the hand brushing over the top of his head makes him startle.
Stan plucks off the glasses that have been jammed halfway up his forehead, setting them down with a soft click. And then her fingers come back, stroking lightly through his hair. She's been keeping her nails long lately, the tips delicately painted and questionably sharp. It takes more willpower than he cares to admit not to lean into the scratch of them against his scalp.
"That why you've been holed up down here for three days, smart guy?"
He makes a pathetic, wounded sound for being so easily called out.
Stan snorts softly next to him, and he really can't see what there is to be amused about. He can't even properly appreciate that, when she shifts, it feels like she's sitting on his desk by his elbow.
"Well, I see a whole lotta bottles down here, Ford. What's wrong with 'em?"
He sighs, opening his eyes to stare down at the desk -- and out of the corner of his eye he can, in fact, see a curved, charcoal shape that's probably Stan's slacks.
"I can get the formula to reduce fine lines, and I can get it to provide about twelve hours of pigmentation in six colorways."
Stan gives a curl on top of his head a sharp tug. "That's what I asked you for, dummy."
"But," Ford stresses, sighing. "The texture is...wrong. I can't maintain the degree of fine line reduction with a gloss texture. It keeps coming out too thin."
He feels Stan shrug beside him. "Okay? So I call it a lip oil instead. Is that really what you've been moping over?"
Ford shakes his head miserably, and this time when Stan runs her fingers and her long nails through his hair, he does lean into it.
"It...it has a..." he rubs one of his hands down his face before dropping it to the desk. "Numbing effect. On the lips. I can't get rid of it."
The hand in his hair doesn't stop stroking, but Stan does hum quietly above him, thinking. He swallows, hard, and risks glancing up at her.
He swallows again. Harder.
He wishes he had his glasses on.
The charcoal color he'd caught a glimpse of had not been a pair of the tapered, smart slacks that Stan's been wearing lately. It's a suit. It's a slim, short skirt that, sitting on his desk with her legs crossed the way she is, has ridden so far up her thigh that he swears he could make out the color of her panties if they were crossed the other way. Or if he leaned back at the right angle.
Her matching blazer is narrowly cut, exaggerating the divot between her waist and hip in a way that makes Ford desperately want to reach out and fit his hand to it. It's so narrowly cut, in fact, that Ford is temporarily struck stupid -- he does not remember Stan having such a distinctly hourglass shape around her soft midsection, but there is a very clear angle being created with her clothes.
It takes entirely too long for him to realize that there's a corset underneath the blazer. He can just barely make out the boning without his glasses. But devastatingly more distracting is the way that all of Stan's significant curves have been shifted. Stan's...bossom has certainly never been lacking by any means, but cradled in something more structured than her cheap bras and bracketed by the crisp lines of her lapels...
Ford's mouth is horrifically dry.
It is also, apparently, hanging open, because when Stan finally looks down at him, she takes her hand out of his hair and chucks the underside of his chin with a smirk.
"You're gonna catch flies, Sixer."
"I-- Sorry. You look, uhh...n-nice?"
Stan laughs at that, a round, boisterous sound that doesn't fit the sharp little suit but absolutely fits the round, boisterous shapes of her. "Really? Cause you kinda said it like you're not sure I do."
"N-No! No," he says, grabbing his glasses and shoving them back onto his face hard enough to twinge the bridge of his nose. "You look....really nice," he says, mortified by how breathless he sounds.
But he can hardly help it, not when all of Stan's soft, blurry edges have suddenly snapped into perfect clarity. The sharp lines of her suit, the tauntingly high hem of her skirt, the exaggerated shape her cleavage makes above the corset. And now, with the ability to notice the details, he can see the faint edge of her pantyline through her skirt when she shifts, and the delicate gold chain tracing the swell of her breasts where it's looped around her neck.
"Aw, thanks," she says, her tone teasing. "I'm gettin' my picture taken for the new fliers, so I figured I should zhuzh it up a bit, y'know?"
Ford doesn't but he nods anyway.
The mention of the fliers, though, remind him that he's miserable. He snaps his eyes away from the necklace and, with difficulty, past the very plum shape of her lips.
