#i have decent enough reason to be a misanthrope

[goethefaustworld]

We're all aware this is caused by mommy and daddy issues, right?

People hate their parents and extend that to the entire gender. All of us know that, right

The reasons people give are picked after the hatred: they aren't the cause, they're the excuse. We're all conscious of that, right?

*sighs*

[fullscoreshenanigans]

how do you think Emma (post cannon or otherwise) and ashye would interact? I don’t think Ashye would hate her just because she’s Norman’s friends since she gets along with Ray in the side story decently enough

Ayshe definitely wouldn't hate Emma. While being raised by a demon, she's not misanthropic; she just hates a specific group of people.

I talk about this on my Gildayshe musings post and this recent poll, but the first conversation Ayshe has with Don and Gilda has them reacting like this:

(Chapter 139)

After she just told them Norman was behind her father's murder—someone who was her whole world—they're in tears at the thought of not being in conflict with him. Even when considering the possibility that Norman ultimately plans to kill Sonju and Mujika after they bring them to the paradise hideout, if there's a chance of negotiating with him, they'll take it.

It goes even further when Norman betrays them and uses them as bait just like they suspected in chapter 135.

(Chapter 144)

Gilda still pleads with Mujika, after Norman just tried to have her and Sonju—her companion of 700 years—killed, to help them stop Norman before things become irrevocable for him and everyone around him. She still considers him her older brother after all of that. Don looks empathetic and in agreement with her while Ayshe is left in open-mouthed shock, because she could understand if Gilda didn't want anything to do with him at this point.

But she also understands family, and her new companions have made it clear that her father's murderer is still important to them. She doesn't begrudge them for it.

(Chapter 167)

And she doesn't hesitate to save them when they return to Grace Field.

She has known them for ten days.

(Mystic Code Book Chapter 7)

Within the span of four days, she's willing to have this conversation with Ray:

(Chapter 169)

This is after Emma has made it clear how close she and Ray are with Norman:

(Chapter 161)

She's conciliatory to Don and Gilda when she says "it's true that he ate humans, but to me, he was my father" and here. Despite acknowledging that familial connection she feels toward him, she gives all of them an out. 'You don't have to spare my feelings. I understand why humans hate demons.' Knows most demons wouldn't think twice about eating her if given the opportunity. She's downcast and gives a light sigh of resignation because she's aware of how bizarre this would look to another human. They can conceptually see why she feels the way she does, but not how profound that loss is for her, so she'd rather skip the attempt at sympathy.

It's why she's so shocked at Ray's blunt declaration reaffirming her love for her father as valid and gives her full attention to him in earnest. She follows it up by saying their parents were also good people.

Given their prominence in the story since the start, I'm fairly confident the figures on the left and bottom center are Norman and Don respectively so all five of the oldest Grace Field kids are included here and poignantly attached to her sentiment. It's possible she's lying to Ray to be reciprocally kind or mentally separating the kids into differing levels of good with Norman at the bottom to still technically qualify him, but with less reason to lie to him between the validation of her feelings and the intimacy of the setting I'm disinclined to believe the former, and with the latter he's still included regardless.

(Chapter 181)

With all that in mind in addition to how she's willing to let Norman and Vincent hold her dogs' puppies post-timeskip, it would be very bizarre for Ayshe to hate Emma. If anything she'd think Emma's too good for Norman lol

I also imagine there would be a lot of overlap between how she interacts with Emma and Ray.

(TPN Light Novel 4: Films of Memories - “Don and Gilda”)

She reacts this strongly to Don and Gilda even thinking about being burdens in the post-canon. Despite lacking those memories, there are still convictions she holds that are etched into her very being. If she was given a rundown of Ayshe's history, she'd also conclude that her father's species was irrelevant if he saved her and provided her with unconditional love, possibly more forcefully than Ray. It wouldn't come as a surprise to Ayshe, given her interactions with all the other Grace Field children at this point, but it'd be comforting all the same, that reinforcement of why Emma's friends and family cared so deeply for her and spent years searching for her. There was never really tension between them, but it makes Ayshe feel more at ease around her all the same.

