#i can’t exist without someone trying to sell me something

[kavehayati]

Man I just give up.

[hearts4mica]

I can’t fix you

Yandere Batfam! x Neglected Reader

Masterlist

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“How can a person lose their self control?”

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Request!: Hello friend! May I request neglected reader x batman except they break and become the next Joker?

Let's say that Jason killed the original, but given the neglect and outright hatred put onto reader (you can expand on this however you wish!), they run away from the manor without anyone noticing it.

They stumble upon an old warehouse where he stored the Joker toxin, except this version of it was meant to be used on Halloween (as another statement from Joker) and was so incredibly strong that, combined with all of that anger and grief in their heart, reader goes insane and begins to laugh... a lot. Since it was still a very bad hazard to leave out, Batman tasks Nightwing (and a reluctant Hood) to enter the warehouse a few days later, only to find that there are signs that point to Joker being back and having collected a lot of henchmen and a lot of toxin, planning something. So when these two go to confront who they think is Joker, they see reader instead, with the same bloody, scarred smile and hollow eyes.Queue a battle (that reader narrowly loses, taunting both of them with hurtful words that they can't even retort to), and now batfam is trying their hardest to bring the old reader back, except they don't even know what they were like, truly. The only one that did was Alfred, but not enough to know if their rehabilitation is working.

Meanwhile, Batman interrogates reader and the conversation heads south where they go "You never thought of me, Bat. I was invisible, hated and never once given an ounce of attention. I never knew if you loved me. You loved your villains far more... so will you, now? Now that I am like him? Am I finally worthy of your attention?" they laugh, even harder at the horror in his eyes, the grief in his voice while he denies it, and all that the Asylum can hear are spine-chilling giggles and the words of a broken man who's too late to save his one and only normal kid.

Also can I be called 🍌 anon? :D

(Hello Anon! I have no idea why it wouldn’t let me answer your request so i just copied and pasted it here! Here’s your story!)

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Ever since you said no the chance if becoming a hero like them you felt ignored? Like they were disappointed in you.

You were just normal in their eyes. Your family didn’t care about you.. they never did so as soon as you turned 18 you ran away and no one noticed. You’re sure they didn’t even remember or cared about your existence.

You stole some money from Bruce to rent yourself a department in a not so bad place in Gotham but ended up getting scammed so all your money went to waste and now you were homeless.

While laying down on a bench you debated about going back to the Wayne Manor and live a sad life there again but you couldn’t! Your ego wouldn’t let you.

So without any hope left you got up and started walking to an abandoned warehouse. Maybe there’s stuff you can take from there and sell? It’s not stealing if it’s abandoned. So you decided to go in.

While exploring the place you found a so called “Joker Toxin” it was probably a fake one but his fans would pay anything for this. You grabbed the small glass but it was slippery because it was stored in a freezer and it feel to the floor breaking the glass and the liquid fell to the floor.

“Aw shit.” Well it was fake after all so you didn’t need to worry right?-

The moment you inhaled that toxin you started grinning your eyes widened open and your eyes they became red as if you were intoxicated. You feel onto the floor in pain it hurts so bad but you can’t help but- feel happy?

Ha, ha ha HA HA HA HAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHA!!!

You can’t stop no matter how much you cover your mouth trying to quiet down not wanting to attract unwanted attention it seems impossible to you. It feels like someone’s tickling you. You can’t stop.

You pass out a few hours later from exhaustion

When you wake up it feels like something has changed with you. You want revenge you need it.

Now you had to set a trap to kill two birds with a stone.

Comissioner Gordon had notified Batfam about some weird noises coming from an abandoned warehouse that citizens had told him about so he sent Nightwing and Red hood.

He told them to be careful since the Joker might be back because of some signs and to notify him immediately if it was the case.

He knew Dick and Jason weren’t children anymore but be still couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong and it felt wrong to send his children to investigate this. He was trying to become a better fatjer for all his children afterall.

Now Nightwing and Redhood were outside the warehouse. You we’re watching them through a small window getting ready for your grand entrance.

The went in and everything seemed fine. Until you appeared instead of the Joker.

“Hello there!” You say as you step out from the shadows.

They both freeze for a second.

“What? The bat ate your tongue?!”

“Name?-“ Dick says surprised that his- sibling? Was here. Weren’t you 8 years old? You were when he- last saw you?…

“Well yeah but no! I’m now the Joker! I’m his greatest succesor!” Your smile was creepy. It went from ear to ear and it was painted with red lipstick. You had dyed your hair green (and failed awkwardly-) so now it was just black and looked green fungy.

“What the heck is wrong with you?! You know how much harm you’ve been causing? Are you stupid?!” Red hood says.

“Let’s both calm dowwn! [name] come back home! We miss you-“

“Oh stop being a fucking hypocrite Dick! No one even noticed i was gone until now! No way in heck i’m going back to that place!” You hold up a gun.

“Oh so that’s how we’re playing?” Redhood takes out his gun.

“Let’s dance.” You smirk as you shoot your gun towards them.

You end up loosing and they drag you back to the manor. You insulted them in every language you knew.

Now back in the manor you got tied up and Batman was infront of you.

“What a nice family reunion isn’t that right Bats?” You tell him taunting him.

“[name] don’t call me that. I’m you father-“

“HAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA since when Batsy?! When did you ever parent me? When was the last time we had a real conversation?! And don’t call me [name]! I’m the joker now!”

“I-“ for the first time to you Bruce Wayne your ‘father’ had looked at you. Stared at you regretfully.

“When was the last time you thought of me? Was i not worthy of your attention like them?! Is it because i didn’t want to become a hero like you? Are you jeaulous cause i picked a normal life?!”

“I was just busy [name]” his face was full of regret. But it was too late.

“But you were never busy for your villians right?! Now that i became a villian it’s the first time in years that you’ve payed attention to me!” Your smile started fading you’ve couldn’t look weak infront of him! Never again.

“We can change that! How about you quit this nonsense you’ve got going on? We can start this over again.” His child. You were his child. He lost you once. He’ll make up for this wether you want to or not.

Damian watching in the background “This psycho needs therapy.” He mutters to himself and leaves the Batcave.

Now you were forever trapped in this place. Your family was not stopping until you became what you once were.

Honestly they didn’t even know you. They just molded you into what they ideally thought you were.

Your makeup was wiped off. Your clothes changed. Your hair well they tried to save it but since the dye ruined it it had been chopped off horribly.

Daily your ‘doctor’ (Alfred) prescribed you sedatives to keep you in line. If you misbehaved you got a dosis. In the morning a dosis, at night another one.

They told you it was for your own good. They were helping you. You couldn’t harm yourself anymore!

Now everyday felt like on autopilot. You were a zombie in your own body. Your mind was foggy.

And they’ll keep doing this until you become the perfect Wayne they imagined you once were.

“Ha! Joker? What a stupid idea [name]! You never became the Joker! Pftt! Babybird we would never neglect you! You were always a part of us!”

Those small lies. Daily. While being weak. You started believing them.

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Thanks for reading!

My masterlist!

Requests are open!

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[marigold-hills]

5. Secret ritual

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

@hpanimagiweek

(This chapter is for @hoje--aqui because the comment she’d left on the last part is what inspired it so if you’re hurt by the content of it, blame her ❤️)

The dog has no use.

(Sirius feels redundant, pointless, helpless.)

The dog’s person lays in bed with a new deep bite in the muscle of his leg. It smells like the wolf and like blood and something like prey. The wolf is never prey except to itself - the wolf is something everything in the forest feared. The wolf is strong and brave and never hunted. The wolf, locked away, turns its anger on itself.

The dog exists to guide the wolf - to be with the wolf - to stop the hurt. The dog exists for nothing now.

The dog had been shunned out of the room. The woman with a brood of children knows healing spells. You’re getting in the way, she said. Behave. I’ll call you when it’s done.

The dog found another smell of someone he should have protected and didn’t. This room stays closed and unused but for the elf.

“Young Master was braver than them all,” the elf mutters under its breath, vitriol and mourning together. It doesn’t see the dog where it’s huddled under the bed. “Not like this one, laying about my Lady’s home, selling her belongings, inviting in scum.”

The dog listens in a way the man never could. The cloud of hurt doesn’t cover the meaning.

“Young Master Regulus… so young,” the elf sniffs as he polishes each little silver knickknack left behind by their owner (brother brother brother). Endless care in the elf’s knobbly old fingers. “So brave and so caring. Did more for this Order than any of those halfbreeds the new Master houses. Oh, if my Lady could only see what has become of her Home…”

Sirius turns into himself without quite meaning to, bumps his head on the bed frame trying to get out from underneath it. Kreacher startles.

“What did you just say?” Sirius snaps.

The elf turns away from him, ignores the question.

“I order you to tell me,” Sirius pushes when Kreacher tries to pretend he didn’t hear the first time. No matter the hate he holds for his new Master, he can’t disobey a direct order.