"Constance. Without this lip product--"
Her fingertip touches his mouth and Ford goes very still, unable to help glancing down towards the pointed, red tip of her nail.
"Just nod yes or no, Sixer," she says, leaning towards him in a way that makes the chain slide over her chest and pool against the crease where her breasts are tucked tightly against each other. "Since it's a lip product an' all, is it edible?"
Ford furrows his brow and tries to open his mouth to explain the nuance of that, but Stan raises a second finger and presses them both against his lips to stop him. "Just nod," she repeats.
He considers it for a moment, unsure what this has to do with anything. It certainly isn't food grade, but a lip product does have to assume a certain amount of consumption. And he's fairly confident that there's room for a few adjustments that will put them more safely in the "edible" category. So he nods.
Stan flashes the gap in her teeth at him, her smile bright and delighted, and he immediately misses the feeling of her fingers when she takes them away. "Perfect!"
"But...Constance, that doesn't address the numbing factor," he protests.
"Good! Don't change that at all, that's gonna be the selling point," she says, hopping off the desk and doing a horribly distracting little shimmy to get her skirt back down the generous shape of her thighs. His palms itch to find the skin she'd let him touch before.
"I don't understand how that won't be a turn off for potential customers," he manages to argue, briefly irritated by her nonchalance, though it’s hard to track that feeling under everything else.
Stan spins around on her heel to face him. Ford had no idea she was this adept at walking in high heels. Even if they aren't terribly tall, it's impossible for him not to notice the way they elongate her legs and make her stand just a touch higher than he's used to looking when she comes down to chat at his desk.
"You leave the messaging to me, Sixer," she tells him, reaching to straighten the edges of his sweater vest. And then, before he can prepare himself for it, she swoops down and presses a plum colored kiss to his cheek, just a hair too close to the corner of his mouth. Just close enough that he'll be able to touch the tip of his tongue to the stain later.
"I knew I could count on you!" she says when she pulls back, the clicking of her heels already taking her away from the desk, her voice laughing on its way across the lab. "Don't worry! I guarantee you there's a huge market for a lip oil that might numb your throat a lil' if you swallow it, if ya catch my drift!"
The lab is achingly quiet when Stan leaves. And Ford is left aching and quiet in return. There's a spark of relief that he has not, in fact, ruined his sister's multi-level marketing scheme. But it's hard to relax into that relief when he can still feel the slip of her lipstick against his cheek and the drag of her nails over his scalp.
Groaning, Ford puts his face in his hands and does slink underneath the desk this time.
Please, I have so much love for your fem!stan, please tell me your thoughts about fem!mulletstan, or fem!drifterstan. I once read a fanfic where Filbrick kicking out Stan was just a scare tactic, I imagine he’d have the same sentiment for a female Stan as well, but he’s too prideful to go get his little girl after it backfires and she doesn’t come back home.
Meanwhile, Stan’s determined to prove she’s just as capable as any boy after years of being undermined for being born a girl! Even so, she’s not above using her feminine wiles to sling her FDA acknowledged merchandise, after all sex sells. Eventually she soon realizes that sex does indeed sell.