I'm also a very big proponent of wlw Ayshe, so I enjoy @dyslexicsponge's take of her having a crush on Emma (intimidating Norman by going to hang out with him because he's so obvious about his crush on Emma and Ayshe's so smitten she doesn't know who else she could possibly commiserate with optional lol).

[soyouareandrewdobson]

Elf on the shelf and pedo on the net

Merry Christmas/Holidays, everyone!

So I think you know what this post is going to be about. The one comic, that has become a christmas tradition at hypocrisy's blog.

Released mere days before Christmas of 2016 -which Dobson likely considered ruined, because it was Trumps first Christmas after he won the election 2016- the comic shows two male stripers, with one pondering that the reason he joined the profession, may be related to some rather “unsavoury” kinks he developed as a result of a Christmas tradition.

Now being from Europe, I myself didn’t even know of the “Elf on the Shelf” until I saw this comic. Though a quick google search made me realize, why that was: The entire idea of putting an elf doll on the shelf to “watch over the kid” wasn’t even a thing until a children book came out in 2004, that promoted the idea. The real take off of the Elf being around the first half of the 2010s and since then having managed to creep its way into the popcultural subconscious.

Yeah, if you can’t tell, I am not really a fan of that thing, based on the designs I saw. Also the idea of “surveilling” your children to see if they are naughty or nice feels rather creepy. And I grew up in a culture that accepts the idea of good old Saint Nicolas and his henchman Rudolph/Krampus putting the bad ones into their place via spanking or worse.

However, Dobson managed to make the concept even creepier by virtue of relating it to a masturbation punchline. Which in turn makes you just ponder, what the heck is wrong with Dobson?

So, let us just dissect this thing quick, before it sours any positive Christmas mood.

First, Dobson supposedly did the comic, because in his opinion the “Elf on the Shelf” sends a strange message to kids…

And to be fair, a lot of kids seemingly hate the creepy little doll and “experts” have called it out at being psychologically damaging. Going so far as to say the toy “normalizes” the concept of constant surveillance and that it would be okay. Which personally I think is a bit of a stretch, but not entirely inaccurate also. So making fun of the concept of the doll, totally okay with me. Heck, Teen Titans Go did an entire episode mocking the thing.

But Dobson’s attempt of making fun of it, just crosses into genuine creeper territory, for one simple reason: Sexualization of minors.

Look, I don’t believe Dobson is a pedophile -though his poor choice of wordings on twitter posts and certain aspects of art pieces can give the impression- and the situation Dobson shows in the comic is not explicitly pornographic. After all, we don’t see the kid like buttass naked pumping the bike pump while the elf stares. I now give you five minutes to hopefully delete that mental image with enough eggnog at your disposal.

But it still turns “sexual”…

An implication that is not very subtle for a couple of reasons.

First, the person asked and thinking back to the Christmas tradition is a male stripper. A job in the sex works. By the way, respect for people in that job (independent of the sex) for being able to work without feeling objectified (or too much) and managing to keep a decent body shape. Hope also for your safety out there.

Which I am not just saying because Dobson incidentally tries to mock male strippers in the comic in my opinion. After all, we all know Dobson hates men. And when men aren’t some MRA morons or fat misanthropic nerds, they can’t be anything but dumb male himbos or potentially depraved homosexuals who got kinky by perverting a Christmas children tradition.

Yeah, I am stretching here a bit, but we are talking about Dobson. The guy was always more than open to the idea of making gay men the butt of some joke in Alex ze Pirate.

Am I really supposed to believe he changed that attitude?

But back to the comic. The second reason why obvious the entire thing has sexual undertones as punchline… just look at that face

That is the face of someone masturbating under the blanket. The sultry eyes, the blush on his face, one hand under the cover while the other is above, bitting his lip… if that thing were animated, I bet the kid would be moaning and I could report Dobson to some authority.

And yeah, that is really what the entire creepiness of the comic boils down too. The face of the kid that leaves no other room for interpretation except “a sex pun, based on a “Christmas tradition” targeted at really small kids. With the final panel feeling like Dobson likely had a good laugh at his “joke”, thinking others would react the same.