“Young Master Regulus was very brave.”

“About what he did for the Order, Kreacher. What did you mean by that?”

And Kreacher, compelled by the blood of the House he’s bound to, tells him.

***

Sirius sets fire to the lake of Inferi before he can see his brother’s eyes in one of the corpses.

It blazes quickly. The water of the lake is no longer water, with how much magic it holds, and Sirius helps the process along with transfiguring it into something else entirely - something flammable, burnable. He feels the heat of the fire on his skin but it doesn’t touch him.

“Master Regulus wished to cover his tracks,” Kreacher says.

“I don’t care.” Sirius watches the flame burn itself out. “Why did he drink the poison?”

They walk across the scorched bottom of the lake. The bodies of the Inferi are indistinguishable from each other.

“Master Regulus was kind. He took the pain so Kreacher wouldn’t have to.” Kreacher bows his head to the ground of the little island, in front of the basin. Supplication and prayer - like he’s reached the centre of a pilgrimage. “Master Regulus made Kreacher force him.”

Sirius sees it as if he was there. Regulus, eighteen years old, tired the way he was towards the end, with that sunken expression and those eyes of his, haunted and blank. Sirius thought he was soft. Nothing about this is soft, not in the way Sirius knew Regulus to be.

Sirius doesn’t drink the poison. He doesn’t make Kreacher drink it. He breaks the leg of the basin clean from the ground, levitates it over to the mouth of the cave. The poison doesn’t react to any magic.

“Kreacher told new Master the necklace isn’t here,” Kreacher says with something that could count as a scoff, if he wasn’t carefully adhering to his role.

“I know,” Sirius tells him, shrinking the mutilated basin. He doesn’t say I want his last words. I want the letter. I want to see he was on our side with my own eyes.

***

In the library of Grimmauld Place there are books not to be found anywhere else. At the back of it there’s a door that can’t be seen by anyone but the head of House of Black. Sirius has never been through it, only been told of its existence in passing. There is knowledge of all things, if you ask for it, Orion used to say.

Had Regulus been allowed into it, he wouldn’t be dead.

Sirius had never entered it before, but the door welcomes him the way a vein welcomes blood.

(There is knowledge.)

Sirius becomes the dog becomes himself then something else. Sirius knows he is head of the family. Sirius knows his father died and then his mother died and all that was left of the name is him. Never did that mean anything.

The rooms behind the library, when Sirius enters them, change this.

The hall is vast and the air ripe with enlargement charms, and concealment charms, and charms Sirius doesn’t recognise the feeling of. The hall speaks to him - the dog understands it better, the veneer of humanity stripped off in this form. The dog listens.

(All the things.)

The dog lays on the ground - colder than the wood should be - the room speaks.

(Only ask.)

“Tell me about horcruxes,” Sirius asks the room in a voice like the dog’s bark. 

NEXT PART

[8figurehustler]

Why I Would Choose Faceless Digital Marketing | 💰💰💰

So boom—let’s talk about this whole “you have to be an influencer to make money online” narrative. Because… be for real. Every time you go online, it’s the same thing: “Get ready with me,” “A day in my life,” vlogs, skincare routines, cute lil voiceovers, and people’s faces everywhere. And if you’re not doing that?, people make it seem like you’re not going to make it. And listen, there’s nothing wrong with that path. Influencers make bank.

But here’s the thing—I don’t think that’s the only way to win.

Like yes, influencers make money. Big money. No one’s denying that. But what if you’re not trying to be recognized when you’re just trying to buy milk? What if you want the coins without the constant attention? What about the people who want digital success, not fame? Because yes, those people exist. I’m kind of one of them. I’ll show my face here and there, sure, but I’m not trying to make it the foundation of my entire brand. And honestly? I like it that way. I want peace and the bag. Yup, now that’s where faceless digital marketing comes in.

Fame? Cute. Privacy? Cuter.

I’m not hating on influencers at all, but let’s keep it real—most people don’t actually want to be famous. It comes with random people all up in your business. If you’re constantly marketing your face or your body, you’re giving up a part of your privacy. And not everyone wants that. Some people just want to get the bag without the attention. And they should be able to. They just want freedom. Freedom from a 9–5, freedom to make their own money, and freedom to live their lives quietly and peacefully. And yes, that’s possible.

You don’t have to put your face all over the internet to get that kind of success. You can stay lowkey, still run things, and still eat.

Your Face Is Not a Forever Investment

This might sound a lil harsh, but hear me out—looks fade, trends change, and the internet moves on quick. One day your face is the next big thing, the next day… it’s crickets. And if your whole brand is based on your face, that’s gonna be a problem. What do you think is going to happen when you don’t look the same way you did 10 years ago? Your audience might not stay loyal once the hype dies down.

But when you go faceless, you’re not selling your looks—you’re selling your ideas, your vibe, your content. And baby, those things don’t wrinkle. They don’t age. They grow. There’s always someone out there who’s going to connect with your style, your message & your brands content.

You Can’t Leave Your Face in a Will

Let’s talk legacy real quick. If your whole brand is you—your name, your face, your voice—then what happens when you’re not around anymore?

You can’t pass down your face. But you can pass down a faceless brand. A blog. A digital product. A faceless business that’s running even while you’re asleep, offline, or chilling in the next life (not to be dramatic but you get it). With faceless digital marketing, you can actually build generational wealth. This perspective changes for those idols like Michael Jackson or whoever.

Aesthetic Never Dies

You know what doesn’t go out of style? A strong aesthetic. A clear brand. A message that clicks. When you build something that’s about the vibe—not just the face—it can last way longer.

People are always gonna be drawn to a certain style, a certain type of content, a certain feeling. That’s the kind of brand that lives forever, no matter who’s running it or what year it is.

Quiet Money Is Still Money

Let’s not act like loud money is the only flex. Quiet money? Peaceful money? That “nobody knows what I do but I’m living good” type of money? That’s elite.

Faceless digital marketing gives you that. You’re not worried about how you look today, what’s trending, or who’s watching. You’re just running your business, stacking your wins, and minding your pretty lil business.

Real Success Doesn’t Always Look Like a Selfie

Faceless digital marketing gives you range. You can run a blog, build an email list, create digital products, invest, trade, or even flip domains—without ever showing your face. It’s all about strategy, not selfies.

And that doesn’t make it less valuable or less successful. In fact, it often means more freedom, more scalability, and way less burnout.

⸻

Spoiler alert: fast money, don’t last. 💰

That’s my take. Not knocking the influencer lane, but for me? I’m here for the faceless life. I want my money long, my brand strong, and my face nowhere near the stress.

And if you’re feeling me on this, you should definitely check out my other blog post where I talk about why I don’t think influencing builds long-lasting wealth.

Read Why I Think Influencers Won’t Make A Lasting Fortune

⸻

Start monetising your pinterest, through paid ad, affiliates and more : click here

Grow your pinterest account to a million monthly views in less than 6 months and get it ready for digital marketing : click here

[adviceformefromme]

Love all content! And as someone who really wants to improve their lifestyle and actually achieve what they’ve put on their vision board, I feel like my lack of discipline and inconsistency will never leave me. I’m a planner by heart and love making plans, sorting things out and getting inspired by those day in the life vlogs but when it comes to implementing and actually going on with the plans I make for a long period of time. I SUCK and I admit it. I’ve tried everything I could think of but I can’t seem to be able to create an actual routine that is easy for me to work with. Any suggestions on how can I navigate this? One example is getting my driving license, I’ve signed up last May and only managed to go to the lessons/practice (6 times) and it should take 2 months to get it but I’m so lazy, (same thing goes for having solo dates) 🥲

Hey sweetie, I feel you! The thing is you just have to keep pushing forward and trying. One day it will just click. You'll just be in the cafe, reading the book on the solo date. You'll be waking up early, heading to the pilates class. Like wow, how did this even happen? But it will, and that’s because you’ve been speaking your vision into existence for all this time. Sometimes we hear the stories, and read the level up content and think it’s an instant click your fingers action and results, in some cases yes, but more often its years of prayers, mental conditioning, affirmations, trying to change, trying to be better, getting back up and failing, over and over and overrrr again. But its the persistence, the trying something new. My advice is to keep studying yourself more and more so you connect your habits to your failures, you can pivot quickly, you can catch yourself and do better next time. As long as you are growing there is no failures. 

Practical things that really changed the game for me: 

Atomic habits - continually going back to this as a reminder to stay on track with practical steps.

Always being mindful of what I’m speaking into existence, a friend told me a few months back I keep speaking about what I don’t want. Re-frame your sentences, stop mid sentence. There is so much power in the tongue. 

Reassess your diet. This single-handedly could be destroying your energy levels. I quit carbs and moved over to high protein / veggies diet and my energy levels and mental focus transformed. 

Cut the distractions. I had to cut daily voice notes with a close friend who was in lack constantly, because this was impacting my energy field. We still speak but daily voice notes, and I am intentional about our conversations not being dragged in the dirt with low level thinking. 