OOOHH Anon, tesoro, SAPESSI! You have no idea how happy your messages makes me, because you’re enabling me to YAP about my favorite topic, that I’ve been thinking about A LOT. Thank you so much! WARNING: Stancest is ALWAYS implied/established in my musings. The following lucubrations are no exception. In general, I think fem!Stan would get punished way less harshly than his canon male counterpart. Not that she’s coddled or untouchable- Constance would get hit occasionally, if she acts way out of the line, by both parents. But, I personally don’t think kicking her out would ever be a thing- not even as a threat: Given the time period/culture, the (horrible) assumption that throwing a teen boy out would not only be a punishment, but also a formative experience of sort- to make him self-sufficient- would NEVER be expected to apply to a girl. On the contrary: Constance would be perceived as someone that could NEVER be self-sufficient. Not only because she’s the “gentle sex”, but also because she’s a weird, off-putting dunce of a girl, unlikely to get picked by a wealthy enough- or even honest man that would take care and provide for her. If we were talking about a version of this universe where the machine accident happens like in canon, Constance would receive a slap across the face, as a punishment for what she did, and a particularly heated, demeaning tirade from Filbrick, imo. Now, that said--- I have two main favorite divergences, I’ve toyed with, for fem!Stan's future:
1) A version where Constance did destroy Ford’s machine, on purpose, in a fit of anger, because she’s subconsciously trying to get kicked out: rationally, she is aware how hard and scary it would be to run away from home, and that her family would look for her. But, if they HATED her, not only they wouldn’t feel bad, they’d also take the very hard decision for her, of cutting her out. But, what happens is that- they DO act like they despise her- but still, they won’t kick her out! It’s an outcome so painful and so humiliating, it’s the final straw that makes Constance snap and run away- to basically become drifter!Stan. And, Ford’s resentment and hatred, in this version, not only comes from Stan taking away his chance to go to his ideal College, but also because she abandoned him! Off to live her indecent, dangerous life with some biker- probably- when if, had she been patient for a few years- had she truly loved him as she said- Ford would had been the one to provide for her- spoil her rotten, even. Like, this is a universe where Ford was THE only eldest son, with an implicit duty to be his sister’s protector, and if you add in he’s been in love with her, too… In the 10-years-later reunion, Ford would have this incel-like feeling of pain and humiliation- because his baby sister at his door is wearing a miniskirt, and her hair is cut so short, and it’s evident she’s not that innocent anymore. But still, as tired and battered by life as she is, Constance would still NOT be begging Ford to be her savior and mer-- and let him take care of her! [Complicated incestuous tension ensues].
Version number 2) Constance accidentally destroyed Ford’s machine, just like in canon- but doesn’t get kicked out and- since she’s a girl and Ford is more protective and softer, after some silent treatment, he forgives her. And actually, he uses what happened to his advantage, to coax Constance into following him to Backupsmore: "it’s gonna take him so much more time to become successful, now that he’s relegated to that college, meaning he and Stan would end up separated so much longer! She’d have to remain at Glass Shard Beach all alone, for ages! But.. if she followed him, she could get a job, a room apartment of her own, and… nobody would know them, over there. They could even date in secret." And, Constance would hesitate, because she dreads an unfulfilling future as her brother’s accessory, but also, she is in love with him, and she inevitably internalized part of the sexism she’s been subjected to for most of her life, so… she accepts. Even pumps herself up, gaslights herself into thinking it’s gonna be a fresh, exciting new start, away from her shitty small town. And indeed… Even if the twins enjoy the relative freedom of their romance, far from home, inevitably Constance feels unsatisfied, like she just switched the background, but she’s still working as a waitress, doing nothing she truly loves, or feels good at. That’s when I like to imagine she ends up messing it up big time, by joining an MLM or something, in attempt to find her own success lmao. AND, it’s complicated, because she does find out she is actually GOOD at selling shit to people. This is her true calling! But, the business was scummy as fuck- to an illegal degree- and she ends up arrested for the first time. And, escapes from prison for the first time. Stan is a chaotic disaster, impossible to contain, in every universe. To make it short, once again the story goes back to its tracks, and Ford and Stan separate dramatically. Now, this version actually had a VERY angsty ship-focused sub-divergent version with Fiddleford involved, and a very jealous Ford. But I don’t even know if you’d be interested in that, so I’ll stop here. ++++ I do love that part of your ask, about Stan realizing she can use her sex-appeal to her advantage... To imagine her seducing people into helping her/condoning her schemes is so fucking sexy~ I will think of a specific scenario, because damn.
#gaslight gatekeep girlboss stan got me in a fucking CHOKEHOLD#i mean YOUR BRAIN omfg#i am deeply unwell#stancest#fem!stan
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Only Fools Rush In: Meet the Boys
#i am fucking around instead of doing a work thing :)#wish i could only make these and someone else will write the story :(#don't ask me shit like their age gap and eye colour because it's literally irrelevant to the story and so you make up whatever you want#also i was going to do character cards for the side characters but there's like 2 people send help#also these character songs AHHHHH i loveeeeee#only fools rush in#ofri#malec#malec fics#my fics
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wait, that elias?