Well, the reaction doesn’t seem to have been what Dobson hoped for, cause he would later release the following tweet.

Two things to that: First, I think the reason people were “confused” Dobson (confused likely means here, asked him if he is a pedo), was that they kinda didn’t want to think you were going into that “sexualized” territory because that would raise more red flags than you obsessing over KorraSami. And would have also felt rather out of character for you, cause of how prudish you become at the subject of sexualization.

Second, accusing others of lacking imagination and that therefore little things like that comic stump them. Dobbitch, I have read every major comic you ever made, if anyone lacks imagination, it is you. Your mental capacity for imagining stuff is lower than of a braindead person in a coma. And the fact that a self declared “child friendly” webartist focuses most of the time on the punchline “character X is thirsty”…

even if the character in question is underaged, makes me think you are enjoying Belgian porn on the sideline.

Overall, the comic is just creepy. But not in the way that it makes the doll itself creepy and therefore the butt of the joke. Rather it makes the artist behind the comic creepy, because he tries to imagine a scenario where that thing causes someone to spring their first boner.

The sad thing being, Dobson could have easily made the comic creepier and funnier at the same time, fi he just had put the focus of the comic on the puppet and not the kid. For example, of all the things in the world, I think Family Guy could make the joke of a creepy elf puppet work, if it played out like that: Lois puts an elf on the shelf for every kid in the house, including Chris.

Chris goes to bed, camera focuses on him, turning around, the puppet is cut off from you.

Chris says “good night”  to the elf.

Zoom out to show the shelf, now it is Herbert the creepy neighbour in an elf costume on the shelf saying “Night, Chris”

There. Now if you excuse me, I need to take a shower. Not necessarily from reviewing that comic, but because I actually wrote out a Family Guy joke.

[steveskafte]

FALLING FOR CAUSES For the vast majority of my life, I've kept a lot more of my own company than anyone else's. It's just the way I'm built, to pass most days living in my head. Now and then, I hear from some of the truly misanthropic among us about how I've got a lifestyle that they envy. They go on about modern politics, how the next generation is the worst one ever, and if it weren't for their wife, kids, and job – all of which they resent – they'd go off in the woods like I do, and never come out. Let me stop you there and tell you this: terminal complainers never like it alone. If you spend all your energy whining about things you'll never change, you'll be miserable in a setting with only yourself to blame. For all their rhetoric spouted about how country living isn't what it once was, you can still move to a cabin and be totally ignored for the rest of your existence. But that's not for them. You've got to be some prodigy of peace to love life totally alone. Half-measures of pretend isolation is the paint-by-numbers picture they're building on. Divisions between strangers and arguments on the internet, looking for reasons but falling for causes. Starting arguments on a regular basis will certainly make you feel alone – but it has very little in common with actual isolation. If you experienced a more benevolent solitude from the beginning, that kind of conflict would never seem so appealing. Running away from your problems is nothing like having something worth running toward, The erasure of everything that annoys you won't result in any lasting happiness. The relief will only linger long enough for you to start wishing someone was listening, and they won't be sympathetic unless you admit that the real cause for concern was the darkness hiding in your heart. In my aloneness, I save up enough goodwill for other people that it's all I've got in mind by the time we meet. Some great story to share, an adventure, firm hug or handshake. I don't have many hours to offer or effort to spare, but I've committed to making every interaction a positive experience. I can't relate to the pursuit of negative trade. When I'm presented with a rant against some specific group – all I want to know is what they're really for. It might seem self-absorbed, but me, I'm for me. Every day, I wake up wondering how to make my day better. There are a lot of roadblocks in the way. I've got to reach enough people to keep up a decent income, need to deal with my brain enough to keep the peace. If I get those two right in the process of my travels, I'm already spent. Being on the borders of society suits me, on the outside looking out. But only because I don't blame anyone for what's wrong inside me. August 11, 2023 Victoria Harbour, Nova Scotia Year 16, Day 5752 of my daily journal.