Invested in high level community, conferences, events, virtual groups. I actually randomly joined a free 11 day coaching course with Aaron Doughty on YouTube, and the energy I felt to transform my life was overwhelming. There were 1000s of people on the zoom doing visualisations, and this was a free programme! (Of course they tried to sell at the end), the point is finding your community from wherever you are in the world.

Pray, and stay close to God throughout each day. This also single-handedly has completely cleansed and purified my soul. It’s a constant communication, a constant gratitude, as you go for a walk, wake up, check your account. It’s listening to the internal wisdom pouring into you, and being in obedience to that voice. 

And finally, exercise, even if you don't have the energy to run, start small. Start with putting those clothes on daily. Put the gym clothes on and go for a walk down the road and back without your phone, or listening to something motivational / inspiring. I recommend Women of Impact - by Lisa Bilyeu. The movement of your body, allows the energy to flow, and then suddenly you are in the flow, the more you can do this, the more alive and focused you will feel!

I hope these help sweetie xoxoxo

[localgossipus]

will work for meaning

I’m tired of having to make myself useful.

If I’m not selling something — my thoughts, my body, a version of myself I half-believe in — I’m wasting space. That’s what it feels like. That if I’m not actively climbing, optimizing, producing, I’m doing life wrong. As if I’m some inefficient machine that keeps on overheating, literally — I’m always sweating.

I think it started when we stopped having hobbies (did anyone ever really have hobbies? I never had one) and started having “side hustles.” When someone told us, quietly but repeatedly, that nothing we loved was valid unless someone would pay us for it. When dreaming became a luxury, and surviving meant repackaging our joy into monetization.

I can’t just write anymore. I have to consider a niche. A following. A brand voice. I have to decide whether this thought is post-worthy, whether it fits the tone I’m building. God forbid I contradict myself or trigger “whataboutism.” God forbid a girl tries to have a hobby.

Even my rest has become performative. I can’t take a walk without wondering if I should be making a “take a walk with me.” I can’t make a coffee without thinking of the cozy vanilla girl aesthetic I should be curating. I’ll have an emotional breakthrough and immediately wonder if I can turn it into a photo dump. This can’t be normal. This can’t be what healing is supposed to look like.

And don’t get me started on work.

Every job posting I read sounds like a scam or a cry for help. Entry-level roles requiring three years of experience, a master’s degree, and a willingness to be exploited. But don’t worry, they won’t pick you anyway. Or anyone.

I once wanted to work for an NGO. I imagined purpose. Fulfillment. Helping someone, somewhere. But even the “do-good” jobs are PR machines now. They want high-impact, low-cost, 24/7 brand aligned robots who can save the world for $18 an hour (reaching) and no health insurance. They want resumes drenched in resilience. Trauma repackaged as grit.

Meanwhile, my dreams — the soft, fun, weird, non-linear ones — feel like they’re growing mold in the corner. Like they’re embarrassed to be here. Like they know they don’t stand a chance in this economy.

What they don’t tell you about trying to do something meaningful is how capitalism makes it feel selfish. You start to believe that chasing your passion is indulgent unless it immediately generates income. That wanting to feel joy, depth, freedom, art — unless sponsored — is childish. That if you can’t make rent off your calling, it’s not a calling. It’s a liability, and it’s stupid.

I’ve started noticing people my age talk about burnout like it’s normal. Like it’s a badge of honor. We joke about spiraling, cry while making Canva manifestation graphics, scroll through job boards like they’re Pinterest boards. We’re constantly either underpaid or unpaid or on the verge of going “off grid.” But none of us ever actually log off. Because you can’t rest when rest is a privilege, and you can’t create when your worth is tied to performance.

There’s a line between being tired and being drained. It’s that feeling of being stretched so thin across platforms, roles, identities, futures, that you start to forget what you like. What your voice sounds like when you’re not selling something. What you would do if you didn’t have to monetize it.

Some days I fantasize about just quitting the internet all together. Just vanishing and running away to a random field in Italy. Where I can write for no one. No metrics. No pressure. Just the sound of my own brain, unfiltered. But then I think about rent. Groceries. Health insurance. I think about how hard it is to simply exist without being marketable. And suddenly, silence feels expensive.

And maybe that’s the rebellion — to feel something and not package it. To create without calculating. To remember that being a person is enough.

So here I am. A 22-year-old girl trying to write something honest in a world that wants her to sell it. Trying to find softness in a system built on burnout. Trying to give myself permission to just be, even if that “being” doesn’t come with a business plan.

I guess I can’t put my business degree to good use. Dang.

[dream-thief-forever-amen]

Pit Babe Episode 7 Commentary

Is PB seriously clueless about his bestie being in love with him? I mean, you can see it from space.

“I saw someone bleeding out! It could be anyone though… the signs were unclear.” Most unhelpful fortune teller in existence. Good thing you’re cute.

Our resident power lesbian Mr Pete has arrived on the scene to cheer up our WayV boy with his suave classy charm…

OMG he brought him to his lezzie den! Or is this Way’s penthouse? Whatever. These two are very pretty together. And we know Way likes tall muscle bottoms… so…

I too aspire to wake up in a pristine penthouse after a night of drinking and self pity. This has not happened to me even once and I’m deeply resentful.

I kinda want Winner and Korean Kim to make out in the back seat of one of the race cars.

I kinda also want Korean Kim to make out with Mr Tony’s black clad henchman too.

Korean Kim is so tiny and angry and upright… like a little fox terrier. Korean Kim, I love you! He reminds me of the short king from Love By Chance.

Tony sells off his science project babies?!! Superpowered human trafficking?!!! Delicious!!! This is what I am here for… nefarious mad science!!!!

Jeff and Charlie are lab boys tooooo! Well I kinda guessed about Jeff. Hmmm what is Charlie’s super power?!!!! omg I am so tempted to look for a spoiler right now but I will fight this urge to the death and let the mystery unfold….

How can Tony not know that Charlie and Jeff not only live together but also work together?!! That is some seriously faulty reconnaissance on his part.

PB, you have every right to be angry and upset, ya big lug.

Way’s housekeeper deserves a raise. There ain’t a speck of dust anywhere.

Listening to Charlie whine is driving me crazy. “bwaaaaaabe”

Did PB not realize there were other kids? I thought he said there were other kids when he told Charlie his story??? We literally saw other kids in the flashback montage of his story.

Charlie doesn’t have powers? Color me disappointed.

What is an Enigma???? (Okay so I had to google that one and according to the annoying AI summary an Enigma can impregnate anyone with a reproductive system… so… does PB have a reproductive system? If so… how could he not know he has one? I probably shouldn’t have looked… this story may have unique lore)

Kenta. The black clad henchman’s name is Kenta - which is cool af. Great name.

Charlie DOES have powers!!! He’s Rogue. He’s Rogue without a conscience. Damn, that’s villainous to knowingly take someone’s super powers. And he does not seem in the least bit sorry about this. Kinda makes his “I was trying to help you” story seem thin - if by helping you mean getting in his pants and taking away his enhanced senses… just to tell him Tony wants to sell him? Could have sent him an anonymous email saying that.

Also, Charlie could have easily proved he was one of Tony’s adopted kids in minutes and then warned PB of impending slavery deals… there was zero reason for his undercover boyfriend superpower stealing routine…

OMG, dump him, PB! Charlie’s a creep.

Did Charlie absorb someone’s hypnosis powers or something??! Why isn’t PB throwing him out the window right now? I’d be running after him with a wrench. He stole your super powers!!! He knowingly stole your superpowers!!! PB is dickmatized for sure. God, I hate them.

Not as much as Way hates them though. Ouch. Delusional fool had roses and everything. Save him, Mr Pete! Or Kenta! Or Sonic! Someone!

Christ, PB is sexy. Lemme look up the actor. Pavel Naret Promphaopun. Your parents must high five each other every time they see you.

North over here just saying the quiet parts out loud. “Dudes totally in love with you. If I can see it, everyone else can see it from space.” Seriously, PB. Everyone can see it!

Korean Kim just referenced the Merchant of Venice? While on his knees in a black wife beater? We don’t deserve you, Korean Kim!!! And nooooo please don’t harvest his organs… we can’t lose such a treasure!

I am loving this show right now! And that includes hating on the main couple at the moment, so sorry if they are your ults or whatnot, they may yet grow on me. Everything is fun right now. I’m finding it hard to stop watching -

[hausofmamadas]

FRENCHIE | Queer!Mode, Detected

The Boys, Season 1, Ep 2 - Cherry | Season 2, Ep 3 - Over The Hill With the Swords of A 1000 Men, 6 - The Bloody Door’s Off, 8 - What I Know | Season 3, Ep 3 - Barbary Coast

∴

I’ve seen a lotta chatter in The Boys fandom (mostly on Reddit but also TikTok. Appropriately this take wasn’t on Tumblr much) that ppl were mad at Kripke and Co for taking an unforeseen “gay turn” with Frenchie’s character in S4 ..? And I’m over here with my Sherlock Holmes cap and pipe and tiny detective notebook just

trying to understand how these ppl didn’t pick up on the bipan vibes from this beautiful, majestic, so-French-he-can't-help-it butterfly.