#huge shoutout to @sepezzz elias design this is very much inspired by it. go look at it#im so serious if i never draw another person manspreading in a fucking office chair it’ll be TOO SOON#anyways.#the juxtaposition truly is crazy hahaaha right people change in the weirdest of ways#i like thinking about how they both present themselves. elias understands he works at Important Academic Research Facility so he still#sooort of tries to look somewhat official. but well he also gets away with what he can#he has that vibe of Yeah i work here and im kind of important but i’m chill. i know how to chill#meanwhile that other freak is just like i am going to make this body look presentable or so help me god.#he’s the Head of the Institute he can no longer have whimsy okay. and listen it’s not because i think jonah is that boring and would#dislike piercings and funny socks or whatever. i think he’d like those. but see he needs to make this believable that elias truly has#changed okay. and also like i said he is the Head of the Institute he needs to look Super Normal And Unremarkable#anyways i think it’s funny how elias’ whole thing is that he tries to distance himself from his family image and tries really hard to Not#end up like a rich asshole. and then. well.#(looks around) So i think about this man a normal amount.#i could write like 20 thinkpieces on both of them but instead they’re gonna make me do college essays about like language and shit.#myart#the magnus archives#tma#elias bouchard#oh my god it is actually un fucking believable how much i think about him every day#if this becomes a daily elias blog yall will just have to deal
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oh pallas and agnes power dynamic you really are SO unbelievably fucked,,,,,
#haven’t been able to write in days so i am posting instead. forgive me.#it’s just so. like. okay pallas has all of the material power here that’s not a question they’ve got much stronger magic they#know how the library works they’re directly placed in a mentorship role at the beginning re agnes she depends on them#for everything.#but also#pallas is very much Not Doing Well mentally (<- understatement of the century) and is pathologically incapable of processing their own#emotions related to this AT ALL. and in the process of trying very very hard to get to Know pallas (so pallas will Like her so pallas will#want to keep her alive) agnes kind of comes to understand a lot of pallas’s issues even better than pallas does and pallas starts to depend#on her for emotional support in a way they NEVER have with anyone else.#and pallas’s ability to show vulnerability has been soooo wrecked beyond belief that to them doing things like sharing part#of their backstory and being visibily hurt around someone is tantamount to placing a knife in someone’s hand and#then circling all of their weak points with a giant red marker while going ‘HEY STAB HERE’#so in their mind by doing this they’re giving agnes an IMMENSE amount of power over them like enough to kill them dead even though very#little else has changed about their dynamic. so pallas believes that they’re standing on much more equal ground then they really are#and agnes partly believes it too she thinks that by seeing this much of how broken down pallas is she’s finally found the balance in their#relationship she’s finally found a way to make it stable. and yeah. to some extent this is true!#pallas DOES listen to agnes more than any other person agnes IS the first person in years to understand them this much pallas’s dependence#on her for their mental wellbeing DOES give her some measure of power over them. but that power is given out on pallas’s terms is the thing#whether they’re aware of that or not. agnes wouldn’t have anything if pallas didn’t actively choose to be vulnerable with her there’d be#no way she’d learn about anything no way she’d get to play this role in their life#they believe that this thing is much more equal much more sustainable than it really is (pallas especially) and they’re#literally all each other have#grabs your face are you listening THEYRE ALL EACH OTHER HAVE IN THIS PLACE THEYRE BOTH IN SUCH HORRIFIC SITUATIONS AND THEY R EATING#EACHOTGER TO SURVIVE!!!!#head in fucking hands#wip: ghost story#pallas and agnes
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yall Im so fucking tired. This month has been exhausting. I promise Im alive, just barely functional atm.