[itsshellybitch]

Future headcanons (mostly later teens/early 20s)

Gets her headgear and braces removed just before she starts high school

She ends up extremely attractive and is quite the boy magnet

Despite her new appearance and popularity among the male population, her self-esteem issues haven't completely gone away

Much to Stan's horror, his friends think that Shelly is hot. Some are more vocal about this (ie. Kenny) and others keep it more of a secret (ie. Kyle)

Starts out dating nice enough boys, but soon moves onto thugs and bad boys, mostly to piss off Randy. She can handle them, though. She eventually outgrows this phase as she reaches her 20s.

Is a bit of a serial monogamist for a variety of psychological reasons

While she mellows out considerably after her headgear is removed, she'll always have a temper and will always be a bit rough around the edges. She'll still kick your ass too.

Her first tattoo is a daisy on her inner wrist. She refuses to explain the significance to anybody.

Her relationship with Stan improves over the years, even if her relationship with her parents doesn't

Has a rebellious streak, but still won't touch drugs

On the rare occasions she gets drunk, she's a surprisingly silly drunk

Is determined to move out the second she graduates high school, whether she applies herself enough to get into college or moves in with a boyfriend. She doesn't care, as long as she's out of her parents' house.

Is still a bit of a misanthrope. In fact, her newfound treatment after she got her headgear off has made her a bit more cynical.

Will buy booze for teenage Stan and friends once she's 21 - but ONLY if she's bribed decently. And as long as the turd promises not to overdo it.

Her body image issues improve slightly (key word: slightly) and she starts wearing more revealing clothes not long after her headgear is removed. She doesn't go overboard, she just wears more form-fitting clothes and reveals a bit of cleavage and midriff sometimes. Like many other things in her life, she primarily does this because Randy disapproves.

Not counting her ears, she has three piercings: a nose stud, a navel ring, and an eyebrow piercing. She won’t do more than that. She’s had enough metal in her head for a lifetime.

Randy tried to teach her to drive. It... didn’t go so well. Her boyfriend at the time took over the driving lessons.

Started teaching self-defense courses as a side gig during college and soon pursues it as a career. She also takes people on an individual basis. Her first client was Karen McCormick. Kenny and Kevin pooled every cent they could find to hire her (Shelly gave them a discount).

Dreamed about growing up to be an Amazonian woman as a kid. Alas, her adult height is 5'3".

Is the Bridezilla from hell.

Gets into fights at her kids' sports matches. Unlike Randy, she's stone cold sober.

I might add more if I come up with anything.

[antoniatzhang]

ok here we go

BASICS

full name: antonia trevisani zhang

birthday: may 15th, 1960

age: 19

pronouns: she/her

current residence: wimbourne house, hemlock room

languages: english, mandarin, italian

BACKGROUND

hometown: siena, italy

previous home: n/a

parents: emilia trevisani and zhang jie

siblings: tbd

pets: lucrezia, a tarantula, plus two dobermanns back in italy named alto and nico

WIZARDING STATS

wand:  11″, occamy feather core, wood tbd, unyielding, lined with occamy eggshell silver. 

patronus: jaguar (uncast)

boggart: tbd

amortentia: tbd

PERSONALITY

strengths: adventurous, thorough, observant

weaknesses: unrepentant, misanthropic, self-centered

MBTI: ISTP-a

alignment: chaotic neutral (?... I just hate the word evil so you be the judge of it)