(Also all this hand wringing about Frenchie "turning gay," te lo juro me esta eloqueciendo alaverga. Like canwenot with the bi-erasure, it’s giving Ashley telling Maeve she’s a lesbian bc is more “clear-cut” and easier to sell than bi. It’s just as insulting to call a bipan person gay as it is to call them straight. And I don’t mean like the use of gay as a catch all that a lotta us queers use sometimes interchangeably for queer, I talkin ppl acting as tho bipan isn't real and/or thinking Frenchie jumped out the closet as a gay man 3/4 of the way thru the show.)

And their confusion over this has got me confused. Like I didn’t even realize it was such a plot twist until I got on Reddit and a lotta ppl were screaming like Ned Stark's head just got cut off, or like it's some wild-ass writer's room shenanigans where the character is suddenly a diff person for no discernible reason. Like have you seen this man? Do you know where you are? Bc they’ve been dropping hints throughout the show. Case in point:

a) Little Nina and all that talk about her Sergei ahem it's Serge and his overwhelming enthusiasm for butt stuff and Vincent Cassel try to convince me Sr. Cassel wasn’t a childhood crush of Frenchie’s or someth and that’s why it’s his safe word. You can’t

b) this time he planted a fat smooch on Hughie’s face after finding out he leaked the compound V tip to the press (bonus points for his attempt to make out with mm before getting a no-homo hard pass)

c) this deep, abiding love of The Golden Girls this is unequivocally the gayest thing on the list

d) how he turned tricks in mad NYC before Little Nina locked that mf in a chastity belt and held him hostage by his penis he went to ‘work’ for Nina. -> Disclaimer: this is not to imply that queer ppl’s participation in sex work is bc they’re hypersexual. This is here to point out queer coding, as lgbtqia+ ppl are more at-risk for mental health issues stemming from severe trauma, food and housing insecurity, and addiction, often without access to the care they need to recover. So sex work becomes a viable vocation to survive bc unlike a regular 9-5, it’s more conducive to untreated mental health issues and substance use also it’s an easier market to get into than arms dealing or contract killing

e) this throuple arrangement btwn him, Cherie and Justin

f) His attempts to…er broaden mm’s horizons ?

g) the evident lack of knowledge or interest or acumen for this mysterious sportsball of which mm speaks of but he’ll still go on that dumb golf bachelor trip bc he loves his fraaand

h) this fondness for Eurotrash raves and dancing

And look, I might get it if they sprung it on us. But this shit has been since the beginning. The earliest indicator being ep 2 of S1 — THE FIRST EP HE’S IN. Hughie asks what it’s like to kill someone and Frenchie waxes poetic about his first hit (just before ominously dropping, "I carry them all with me" buried the lead on that one to Hughie's horror but to the delight of bbygirllovers like myself everywhere) and well, I think the evidence here speaks for itself

Like the dichot— nay, Bichotomy of talking about how mindblowingly hot this chick is whilst, in the same breath, gushing over her outfit. Okay I’m sure there’s a token straightmale who can id high-end designer brands on sight. I’m sure that unicorn exists somewhere, right, cuz humans contain multitudes. But this man? He just a bipan butterfly. So those who felt blindsided by Frenchie gettin’ dicked down, oh you beautiful, naive, sophisticated newborn babies. If not spelled out, it was so heavily implied, I saw the fling with whatshisname with the murdered fam whose name I’m too lazy to Goog and was like, “hm yes, the math is indeed mathing, these calculayshuns are correct”

Like u thot a mf dressed like this??? was straight ?

Mans is in a scoopneck bunny crop top that looks straighr from the juniors section of Forever21 with plaid pants and fuckingsjs suspenders iconic so to think he'd nary tarried in sausage-central before, well ... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

═

taglist: @drabbles-mc, @complete-nonsequitur, @rerorero-my-cherry, @ladygoatee, @tofuwildcard, @tinylittleobsessions

[jitterbugjive]

So, some people may have noticed this but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to bring attention to it and I wanted people to just assume it was someone theorizing. But it appears someone from my ex friend circle whom I had trusted with certain details of how Discord Whooves would end decided to stoop to a lower than low level and ruin the ending for anyone who stumbled on their posts that had been made on a blog made specifically to post spoilers and tag them with common tags Discord Whooves uses. I’m sure it was out of sheer spite towards me and the people who dared to support my work.

Saying bad things about me and things I’ve done and said, okay that’s justifiable. But going out of their way to take something I once trusted them with because I thought we were close friends, and then throwing it out for the world to see out of revenge against me and anyone following me? That’s just petty, immature, and a really low blow to make. Even if I really hated someone, I would never reveal their harmless secrets to the world just to get back at them. There’s a chance to be the better person, and at least have some code of ethics to know when it’s going too far. I deserved to be called out. I didn’t deserve to have my 12 years of work undermined by a vindictive person who can’t move forward, and my fans didn’t deserve it either because they are not even involved in this drama.

There is a point where revenge goes too far and one crosses over into just being villainously cruel.

It’s sad, and really pathetic that someone thinks they have to do everything in their power to screw me over in some way instead of trying to actually recover and get past the point of obsession over wanting to get back at me all the time.

I’m sorry the whole world isn’t against me like you want it to be. I’m sorry a lot of people believe in recovery and the fact that I feel terrible enough already about my shitty actions in the past and am doing everything in my power to avoid anything like that happening ever again. I’m sorry I’m not being bombarded by hoards of angry people calling me names and telling me to kill myself. I’m sorry my feeling horrible isn’t enough to satiate you and all you want is to see me suffer.

It’s been years now. YEARS. For the sake of your own mental well being, just cut me out of your life completely and stop obsessing over me. You already won. I am constantly in a state of panic thinking of this shit and how else it’s going to come and bite me in the ass. I lost the comic website I depended on, I’ve lost a huge chunk of my readership and no longer really have my ‘popular’ status. (very rarely get fan art, not being bombarded by asks constantly, no longer receive fan mail, original projects aren’t catching on very well) Selling commissions has gotten increasingly more difficult. My insomnia is worse than ever and I have to take heavy duty sedatives just to sleep because my mind won’t stop spiraling about this stuff. I cannot go a single day without feeling guilt, regret, self hatred, and doubt and wishing hopelessly that I just never did those things. I have severe trust issues and have almost no one I can feel comfortable enough sharing anything personal or story related with which was just made even WORSE by these recent actions, and I haven’t been able to form new bonds with anyone in years either.

I know I hurt you badly, I know what I did was incredibly wrong and irresponsible, and I don’t know how it’s affected you over the years but this rage and anger is not good for anyone. I don’t hate you. I just want you to be able to move on and learn to be healthy and happy and no longer stuck thinking about me and how much you hate me and want me to fall. I don’t want to be hurting you by just existing and trying to move on with my own life, and I wish there was something- ANYTHING I could do to bring you peace.

But the only one who can ultimately bring you peace is yourself. So you can keep on trying to claw and bite and drag me down with you, or you could be the better person and try to just move forward and put the past in the past where it belongs.

I’m not mad. I’m just incredibly disappointed. I would have thought you were better than this, but I was wrong. I was wrong to ever even trust you as a friend, and I wish we were never friends to begin with, or even ever met, and I’m sure you feel the same way.

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS Para-Selene Vol.9 Sakamaki Kanato Animate Tokuten CD

Original title: DIABOLIK LOVERS Para-Selene Vol. 9 逆巻カナト アニメイト 各巻購入特典ドラ

Source: Diabolik Lovers Para-Selene Vol. 9 Animate Tokuten CD

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Kaji Yuki

Translator’s note: I really like how the Para-Selene tokuten CDs explore the concept of going on ‘everyday’ outings with your Diaboy of choice. I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before but it’s such a shame that the games did not explore this concept more. In my opinion, I would have much rather had this for the ‘situation part’ of each section of the game than random blood-sucking scenarios. :/

The two of you are walking around on the market.

“Handmade candles and wreathes...and iced cookies. They sell a surprisingly large variety of things at the flea market during this time of year. With so many different stalls, I doubt we will get bored.”

Something catches your attention.

“...Hm? What have you been looking at this whole time?”

You explain.

“Those are...Nutcrackers? Hah. Do you not think that the whole concept of putting a nut in their mouth to crack the shell is somewhat odd?”

You shake your head.

“...’Cute’? Don’t tell me...You want one of those?”

You nod.

“You have some rather disturbing tastes to want one of those.  ...However, if you insist, I would not mind buying one for you.”

Your eyes widen in shock. 