#personal#rant below#begining of the month docs said dad had less than a month. Hes still around but declining#been taking care of him and my mom#along with working full time#and my boyfriend doing his damndest to keep me busy when Im not helping with dad#which is great except Im so tired#but also I havent been able to sleep much#and I've lost my appetite which apparently is a grief thing I didn't know about#So I've managed to get all the physical grief symptoms and it is taking a fucking toll#so your girl is sleeping in tomorrow and spending the day doing my own little crafts and avoiding people as much as I can#a girl just wants some sleep and a fulfilling snack but all she is being given are slight naps and unappealing food. send help.#anyways after this experience Ive decided that I no longer give any fucks because you only live once so Im just gonna do what I want foreve#and actually live life instead of being constrained by societal standards#after all this is over of course. gotta take care of dad first#also I got to paint the door because he was sick of staring at the porch. so its a lake view now#woooo#yeah so thats my life update for you all#also I saw a girl for the first time in 9 years today who completely changed the tradgetory of my life and didn't know it. so that was fun.#exhausing but fun#also idgaf about spelling right now I am running on caffeine and pure will power atm
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ough brain is doing SO bad but sometimes. there are colors
#bakuspeech#WIP#cw: gore#the stuffed animal cartoon kind. but still#ask to tag#Im so fucking sorry I keep going like I will draw! (does not draw for three weeks#I. ngl Somethin is goin on up there. I finished writing a Thing and it doesnt solve that#I just. this is my capacitance really I think. I just gotta. accept it. work with it#its always so funny tho bc like I look at whatever it is Im drawing rn and its like hey this looks like shit! this looks ass#and then I keep drawing it.#like this piece is at Least two weeks into something thats supposed to be a pretty quick revised illus for#an old wizard leon design. and like if I werent Bit Off it wouldve stayed that way#instead. this is how its goin#I have not slept for 23 hours. I should uh. fix that#but yeah its just. my brain is wrappin itself around some new ideas n concepts n shit rn#like. I was really afraid I wouldnt be able to paint digitally if Im not on the screen tablet#and its kinda fuckin with me? like obviously I can. I am literally doing the exact same things Im doing on the screen tablet#but now on a graphic tablet#thats just. not getting thru to my brain yet. for some reason. its still generating goo n such#well! what is a guy to do. if not blastin off regardless#sorry. I really should sleep now#have a good night lads! this piece will be done when its done. I am NOT saying more I am not jinxing SHIT#u should change ur pillowcases! it really does send u to another realm
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This was originally going to be my gift for the Pale Static Exchange, but as I wrote the intro chapter (2000 words, because it's me) I realised that if I was going to throw my axe into this ring then I want to set the time aside to do it justice.
Anyway, guess what I'm writing.
#I've had my own ideas about the swap AU for a long time but there's so many wonderful interpretations out there already I was like#'does anyone REALLY need to see this done again???' but whatever. i get to do my favourite thing (fuck around with formatting)#i am still working on DUCKLINGS i actually finished the next past chapter lmao need to write the one before#and i already know what im writing for my giftee instead of this and on god it's gonna be under 10k... 20k at a push#breakthrough imminent: post of mine
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They weren't lying, this psychological recovery journey got hands
#3rd month of taking antidepressants and knowing that There Is something majorly fucked up within me#i feel like im becoming normal bit by bit but also now my other problems become my aparent to me#i started to notice i have this childlike simplistic attitude towards wonder and relationships but also at the same time i understand the#severity of troubles around me on the level of burned out adult#but also it takes me from a week to several years to realize what people meant#and yet sometimes i get everything clearly#there are still ways to go#i still have to find a therapist#cuz psych diagnosed me with BPD; geberal anxiety disorder and ADHD and said i have autism signs that could explain the development of BPD#but all he can do is medical treatment which is not the kind you need for BPD and autism#im not saying you can treat autism but yeah he meant i need a psychotherapist for these instead of psychiatrist#i hope i can complete this mental health journey bcuz i feel like i finally got hit with all the weight of burnout i had all these years#i did some creative work in the august/early september but rn its all touching grass in real world and playing games#like i cook i help my family with chores i play fortnite i clean up my room i go out at 1am to look at the stars#all of my own volition without feeling like i need to push myself to do this#I'm scared that making art is not one of those things#i often have a thought that maybe art isnt really for me and in a perfect world i wouldnt do it#but then why am i so good at it#like...#petrotalk
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Doing one of the scariest things an artist can do (draw a tree)
#i'm having like. war flashbacks. to a piece i just irrecoverably fucked up at least a year ago.#that just absolutely obliterated my confidence as an artist. like i feel like i did not recover from that for a long time#to be fair there were more complicated things going on in that one that were above my skill level i think#and that was when i was trying exclusively water colors too (which is. a choice. for a fuck around/find out artist)#but esp reffing heikala's work again like..... ah... it is taking me back. and i am so scared.#i feel like that piece is maybe two years old actually.#either way it was an incredibly significant deceptively personal piece and this one. is also very much that in a way.#it is going to be extremely devastating if i fuck this up.#to my credit. i do feel like i've grown a lot as an artist since then. a lot of things feel more.. doable?#like instead of being above my skill level it feels more like a challenge.#like i'm also gonna have to do some funky lighting in this piece too... it'll be interesting to see how i can do that#w how i've gotten used to using v specific pencils in a v specific way. it does feel doable. just challenging#mostly i'm just scared of trees.