zodiac sign: taurus

likes: fire, deadlines, quidditch, running, spiders, her dogs, shortcuts

dislikes: people, 

MIRROR

height:5'5

body type: skinny

eye color: pitch black

hair color: pitch black

faceclaim: natasha liu bordizzo

voiceclaim: rooney mara w/ accent

EDUCATION

primary school: london school of witchcraft / class of 1978

hogwarts house: slytherin/ class of 1981

degree: healing sciences, mind magic

extracurriculars: dueling club, quidditch, JWL

classes: tbd

BACKGROUND

People are idiots, of that Antonia is sure. Although she is not particularly accomplished in anything worth remarking, Antonia is entirely convinced that everyone is beneath her, in one way or another. That one? Lazy. The other? Presumptuous. The third is naïve. The fourth, unambitious, the poor thing. She could go on and on about the defects of each and every person in the world, without ever recognizing these same exact defects in herself. She has learnt, after all, that in her, all acts are justifiable, because she is special. Talented. Those who see defects in her are likely jealous, as she’s always been told by her parents. This posture makes it difficult for her to like just about anyone, as their defects always make them seem incredibly unworthy of her time. Upon joining Hogwarts, Antonia decided her most likely chance of meeting decent companies would be joining the Junior Witches League, seeing as her mother had been associated to its Italian branch and always spoke wonders of her sisters. So far, however, she remains unimpressed. Her few good qualities are her impressive talent for jinxes, hexes and combative magic as a whole, which she hopes to show off at dueling club, and her ability to push herself relentlessly in everything physical –adrenaline is a key motivator to Antonia. Quidditch and dueling are the most orthodox ways to get those kicks, but other creative ways are also on the table. Danger strikes her fancy.

A childhood like Antonia’s could be described as picture perfect. The setting of Villa Trevisani, a true Tuscany-style mansion in the outskirts of Siena, Italy, was abundant and dreamy. From an early age, she figured she must have been a very special child – what else could explain the garden, the toys, the clothes, all dreamy and all at the tip of her fingers? She was special, as her father explained. Unlike other kids. Not only was she a witch, she also belonged to a phenomenal lineage, and was therefore entitled to all the best things in life. The company of all those goods made for decent substitute of her parents’ attention. They loved her, sure, but both lived hustled celebrity lives – her mother, Emilia Trevisani, a singer and tabloid favorite celebrity in Italy, and her father, Zhang Jie, a superstar quidditch player who led the Chinese national quidditch team to victory on three World Cups, as their seeker. When the couple met over the 1958 Quidditch World Cup, hosted in Italy, they fell in love fast and suddenly, and were married just under 5 months dating. Jie moved to Emilia’s Villa Trevisani and signed a contract with the Grifoni di Siena, Italy’s most popular team. The couple’s first child, Antonia, came to the world at the same time when their marriage was becoming lackluster and dull. They avoided a divorce for the sake of the child, but she understood their relationship perfectly, from a very young age, and saw that there was no love there. Her childhood days were spent in attempts to trick her governesses, distilling all her energy running through the garden, climbing on the statues, throwing fits. She broke her bones more times than she would be able to tell you, in the most various places, and developed quite the tolerance to pain. In quidditch, she could always push herself to the most dire conditions, and her father supported her involvement in the sport tremendously.

Antonia learned she ought to be proud of her lineage, particularly on her father’s side. More than anything, she held a profound sense of admiration for her grandmother, Zhang Baozhai. Zhang Baozhai was the reason why the Zhang name brought chills to the better informed witch or wizard, principally to those in Asia. A sullen, cutthroat woman, she built a dynasty from the ground. First, through years of political influence in the Chinese Ministry of Magic. Second, forging her own line of work – a business operation that ran on the limits of legality and employed dark magic to fulfill the desires of their costumers, whichever be their nature, and always for a lofty price. Baozhai formed a particular bond with her granddaughter and often treated her with more love than she’d ever had for any of her sons. Their bond was so solid that, upon her passing, Baozhai’s wand chose Antonia, an event that brought herself and her father much pride.