“Hm. ...Why do you seem to surprised? I’m over here showing my good heart and offering to buy you one of a gift, so don’t tell me you’re not even happy about it?”

You try to convince him that it does make you happy. 

“Right? It’s a gift from me, so obviously you’re happy.”

You smile brightly.

“Fufu...~ Exactly, just show me your genuine joy. Let’s go to the shop then. It seems like they are selling cooking as well. I finished the last of the ones at  home yesterday, so it’s the perfect time to stock up again.”

You nod as the two of you walk over to the vendor.

*TIMESKIP*

“They had a wide selection of different flavored cookies. ...And you got to buy yourself a nice souvenir as well, isn’t that nice?”

*Clatter clatter*

“Hm...Do you really like that doll so much? You honestly seem like a child right now, constantly fidgeting around with it.”

The two of you continue walking.

“Take a look! Such a large maple tree! It’s been decorated with cookies and candies!”

You fail to notice him because you are too preoccupied by the nutcracker.

“...Hey, you. Are you listening?”

You turn towards Kanato.

“Were you not...paying attention to what I said?”

You say sorry.

“Haah...!? A single apology is not going to get you in the clear. ...You keep on deliberately doing things to upset you, what are you hoping to achieve!? I can’t believe you only have eyes for some ‘cursed Prince’ when I’m here right next to you.”

You tilt your head to the side. 

“Hm? Ahー You wanted that doll without knowing anything about it, didn’t you? All nutcrackers which exist today are based on the concept of a cursed Prince.”

You seem shocked.

“Apparently long ago, there lived in a Prince who accidentally stepped on the Mouse Queen, which led to him being cursed and turned into a doll. Of course, that includes the one you are holding right now as well. ...Honestly, that was one unlucky Prince, being turned into a doll due to someone else’s lack of caution.”

You frown.

“Hm. ...You look rather sad. Are you feeling sympathy for the cursed Prince, perhaps?”

You shake your head.

“Kuh...Then why are you making that face!? I can’t allow you to make such an expression for someone other than meーー!!”

*THUD*

“If I do this...You’ll only be able to see me, correct? Fufu...However, that wretched doll is in the way. Give it to me, please?”

Kanato snatches the nutcracker from your hands and tosses it away.

*Thud* 

*CLATTER*

“ーー Just forget about it.”

*Rustle*

“Or do you perhaps...care more about some Prince you barely know anything about, than you do about me?”

You deny that.

“Then behave...and keep your eyes only on me.”

You point out that you are in public.

“Hmph...! Let those who want to watch enjoy the show then. Besides...We’ve already been seen by others in the past, so why worry about that still?”

You look around.

“There’s nobody around, you say? ...Please do not be ridiculous. Mr. Prince laying on the ground over there is looking straight at us. Despite it being a wooden doll, they actually used glass for the eyes. Fufu...Take a look. You are reflected in those beautiful, glass eyes.”

You turn your head.

“How about we use this opportunity...to give him a good showing of what we usually do?”

You flinch.

“Fufufu...”

He blows air on your skin.

*Rustle*

“Haha...Look at you turning bright red when all I did was blow some air on you. Shall I tease you even more?”

You fidget around.

“...Just how much longer will you keep on worrying about our surroundings? All you need to do is stay focused on me! Come on! You should wrap your arms around me as well!”

*Rustle*

“Nn...Mmh...”

*Smooch*

“Fufu...Exactly. Keep a tight grip, okay?”

*Rustle*

“Good girl...I shall tell you something interesting in return. ーー I know I said that all nutcrackers are Princes who have been cursed, but the ones sold at the store from earlier are just plain dolls and have absolutely nothing to do with the original story. The one on the ground over there is obviously nothing but a doll either.”

You get upset.

“I can’t believe you believed me so easily! Just how stupid are you?”

You walk over to pick up the doll.

*Thud*

“Hmph. I am glad you are taking good care of the gift I gave you, but I never said that you could neglect me as a result. I am the only important person in your life. Aren’t I?”

You nod.

“Then please keep your eyes only on me...All you need to do is pay attention to me, without getting distracted by anything or anyone else. ーー Like earlier.”

You get flustered remembering it. 

“...! ...Fufu. You’re blushing again.”

You only grow more flustered. 

“Fufu...That’s more like it. I was going to head home, but I think I shall play with you a little longer. Look my way and give me a proper look at your embarrassed expression. ...Mmh.”

*Smooch*

“...Look at you tightly holding that doll in your arms. I don’t mind but if you truly love me, then you should treasure me more as well.”

You reassure him that he is still number one in your heart.

“Haah...Of course I am number one in your heart. Please make sure that I’m numbers one through a hundred on your priority list.”

*Smooch*

“ーー I am the only one you need after all. From here on out, forever...and ever...Okay?”

You nod.

ーー THE END ーー

[plesiosaurchestra]

i used to be one of those people who kind of hated “modern art” like comedian by maurizio cattelan and the new series by jeff koons.

because they weren’t even actual sculptures, for the new they were just vacuums sealed in boxes and i think even without saying what comedian is most people can guess what comedian is. its reputation for being the supposed reason that contemporary artists can’t be taken seriously far precedes it. both of those pieces took no effort to make. anybody could buy something from a store, title it and try selling it to a gallery.

it’s nothing special.

but one day online, i stumbled on a pair of pieces titled electric fan (feel it motherfuckers) by john s. boskovich and “untitled” (portrait of ross in l.a.) by félix gonzález-torres. both of them being products of the aids pandemic of the 1980s.

the former was -as the name implied- an electric fan that belonged to boskovich and his deceased partner: stephen earabino. after earabino’s death, his family almost completely emptied out the flat that the two of them shared, the fan was the only thing left behind. the plexiglas that the fan is encased in is engraved with this truth. and the fan still runs, still whirring about an air of memories taken away.

the latter was a pile of candy, 175 pounds (79 kilograms) of candy. the visitors can either choose to take from the pile causing the candy to shrink away, or not take away from it but still watch it vanish anyways. as the title implies, the candy represents the late ross laycock, who was gonzález-torres’s partner. the diminishing candy is meant to represent him succumbing to illness.

and with portrait of ross in l.a. i remembered seeing someone comment angrily about it, saying that anyone could just pour candy on the floor. but seeing that response that i would’ve agreed with in the past made me…upset this time? the only thing making it different to me was the context that i had behind its existence.

and i’ve had an epiphany about this recently. to both people inside and outside the art community (for lack of better words) we equate good art with beauty and struggle. if someone can look at a piece and imagine themself making it without having to suffer in some way to get there, they see it as lesser art. whether we think about it or not, we equate good art with suffering. but why should we? shouldn’t art be about the message? just because something isn’t a technical masterpiece in the sense of da vinci and van gogh, doesn’t make the message is inherently weaker.

i hope to one day live in a world where if we look at an art piece we see as easy to do, we don’t angrily think “i could’ve done that.” but instead think “i could do that too!” with a sense of inspiration.

[delicatecherrys]

is there a protocol on here to talk about “last reblog”?

i don’t wanna clog their post with my opposing view in their tags. i see their point, but i kinda disagree? i think it’s great to interpret media without caring about what the author meant, and we will always continue to do that even if the author comes outright and says they meant it the opposite way. (hell, is that not what we do with “canon divergent” fanfiction that explores characters reacting differently in a situation than they did when the author wrote them?)

but i don’t think it’s fair to dismiss authorial intent like that. art DOES become more (or less) meaningful if it was put together with thought & intent, rather than being the product of accident. i DO care if the author meant to portray love that was meant to read as queer, rather than accidentally (badly!) writing brotherly love. i’ll have my own interpretation, but i want to know what they were trying to say, if i can.

it sucks that we have to speculate. it sucks that heterosexuality is the default and we have to seek validation for our queer interpretations. but that IS reality.

and i do agree it takes away from art being subtle & dynamic, which is not a good thing, but i guess…i dunno. i don’t know what the solution is. but when we get continually harassed for our queer reading of a piece of media…

it’s not my business how other people interpret art, but the heteronormativity of the spaces we exist in means that being confident in my own reading of something is not enough. it means someone is gonna hold it over my head and laugh and be bigoted, because there isn’t “proof”. is it really so unbelievable that queer people are seeking that validation? or at the very least hoping not to see heteronormativity shoved into every work that can read as queer, giving ammo to every asshole out there to act like we’re delusional for reading queer subtext in a story?

idk what i’m saying, this has been bothering me given the increased harassment & homophobia i’ve personally experienced on twitter since 431 came out. i think it’s a bit dismissive to say “just be content with what you got and interpret it your way, why do you need proof/validation”.