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I can’t even imagine living without anxiety. Like. How. What?
#I mean if I woke up tomorrow with a normal amount of anxiety it would be a shocking difference to my daily life. and I am medicated!!! like.#what? am I missing something here?#my mom tells me that meds can only do so much and that they’re really just meant to make it so you can get out of bed every day#but now I’m wondering like is that true or is that my mom is on the wrong dose herself and something could be done to help us both#gahhhhh idk I just feel helpless bc I’m scared of making big changes and the big changes have to make are scary and large and I need a#bulleted list made of things I can do (and break down into very small steps) to actually progress in a positive way in my life instead of#being SO afraid and SO stagnant. it’s been six months since (ptsd diagnosis causing thing) and I don’t feel like I’ve made any progress even#with a therapist. I’m working towards a more intensive program but I feel like it’s almost making me feel more alienated bc I’d have to like#go be surrounded by other mentally ill people and medical people which brings dad dying trauma and like I know I’m running from it bc I’m#afraid to face the changes I need to make and the feelings that are going to come up but fuck man can’t I get some fucking meds that make#this easier to deal with!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! grief and ptsd and long term isolation and anxiety and chronic pain like fuck it’s#so exhausting!!!! I feel like I’m fucking fighting thru life and then from the outside it’s like I’m doing nothing cause I stay in my room#and get stoned and play animal crossing and watch tv and cry and over eat and sometimes I drive around in circles so I can scream sing until#my throat burns and I get a headache and everything finally quiets down in my head for a second. I know I look like I’m doing nothing and#that’s because I am doing nothing but waiting for the next time a mental health professional will talk to me for an hour like it’s so sad#anyways. you ever take a big dab and then start crying and type all of this like it’s an epiphany even tho it’s things you already know.#honestly crying in front of the air conditioner is so slay slight breeze over my face cooling the tears the white noise calming me down
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kind of frustrating that people took "fat does not equal unhealthy" to mean "fat is not unhealthy." sometimes being obese IS unhealthy & excess fat can cause a lot of problems. ignoring health issues isn't progressive. real "oranges kill people with depression" moment
#i have a lot to say but i think it all boils down to this:#the only reason people think this way is because they experienced body shaming & bullying for their fatness#& instead of gaining a healthy relationship with their body & its needs they went full denial mode#people that aren't fat that think this way are just going with things uncritically which is also bad btw#because when you have decades of proof that being severely overweight can be detrimental to your health#(& no i don't mean fucking. supersize me. i mean medical proof that too much fat causes diseases & early death)#but you're ignoring that because a tiktok influencer that has no medical experience said so#that is a huge lack of critical thinking skills on display & people are gonna listen to that misinformation & some might die#this isn't some light shit that can be waved off as non-harmful because it IS harmful! it is actively hurting people!!#again being unhealthy isn't a moral failing & no one deserves shit for that!! but that's the whole damn point isn't it!!!#militant fat activists are so afraid of their fatness being associated with anything negative they turn right around into ableism#they don't WANT to be considered disabled! because being disabled IS a moral failing to them. disability is abnormal#& of course being morbidly obese is totally normal. because if it wasn't then they'd need to do work & handle an ED#& that's too much to grapple with mentally so. no. they're normal. super normal. don't look at the lifespan of someone over 300lb#btw i am 100% aware that a lot of this is combined with other issues like racism sexism homo/transphobia genuine fatphobia#but also sometimes they really can't operate on someone that can't recover afterwards#like i wouldn't call the vet bigoted & cat-hating for being unable to operate on my 20yo cat#Minnie would simply not survive that. because she is so damn old#unfortunately for Minnie she can't get younger but people CAN lose weight in multiple different ways#& it may seem like the