tw: violence, physical abuse

Once, in her teenage years, Antonia thought she’d found true love, and she grasped and clung to it for long, painful months that felt like years. At the age of sixteen, she met an English man – a wizard, and a muggleborn, about five years older than her, all of which made the simple fact of her allowing him to get to know her outrageous. He was in Italy for a mysterious job. He was a mysterious man. Everything about him drew her in and, before she knew it, she was too deeply inebriated to deny her feelings. They lived two months of an intense romance, or so she thought. One day the man disappeared without saying a word, and the mysterious job turned out to be stealing pieces of her family heirloom from her home. This enraged her. For months, all she could think of was confronting him, not for the theft but for the deceit, the ridicule. She pestered her parents everyday about allowing her to move to London, on excuses of the most varied – the quality of education, the cultural enrichment, perfecting her English, even the weather, absurd as it was. Eventually they caved in, as they always did. And so, Antonia moved into London, concluding the last two years of her primary education in London School. During that time, finding her deceiver was like a mission to her – not a day went by that she didn’t dedicate herself to it. When she finally found him, living well-off in a condo, Antonia confronted him in his house. Upon the accusations and demands for explaining himself, she was met with resistance, but not the type she’d expected – the man lashed onto her with overwhelming physical strength. She didn’t remember the details – all she remember was feeling utterly subjugated and reaching for her wand like a drowning man to a life buoy. She stunned him, but it didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough. Had she been a better person, she would have left and reached out to the DMLE, but instead, she did something else out of unexplainable rage: she attempted to obliviate him. And failed. Miserably. Instead of forgetting her, or anything, he forgot everything, including basic motor functions. He went into vegetative state. This earned him a one-way ticket to St. Mungus, and Antonia earned an expulsion from school. But not one that couldn’t be lifted by her father, who knew just who to persuade with words and whose palms to grease. Antonia came out of this traumatic event feeling victorious, and felt not a pinch of regret for what she did. In fact, by the time she had to choose her degree, she thought it would be ironic to choose Mind Magic as her degree, with particular interest to obliviating. She still visits him in St. Mungus every year, traditionally during Christmas time.

TL;DR

yea sorry I sometimes overdo it here’s the tl;dr:

- hates everyone, think’s she’s better than anyone

- have you ever met someone who always turns the conversation into something that’s 100% about them, like, almos doesn’t even pretend they’re listening? yup that’s her

- spoiled af, if you’ve watched murder of gianni versace, think andre cunanam’s dad and you’ll get the picture of her fathering profile

- adrenaline junkie

- tw violence/physical abuse: ex-boyfriend-turned-conman tried to be physically violent to her so she stunned and obliviated-ish him (ik makes no sense, but she was in chaos), except she didn’t know how to obliviate someone and ended up turning his brain into mashed potatoes. figured, welp, guess I have a talent for the thing, might as well become an obliviator. so now she’s studying mind magic.

- I’m going with death eater long term (duh), please hmu with plots if you have any ideas!!!

- also yes I was obviously inspired by natasha’s ethnicity (chinese + italian), this is not a coincidence

[the-faunal-frontier]

Critically endangered, but not extinct!

Hey! How is everyone? I’m making it! This is literally my first time logging into tumblr in about three months, but just so you know, you guys and this project and my abrupt and prolonged disappearance have been on my mind all this time! What have I been doing, you ask? Well:

In what I think has all the makings of a bizarre slice-of-life comedy, this quiet, humble, at times misanthropic graphic designer has been training to be the interim manager of a small used car lot to help her very pregnant friend! It has been (indeed, still is) a strange experience full of strange people, not to exclude:

People with credit scores below 400, because as it turns out, that is possible

A man who told me he wasn’t emotionally stable enough to test drive a car because he just lost his friend, which was awkward, and then clarified that the friend didn’t die, he just never wants to speak to him again, which was even MORE awkward.

JSapp MadStak

A woman who legit said, “I’m not worried about the wheel bearing, I’m worried about the radio.”

A man from Kentucky who took a 22 hour bus ride for no other reason than to buy a car, who then did not buy that car, and immediately started the 22 hour ride back.

A man asking me, “What webpage number are you listed?”

An Indian telemarketer who said I have a beautiful voice.

People that come out of the rain.

The longest eyelashes. Ever.

It is like socialization boot camp up in there for me, and I’m getting pretty decent at seeming like an outgoing individual. Anyway, if you need any financing advice, or socializing advice, I may or may not be able to help you.

Other things I’ve learned: how to cook a steak; how to pick up a cat; very basic Korean grammar, pronunciation, and reading/writing; that pregnancy is exciting but horrifying; that I should probably get a more reliable car; that soy milk is an acquired taste; THAT ARKIVE.ORG IS NO MORE; never to trust a tape measure that doesn’t have a hold button; that I am very critical of all songs; that there are such things as gas stations/butcher shops...