(which we never did, at least i didn’t. all i was asking for was there to be a space left to interpret things in a queer way without an emphasis on your typical het ship. if there really was censorship involved & author’s hand was forced, i think 431 is the kindest way it could have happened for us queer folks. but it’s undeniable that it still fucking sucks.)

nobody follows me here so i don’t expect anyone to read/respond to this lol, just needed to rant. if you did read it, sorry, it probably didn’t make much sense.

if op of that post happens to see this (i really hope they don’t), this wasn’t an attack on you or your take, you make solid points, i just happen to disagree.

anyways. good job horikoshi on going from writing a flawed but nonetheless interesting trope subversion of your main female “love interest” type character, to burying your one explicitly queer character and having her love be used as a way to push a het ship & reducing your female lead’s arc to be all about love/all about the boy she loved, ALL in one chapter. himiko’s treatment in this manga is truly a slap on the face, and i’m not even a himiko stan. can’t imagine how her fans feel. and ochako doesn’t even make sense. even if this chapter was a product of censorship and forced by editors/publishers, there were many more tasteful ways to accomplish teasing the het romance than…whatever that was.

also apparently this volume is selling a tonne which could be for any number of reasons (bonus cards, promise of bonus content, final volume, vol 1 parallel nostalgia, etc) but given its success, it really does make me feel small in my discontent. at the end of the day, as loud as our corner of the internet may be, it’s not enough. 🥲

[suck-baby-suck]

Sad Fanfic 'From Despair to Where'

This work explores themes of mental health and social injustice through fictionalized introspection. It aims to express solidarity and not speak on behalf of any group. If any phrasing feels off, I welcome gentle conversation.

[The date, names, and personalities are part of a fictional scenario. This fanfiction is inspired by the biography of R.E.

The only character who stays close to the real person is Richey.

I personally believe in a branch of String Theory (and quantum physics) known as the Many-Worlds Interpretation. It suggests that every time you make a choice, the Universe splits. All of these versions exist simultaneously, like pages in a book. You can only read one at a time, but in the endless library, every version of your life is already written.

This is the story where he says, “I am still here”,  for everyone who has ever wanted to vanish-even once.]

Chapter 1: 4Real 

Cardiff, February 2003 

The rain wasn’t falling. It was hovering, suspended in air like a fog of unspoken words. Cold needles of damp brushed skin and collarbones, turning breath into steam and the night into something slow, endless, and lonely. The whole city felt like it was holding its breath.

Richey:

That evening, around two a.m., I left home without leaving a note and headed for the Severn Bridge. I told myself maybe I’d find a job in Bristol - some temporary fix. I set off, hopes high, in the most mechanical way. I followed the M4 for three hours.

It was hell. Nothing but black sky and bleeding headlights, like the world had been smeared in tar. Gradually, it became lighter. Not sunrise, just headlights thickening. And then the bridge appeared.

Cold. Endless. Still. Like it had been waiting for me.

I didn’t want to die. But I couldn’t stand being alive like that anymore. It’s not pain, not really. It’s weight. Pressure. The unbearable density of being looked at but never seen. The kind of exhaustion where even breathing feels like a lie. When you're in that place, you don’t leave a letter. You don’t make a scene. You just go. Quietly.  Like fading ink.

I left my ID in the car, parked far from the bridge, like my way of saying: take what’s left. Just don’t follow me. I wanted silence. Not peace. Just nothingness.

I wanted the thoughts to shut up. For once. For good.

My hands were numb. But not from the cold. From carrying too much alone for too long. From the pressure of pretending to be someone people could pin their ideas to, a truth-teller, a pretty wreck, a poetic warning.

People saw the eyeliner. Not the essays. Not the weight. Just the surface. They called it the image, as if the screaming wasn’t real because it was dressed too well. 

I spent years turning my insides out for an audience that clapped at the mess and called it a show. Sick of it. Sick of performing pain just so people might believe it. Sick of bleeding in public and being told it was good PR.

They never learned the language I wrote in. Too busy selling my silhouette. And now the world’s changing again fast, sharp, loud, and I feel like a broken antenna trying to catch a signal that doesn’t want me anymore.

Why is survival always about silence? Why does staying mean shrinking? Why do I have to shape myself into something softer just to be tolerated? 

Why do I have to soften what hurts just to make other people comfortable? Why can’t I just say what I mean? Why is truth always punished unless it’s wrapped up as socially approved entertainment?

Why can’t I just say what I mean without being accused of everything at once?

I don’t want to disappear. But I don’t know how to stay here without erasing myself. You want to run until your body breaks down. Until your heart gives up, or your knees hit concrete. Anything, anything but continuing like this.

The Severn Bridge stood there like a god. A silent, indifferent god. One step, and I disappear. Into the channel. Into history. Into something that isn’t this.

Richey: What the hell...? What is that? I was sure—absolutely sure—that I was already half-gone. Already in the water. Already unraveling into the Severn’s mouth. But something... warm? It hit me like a hallucination. Not a light. Not a voice. Just this quiet warmth. Like a hug made of nothing.

Something shut up my thoughts. Not numbed them. Not erased them. Just... calmed them. Like whatever was screaming inside me had finally exhaled. And for the first time in weeks—maybe years— I could breathe.I didn’t see anything. But I felt it.

Something not real. And real enough to hold me. Real enough to pick up the weight. To sit with the mess and not flinch. And I walked. And I kept walking.

 2013. At the edge of civilization. Valley is for Valley Boy.

Muted wind chimes clang lazily in the breeze, like they’ve forgotten what they’re for. The floorboards creak with every step, like they’re in pain but too polite to scream. The espresso machine hisses in protest, as if it knows exactly what kind of lives we’re leading.

It smells like burnt coffee, dried lavender, and mild existential collapse. Outside: nothing. A mountain that’s mostly fog. Sheep that stare like they’ve seen things. They probably have. 

Somewhere near the edge of civilization. 

Richey: I’ve been here long enough that people don’t ask questions anymore.  Not out of kindness. They just don’t care. And I’ve stopped offering answers no one listens to.

The café’s warm. Wooden. Entirely forgettable.  Like most people’s coping mechanisms. I work here sometimes. Waiter. Burnt coffee technician. Pretend I understand the register. I don’t. But mostly, I write. Always writing. Articles. Op-eds. Essays I don’t sign. The things I used to scream about into microphones, I now whisper into Word documents.

I rent a room. Technically, a flat. But let’s not overstate things, it’s mostly just a room with delusions of architectural ambition. I stay here because of the table. Found it by the bins. Looks like it belonged in a 1983 classroom that gave up mid-sentence. That’s where I write. That’s where I still exist, half-man, half unfinished sentence.

Mattress on the floor. One chair. One clothes rail leaning like it gave up too. There’s a door to the bathroom that makes a sound like it’s regretting every flush. If Brian Molko ever saw it, I think he’d go wordless for a full day, which, to be fair, might be a public service.

The kitchen… My battlefield. It’s where the hunger stayed longest. Weeks without food before the last two clinics. Not some performance, just delay. That’s how you think when disappearing seems more polite than staying. Eating felt like admitting I wanted to stay. Now I’m too healthy for rehab, too sick for capitalism. Eating felt like admitting I hadn’t given up. Like feeding the body meant keeping the noise alive. I even try to do it regularly. As a way to say: I’m still here. I still exist. Existence, not as a choice, but as a response to something that once felt warm enough to silence the screaming.

I like writing. Still cover politics. War. Class. Masses against classes, same as it ever was. Except now they fight in their heads. I get it. I do the same. Everything’s internal now. All opinions softened, anonymised, just enough to not get burned at the stake. Flexibility is survival. You adapt or they tear you apart. Now I publish quietly. Unnamed. Still say what I mean. Just in lowercase.

Ten years ago, if someone'd told me I’d end up here, I would’ve jumped. Off that fucking bridge. No hesitation. But I didn’t. Because somewhere out there, a few people read. They feel it. They don’t click “like,”  but they linger. And that’s enough. They need the words. I need the writing. We’re all just trying to survive the noise. The noise and Netflix and this strange, shared self-loathing. Still the same meat grinder of late capitalism. Just with better fonts.

But I’ve also started this strange chain of stories, all circling around one feeling. The thing that stopped me from dying. I still don’t know what it was. It wasn’t God. Wasn’t clarity. Wasn’t some luminous, cinematic moment. It wasn’t even a person. No one came running.

It was warmth. Not metaphorical. Not religious. Just... warm.  Like something invisible wrapped around me and said:

“Wait.”

The café. Somewhere between Nowhere and F-ck Off, Poland.

It smells like sorrow and burnt milk.

Mr. Krzysiek Wandachowicz [yelling in Polish]:

“RICHARD, I TOLD YOU! NIE TAK SIĘ ROBI LATTE! ZNOWU TO SPIEPRZYŁEŚ!!” (“That’s NOT how you make a latte! You screwed it up again!”)

Richey doesn't flinch. He nods absently, wipes his hands on a towel that smells like disappointment and dairy abuse, and walks out the back door before he throws himself into the coffee grinder and lets it end him in a glorious cloud of decaf and regret.

Air like paper soaked in tea and bad decisions. Cold enough to feel alive, but not enough to mean it.