world is attacking you but you really have to train yourself out of automatic bad faith reactions#''you couldn't possibly understand!!'' yeah okay i'm sooo abled & privileged you got me there (<-sarcasm. if you couldn't tell)#just because someone hasn't experienced your EXACT thing doesn't mean they can't relate & haven't gone through similar#it's so difficult to train your brain out of that shit i get that but you really really really have to. or you will die#or at least be miserable#DISCLAIMER: i'm not talking about every person who has even a little fat on their body. fat is NEEDED#but like all things too much of a good thing can cause problems & fat is not exempt#this is about morbid obesity. not someone who's like 160lb that shit is normal#& people need to stop thinking anything over 110lb is fat#because it isn't & i think most people are getting into unhealthy territory at that low of a weight#basically i view being too fat the same as being too thin. they both cause health problems & should be taken seriously
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very very personal, just insight into where im at w my family and things that bother me/have encouraged me to move out
"i know youre moving out so im just gonna say no ones kicking you out and if you feel like this is something you have to do then ok"
thanks! i know im not being kicked out! but yknow i kinda yet a weird vibe when your out of touch husband takes me to a cemetery to yell at me, tell me im just like my father/dont give my father "the time of day", and that im "mean to people who care about me" in front of his dead mother's grave in a poor attempt at guilting me out of speaking my mind. but no yeah thanks for stating the fucking obvious that im leaving on my own terms
#problems!#people seem to underestimate how quick i am to make moves#the job market is piss. cant believe yall two would blame me for being unemployed when all i do from rise to slumber is hound ppl for jobs#im not going to stay in a house where i will be 'scared straight'. that shit doesnt work on me. in fact it has the opposite effect#i respect yall even LESS now#and youre so so fucking lucky one of my goals for next year is to make things right with you it would be easy to cut you off forever#same way i did with my abusive transphobic dad.#my mom is someone i know can do better and can actually listen to reason instead of being stuck in her generation's mentality of#'x is easy if you just do y. you kids have it so easy the world is at your fingertips' blah blah fucking blah#i am autistic i do not keep jobs easily. i am trans jobs do not want me. i am black and perceived as a woman. every customer at all of my#past jobs thinks i am rude or mean or have an attitude when i do nothing but treat others the exact way i would want to be treated#customers dont like what i say? i stop talking. customers dont like when i dont talk? i talk to them. rinse repeat#like i know im the problem here but all of my problems circle back to my autism and the fact that because im not a supergenius or#someone whose special interest is capitalism i fail at every avenue i try to jam myself in.#but yeah no i need to work harder i need to be taken to a FUCKING CEMETERY and yelled at by YOUR HUSBAND for wanting to go to the bathroom#in front of his mothers grave. god rest her soul and yall know im no christian so i actually mean that shit#because in his mind all i want to do is smoke and party. when i smoke because i have fucking migraines and g to shows#(two out of three of them being free and for the purpose of their willingness to 'get me out of the house')#bc i like music and i like engaging w my scene. but no its all violent noise theres no actual purpose or activism behind moshing. nope#its just one big party right. im just wasting my time right. because i like sleepin on a couch every night with no doors to close. yep ok#anyway heres to me getting my meds getting the fuck out and being somewhat far from my scene now that im moving#hows that for smoking and partying all the time huh?#if any of yall read this i am so so sorry. bitching about my stepdad will become a thing i think#hes one of those bible thumpers that are totally boring and indifferent to differences around them and thinks my mom is just like him#in some ways? she is. but she is a people pleaser and will never take her wants or her feelings seriously#because she had the unfortunate upbringing in being brainwashed into thinking her feelings/wants are sinful#shoutout to my christian or catholic mutuals who are fucking normal and dont let some old fantasy novel control your life. peace#religion mention
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