I could keep going, but suffice to say, it’s been a hectic time, and I wish it would get less hectic, but it probably won’t for a little while. BUT. I am still alive, and I’m finally finding time to get back to drawing a little! I can’t promise I’ll be consistently posting for a while, but I’m gonna do my best to do something!

Thank you all so much for your continued support, even as I was dropping off the face of the earth!  여러분,  감사합니다!

[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

1/ti/fi anon, thanks for ur reply. to clarify on 1+6, by smoothing things i mean making an active effort to resolve matters by saying sthing that is opposite of what i think is true, which i wont do. but i am fine not saying anything so as not to create or exacerbate a conflict. to illustrate, recently a friend vented at me+my isfj friend about someone she was mad at. from her words it was obvious she was misunderstanding the other person. i didnt point it out right then bc she would feel worse.

2/but tho i knew she wanted to have someone be mad with her/validate her feelings, i couldnt bring myself to dogpile on the other person when he’d done nothing wrong (which she realized few days later). so i said something neutral/noncommital like “im sorry ur having a hard day” technically true and i took care of her chores instead to help but withheld the entirety of my opinion. like i wont actively contradict if the situation calls, but i disengage/deflect instead of saying what isnt right.

3/my isfj friend joined her in anger tho she later told me she had no strong feelings but the other person was a stranger so he didnt matter, her priority was supporting her friend. i dont think shes wrong, and this was a very minor matter in the grand scheme. but even if im never going to meet this person it feels unfair to him and i cant help but wonder, if my friend had felt validated enough to take the argument with him further it would have caused needless strife.

4/re: se, i did consider it, worrying about potential bias in my typing. i test as INxP, but i know its bc i answer “yes” to qs on whether other peoples feelings matter and ofc u cant be a thinker unless ur a misanthropic edgelord. i ruled out judging; while im organised at work, i struggle with decisions and detest planning in advance. my first q was whether the N typing was right. i like adventure sports tho my lifestyle is sedentary. i love tinkering with things to see how they work #TOOLS.

5/but ur old post that resonated was how often im frustrated with the real world for not living upto the conceptual world in my head. my awareness of the physical world is poor for high se (i get lost easily). i crave novelty, but im among the “travels the world but only eats chicken tenders” people. im not sure i understand ur first statement, could u explain it a bit more? to clarify on my end, i know there are things people wont indicate, but i consider that not my business, even if im aware.

6/as they have a reason for not telling me. so i operate based on what they have said, rather than what i know. because of this, i give a lot of weight to words, both my own and others. i agree no one has intrinsic understanding of other people’s minds, incl. high fe. if anything, i find high fe can be bad at this on an interpersonal level as they impose generalizations on people whose needs differ but are bizarrely confident they can “read” people even with said person tells them otherwise.7/re: #8, by social world, i was referring moreso to rules of social convention/appropriateness, which fe users have a knack for (or perhaps define?). they comment on innocuous behaviour (not overt rudeness, things like not greeting every person as they walk into the office) as violating a norm i never picked on and it makes me second guess myself since i never thought of those things. surely everyone has some self doubt, but the frequency of this happening to me made it notable to mention.

——-

Okay, going through this:

1-2: that clarification is helpful. That can just be decent maturity in most types (though as you mentioned FJs tend to side with the friend) - few people are going to full-on throw someone under the bus just to make someone else happy, so the smoothing over, especially if the person who’s upset is someone you like, is often just a neutral statement or “that sounds frustrating.” The just giving in is something I at least use for people I don’t actually respect much and for situations where I don’t think a strong stance will help. Kind of a “don’t get in a mud fight with a pig, you’ll both get dirty and the pig will like it” situation. If it’s a friend who’s actually upset, even if I think they’re wrong, I think most people who aren’t assholes will try to remain neutral or focus on comforting the friend but not arguing until a later time. So…doesn’t really indicate anything other than you’re reasonably mature as a person and probably not an FJ.