Lights a cigarette with a used match. Pocket lighter’s dead, of course it is.

FLASHBACK:  Dressing Room Mirror, Eyes Glazed.

A razorblade. A moment.  "4 REAL" carved into his forearm like a contract he never signed.

Richey: Once, I carved 4 REAL into my arm just to prove I wasn’t some mannequin in eyeliner. That I wasn’t selling sadness—I was sadness. I stood for something, even if it bled. That was me, speaking a language people only ever mimed.

Now? Four rehab clinics later, one failed death, two false names, five countries, and a decade gone, I’m standing in front of Mr. Krzysiek Wandachowicz, pretending I know how to make a stupid f**king latte.

Mental illness: rebranded as customer service.

He exhales.

Survival looks a lot like knowing how to steam milk, while dissociating just enough not to scream. Every day, I fail at capitalism. They should start giving out medals for it. Espresso's still warm. I’m still here. 

He walks. Not to anywhere. Just away.

[alarrytale]

About Louis’ image let me say I do adore Louis but his “newer” image…maybe not as much, this is long but I had to get it out.

I miss LTWT Louis you can actually see the difference to FITF, it’s not confidence I love that, this is different, one of my friends who isn’t a fan said to me “tell him Liam Gallagher called he wants his persona back but with Liam it’s actually real”

The obvious drinking on stage (probably from nerves) singing about getting stoned (a bit much) being slightly inappropriate (during the last set of the Fest tour he made a gesture while everyone was emotionally drained singing Walls that left a bad taste in my mouth) and the barricade runs (I’m no prude but it’s getting weird)

Now add in the fact he left many many fans open to abuse he knew they would then his “I love you All” message sure unless he has to promote something and has to come off super het gotta get those “he will see me and sleep with me” fans.

I’ve never ever seen an artist basically bash fans and in his own way encourage others to as well when most really just want him to have a choice in coming out, with or without Harry. I’m not going to get into that joke of an interview on the promo tour (which didn’t even sell more tickets) and again a friend not in the fandom said it was ridiculous

And this is the image, someone who is playing het because even if he’s bi the man is not straight, can be rude to his own fans, a dead beat dad who pulled the kid out when he needed promo, screams privacy and yet lets UAs exist for said child, tries to be an indie rocker but acts more like a caricature of one, goes from relationship to relationship pretty easy and quick and would make out with strangers too? so who knows what else he’s capable of. Add in low key homophobia, oh and let’s not forget the show he maybe wasn’t wearing underwear and you could basically see his almost semi, please people we all know it happened we all saw the pics so add in kind of a perv too.

That’s the image he and mostly his team is pushing, how wonderful.

and yes it’s still man spreading when a man sits in a chair by himself and he’s almost in a split, no one needs that much ball space. How do we know? next time make sure people and the cameras can’t see up your shorts during an interview Louis, to the point someone had to tell you to adjust and close your legs (I won’t say which one but it was after the Euro leg of FITF)

My point is, it’s so obvious he’s trying too hard, he doesn’t need to he shouldn’t have to, he’s being promoted the same way as in One D only older. it’s a shame we all know he’s a sweet kind man, we have seen glimpses of HIM on stage, he wouldn’t want his fans to be bullied by other fans, he wouldn’t use a child for promotion, he wouldn’t have a child with someone who he hasn’t even said their name in almost 9 years. Also maybe they’re pushing the bi narrative because making out with randos? Sorry but no. And he truly does love us all.

And above all else if people believe the image they’re pushing then they have to believe he led Harry on, broke his heart more than once and now is embarrassed by showing affection toward him.

This doesn’t sound like a Louis anyone would want to be a fan of because we know it’s not who he is at all. He can be a lady lad athleisure wearing guy and be gay too and have a long time partner who he adores, it must be exhausting for him, let his music promote him, he’s been saddled with a bad reputation since the band because of that management and his management now isn’t doing that much better.

Hi, anon!

No, it's not confidence, it's this fake bravado that kind of makes him look douchy. It's something he seems to revert to on the days he seems less confident actually. It does come off as he's trying too hard and i think that's off putting to some target groups. This persona or caricature he's projecting isn't very likeable.

His image is exhausting us, and it must be exhausting for him too, even more so. It sucks balls. It is what it is though, and things won't change until they're able to end bg and come out. Luckily we know most of that isn't him at all.

[dontjudgemeimawriter]

OC in Fifteen

Tagged by @pertinax--loculos thank you! I wanted to do there for other characters after doing Terran

(Edit: This has been sitting in my drafts fully done for ages. Whoopsies.)

Raymond's up next!

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

"But if I hadn’t convinced Jesse that you were capable of being a decent person, you would’ve— [killed him], and you know what? That doesn’t make any sense.”

2.

“You’re trying to control everything and I don’t like that stupid spell, I can’t talk to you. You think it makes you so good at things but it just makes you a controlling jerk,” Raymond yelled back. “This is why I don’t trust you! Why I didn’t tell you!”

3.

“I want everyone alive. You just want me alive.”

4.

[Raymond] smiled slightly. “When you cast that spell you heighten the level of resources your brain has dedicated to a specific task. It’s heightening of a psychological phenomena. All I had to do was split up the resources.”

I thought that over. “I didn't know Nyps could do that,” I said, and somehow when he explained it it made so much sense. Like it was simple.

“I didn't know I could either. It was a theory. Until just now. But I shouldn’t’ve tried it. I wanted you to unfocus but I shouldn’t’ve forced it.”

5.

“I want the person who let me go. You weren’t focused then. Look. I know that spell is useful. I know we might not’ve pulled this off without it. That’s kind of the point of this, though. I want to get to know you. And if even you don’t know who that is… maybe you should.” 

6.

(Context: Raymond shared that he makes and sells Nyp whispers, which is like selling a mental health spell)

“It’s like going in blind. And because it’s freaking illegal we can’t do it right, y’know? Even if it’d be fine to tell people, no one wants a Nyp going into their mind, they’d much rather take a whisper because it doesn’t give access. But everyone’s different, everyone’s brain is different. I’ve seen these not work on some people, or even make things worse, and I hate it. If I could go in, if we could do research on these spells, I could find a way to actually help instead of giving this thing that works for some people. And it’s worse because like, sometimes I’m selling it to someone, and like, I don’t need much to get in, y’know? I’m giving them a memory-whisper and I’m like, I can sense how your mind works and I know this won’t work for you, but I can’t say anything, and if people would be okay with it maybe I could actually help them. But maybe I’m not helping, because there’s no research on Nyp magic, and honestly, I have no freaking idea if there's side effects to anything, or if I could do more harm. I hate it.”

7.

“There was just—” he paused.

“There was what?” I urged. Something was there, something he wanted to talk about, I could feel it.

“Some fear?”

“Of?”

He sighed. “You? Like I know you wouldn't hurt me and I trust you. But it—made it a little hard to sleep, I guess.”

8.

“Because you’re always so invested in my existence being secret, right? I’d convinced myself that if you came looking for me it was because you had to control everything again, make sure I was being safe and all.” The corner of his mouth tugged up in a slight smirk. “But you missed me, didn’t you?”

Was that really a reveal? Sure, I hadn’t thought about the implication of calling out his name (and fuck he was right, that had been risky), but… “Of course I missed you.”

“That’s not an ‘of course,’ okay? You’re hiding 90% of the time. I have no idea how you feel. I have no idea if you—no idea why you saved me. I have to trust that you won’t kill other people that matter to me but I don’t even know what guided that decision in the first place.”

9.

“Sorry,” I took a deep breath. 

He nodded. “Thanks.” he didn’t meet my eye for a moment, then asked, “Should I not try to touch you?”

My wincing had been my fault, not his.  “It’s fine.”

“Is it actually?” he asked, concern in his voice.

10.

“I know I was just insisting I go,” Raymond said. “And I’m still going to. But that doesn't mean I’m not scared. And the truth is…you are better at this. Maybe I’ve been stubborn, and maybe you’ve been right this whole time. Maybe if I hadn’t come back to go to Dante, then both you and Jodi would be safe. I don’t have any ideas, any solutions, and I’m terrified, and you’ve gotten me out of this before and I can’t do this myself. I’m not leaving Jodi. And I think you can figure out a solution.”

11.

“Yes, I understand how a hostage negotiation works, Abigail."

12.

“Understand now?” He asked, speaking up after a second, and his voice still had the bite, but I sensed some strain. “You’re going to give me access to a lot of people who have reason not to like you. You’re going to need me in their heads. I do that all for you, but my friends are safe, guaranteed. And I won’t kill for you. That’s the deal. You will not use them to get to me ever again.”

13.

“Not cocoa. Chocolate.” Raymond leaned against the arm of the couch, facing me. He gave me a smile.

“What’s the difference?"

“Cocoa is powder and hot water. This,” he took a sip, closing his eyes as he did, an expression of deep satisfaction coming over him, topped with a whipped-cream mustache. “Is hot chocolate.”

14.

“Did you leave a window open, too?” I remembered, vaguely, him opening it earlier.

“No, I—“ he hesitated as he unwrapped his damp scarf and looked around, just as both of us saw that I’d been right. There was a window open, just a crack, but enough to be contributing. He ran over to it and shut it. “Definitely no windows left open,” he smiled sheepishly.

15.

“That feeling? You know how you said you can’t escape yourself?” I nodded again. “That’s why I went into a burning building. I realized what I was doing faster, sure. But you were there your whole life, and it’s all you were taught. And still, you showed me compassion. You risked yourself so I could live when I didn’t want to and I didn’t even think you liked me. I forgave you then.”

My boy!

Tagging @crushedmodule @rosesonneptune @bookish-karina @thegreatobsesso @wildswrites & @blind-the-winds

[ringtownrangerlark]

[@walkingbugencyclopedia]

Hi there my name is Bugsy we talked Once about Cereal and I’m a Gym Leader in Johto and I’d like to politely disagree with you about the League and Pokeballs.

As you can probably guess from the everything about me I’m an expert in Bug-Types. I’m a specialist in both battling with them and research of them (though not yet qualified for the Professor title, something I want to be in the future). I discovered the move Fury Cutter, which, while not as impressive as a lot of things a lot of other people have done, is pretty rare for someone who was (at the time) 12 years old.

I’ve been involved in my region’s Pokemon League… pretty much since. And I might go so far as to say that these people are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. (Better than most of the people I’d been friends with before that point, at least.) We’re flawed. So’s everything else ever created in the history of everything. Humans aren’t, can’t be, perfect. You and others make some fair points. (Technically the Johtonian Pokemon School is entirely independent of the League and I’d call Unova an exception along with Paldea, but that’s tangential.)

The League aside, Silph and Devon are FAR from the only people making Pokeballs. While the modern mass-produced Pokeball is mostly made by corporations, they’ve been almost an art form for CENTURIES. Not that something being older makes it better by the very principle of it, but people have been hand-making Pokeballs using apricorns and ingenuity long before the styler was a twinkle in its inventor’s eyes. I live a few doors down from a man who’s been making traditional Pokeballs since long before I was even born. The Pokeball, in itself, is not new, not in the same way the styler appears to have been popularized within the lifetime of some still-active Rangers. Also Kalos has its own entirely independent Pokeball factory but that’s a minor factual error on your part at worst.

On a related point, the only Pokeball that can be bought for, quote, “pocket change” without any league badges (which, I may note, are given out at the Gym Leader’s discretion, even disregarding the battle outcome; so that Trainers who are abusive towards Pokemon or similarly not deserving of a Badge don’t get it) are the standard ones (and the Premier Ball, but that’s just standard with a fancy coat of paint). The standard Pokeball is not designed to capture Pokemon efficiently. The other Pokeballs that can be obtained with no League Badges are often a) situational and/or b) sold by private individuals who have the right to refuse to sell their Pokeballs to those that may misuse them.

Claiming that being older makes the Pokeball objectively better would be an appeal to tradition, though, so that’s not really reason enough. What is, in my opinion, reason enough, is the actual value of the more concrete and compact capture that a Pokeball provides. It allows for the entire existence of Pokemon Training as a sport, and the modern idea of living in harmony with Pokemon. Now, while training Pokemon without Pokeballs is possible, it’s a whole lot less practical for everyone involved, up to and including the Pokemon. Pokeballs don’t inherently take away a Pokemon’s free will any more than a styler. After the moment of capture itself, a Pokemon in a Pokeball isn’t “trapped” in any meaningful sense of the word. While it’s registered to you, and many Pokemon often do become more docile (due to the fact that they’re often intelligent enough to know that human means food and safety), others don’t, and those Pokemon are just as aggressive as before they’re caught. The Pokeball, while it can be released and recalled on the command of the Trainer, also allows the Pokemon to do the same things, and while the Trainer can try and counteract those actions, sometimes it’s a losing battle. If that Pokemon doesn’t want to be captured I can assure you that one way or another, it won’t be. (The only exception being the Master Ball but that’s controversial at best and even now only given out to the most trusted of Trainers and authorities.) Pokeballs are also relatively easy to break, which, while it may sound like a negative, is actually a very positive thing all considered. A broken Pokeball deregisters the Pokemon that had been contained within it. This is great because breaking a Pokeball is an easy way to get a Pokemon deregistered if it has been registered to someone that it shouldn’t be. As has been mentioned, Pokeballs are inherently single use, which means that while not all-encompassing, budget is a strong limiting factor.

I’d also like to mention that jamming technology for Pokeballs exists and its lack of widespread use by the authorities is an issue on their part, not on the Pokeballs themselves. Perhaps the adoption of such technology could solve some of the issues you have with Pokeballs in their modern state.

Finally, I’d like to emphasize that no malice is intended in this argument. You, sir, have the correct views on cereal, and that makes you pretty damn cool in my book.

Signed,

Bugsy, Azalea Town Gym Leader

Hello!

I really appreciate this thorough and thoughtful reply. I will be the first to admit that I'm not immune to bias. I come from a region where pokeballs are relatively new and rare, and there is no league, so I have an outsider's perspective on these things, and don't really "get" some aspects of league and trainer culture. I'll try to address your points one by one:

First of all, congratulations! I certainly wasn't doing anything close to that impressive at age 12. And from what I've seen, your bug expertise is top-notch.

I'm really glad the League has been such a positive experience for you. It was never my intention to imply the league itself was evil. I suspect your feelings are similar to mine about the rangers- I started volunteering as a teenager and rangers haven't just been my coworkers, they are family members and good friends. The Union still has it's flaws and inefficiencies, and is far from perfect.

I did not know much about the history of pokeballs! I am also very glad to hear that gym badges are not handed out by battle victory alone. That was a concern for possible abuse. To your point about standard pokeballs not being designed to capture efficiently- I feel like that would just encourage a person to buy and use more pokeballs, rather than addressing the root issues of care, goodness-of-fit, and motivation.

I also feel the need to clarify that I never believed a pokemon caught via ball was trapped, or that registering a pokemon was inherently harmful. And as I have said elsewhere, I am not actually against pokemon capture, training, or battling (or other uses of registered pokemon, such as construction). These practices have existed for centuries and have been often to the betterment of pokemon and humans alike.

I think the primary flaw in my argument was that I focused on pokeballs vs. stylers, when a lot of my concerns boil down really to what I am going to call "trainer culture" for lack of a better word. By this I mean things like:

Trainers not being expected to learn ecology or pokemon biology

Battling being seen as the be-all-end-all of handling situations, even outside of the league and sports battles. For example, the notion that criminal organizations can be managed by vigilantes or citizens fighting with their own pokemon.

Catching a pokemon being seen as synonymous to knowing/learning about/understanding it

Being a battle champion being seen as the peak or 'mastery' of Pokemon

"Gotta catch em all" mentality

Valuing a pokemon's moves and utility in battle as the most important features

Thinking all pokemon must battle, or that evolution (via battle) is necessary for all pokemon

Assuming everyone battles, knows about battling, or follows battling as a sport

Assuming someone who doesn't battle regularly doesn't know about pokemon

I'm not saying all trainers believe these things. But I have encountered these beliefs as basic, unquestioned assumptions in many trainers. And it isn't even typically malicious- just a widespread cultural norm. And you must also remember that I'm coming at this from my position as a ranger. Which means in my day-to-day job I am constantly dealing with things like:

People randomly releasing pokemon they no longer want, often in inappropriate environments or after too much training for wild release (e.g. just dumping an anorith in the ocean).

Mass trafficking of pokemon.

Trainers using wild pokemon as battle practice (rather than gyms or fellow trainers) which can result in widespread damage (e.g. a trainer training their charmander by battling dozens of oddish, who would not normally encounter charmander, and to a degree greater than normal loss through predation. Or someone bringing an elektrike to knock-out multiple magikarp in a region where there are no water electric types, and ocean pokemon are not adapted to that kind of encounter.)

Trainers doing dangerous or disruptive things in the name of catching or battling (e.g. putting honey on trees which fed wild pokemon, in a region without honey trees or wild aipom).

I agree that pokeballs have their benefits for safe capture of pokemon intended to be kept/trained rather than wild. A capture styler is tailored for rangers and wouldn't meet the needs of most others. But I would like more people to recognize

The way modern pokeballs make certains kinds of harm very easy to perpetuate and very hard to stop and

Maybe question a bit more the effects their typical assumptions, behaviors or practices with pokemon, and whether some of these things are actually necessary.

A lot of my job would be much safer and easier if people weren't encouraged to catch and battle as much as possible, while being under-encouraged to actually learn about pokemon and the environment. I hope that has made my position more clear.

With warm regards,

Lark, Ranger (Ringtown, currently Paldea Crater Base)