I do think Se makes a lot of sense. I don’t know what old post it was but if it was pretty old, disregard it. We’re all capable of idealism - I’m confident that I’m a sensor and I get frustrated with the world sometimes. (I also have garbage spatial intelligence, though weirdly a good sense of direction). I think a current issue now that “intuition is psychic” is no longer as much of a thing is that people think they need to be absolutely flawless in their sensory understanding to be a sensor when it’s really a preference for the concrete. Also, the picky eating is not exclusive to Ne users - that’s one of the many statements that’s true about a lot of Ne users but isn’t really evidence for Ne on its own. My ISTP sister is one of the pickiest eaters I know, my ISFP sister is pretty adventurous. Food especially is weird and influenced by a lot of other things. But getting back to Se, the thought process of “they didn’t tell me, they must have a reason, let’s take them at their word” is more sensor. It’s not that sensors aren’t capable of realizing they might not have the whole picture; it’s that they aren’t going to look for the deeper meaning if there’s not a really good reason, whereas intuitives might look for the deeper meaning even if there isn’t one at all.

You are right about Fe (I find that high Fe users, and especially NFJs, are the worst offenders in imposing a generalized view of how people should be responding) but I think we’re sold that you’re not a high Fe user. The description of not feeling like you know how to interact with people does seem more like that of a thinker. While it’s tough to be positive on Ti/Fi at times, I’d seriously look at ISTP. You sound more like ISTPs I’ve met (than either INTPs or ISFPs), which I get isn’t super helpful but it’s what I’ve got. I’d also look at enneagram 9, which might be influencing the desire to just stay neutral and not instigate disagreement (and is pretty common in both ISTPs and ISFPs but I find more so in ISTPs. ISFPs have somewhat less chill in my experience.)

[honeygrip]

Untitled...

I haven’t written anything in a LONG time.

As cathartic as writing has always been for me, I grew fatigued by writing about bleak subject matter.

I staved off writing for as long as I could.

Today however, I felt this immense craving, it was time for me to say something.

I’ve been grappling with how to admit this, finding the right words to convey to the right “audience” of people who would be compassionate and nonjudgmental enough to understand, trying to come to terms with how in depth I wanted to go here with this subject matter altogether, because it is so personal to me. Because it is something, I’ve worked so hard to not have to acknowledge, and because I find most people really don’t “understand”.

Depression is not for everyone.

The Depression discussion isn’t for your casual acquaintances. Its not for your Facebook statuses. It’s not a conversation you want to have with your co-workers or your boss or your family or even your “closest” friends. It’s not an ice breaker. And It’s not how you reveal yourself charmingly in the early phases of a budding new relationship.

It’s not a dialogue you want to start when you’re unsure of how others are going to react. It’s not an exchange you want to engage in when you are anxiously terrified about what is happening to you but still polite enough to not want to worry anyone else around you.

I didn’t want to be babied. I didn’t want to be hospitalized. I didn’t want people to be afraid of me or worse- abandon me completely. There were times when I was scared for my life because I felt so hopeless. But in the next second, I would know, that I didn’t want to acknowledge that idea in any real way because once I did, I would be labeled and stigmatized.

ESPECIALLY WITHIN THE BLACK COMMUNITY.

And So, I isolated myself. It was time for me to put together a plan of action to save my own life. I reached out to my FB community very vaguely asking for help with finding a good (and affordable) therapist.

That was the easiest part of the last few months of my life. The QUEST that began to find a quality, licensed therapist inside of my network of shitty insurance who was taking new patients and wasn’t demanding all sorts of other large exorbitant payments from me on top of my copay was exhausting.

You’d think with all these health and mental wellness experts abound, that it would be easier-but it wasn’t. I am fortunate enough to have a decent paying job, and since I don’t directly benefit from any magical government subsidies, it seemed like it was harder to find adequate resources.

I was... NO, I am mentally ill. But since I haven’t had a complete mental breakdown, or done something so drastically dangerous to myself or someone else, I was... and am NOT considered- a high priority case.

I am a perfectly functioning adult, dying inside, right here in plain sight.

Truth is, I couldn’t afford a “mental breakdown” even if I tried. Although, a full on “mental breakdown” does sound glorious...

A few days locked up in a hospital, resting, highly medicated and regularly monitored actually sounds fucking delightful!

But I had life here, my beautiful 10 year old daughter, my bills and my commitment to my daily obligations to consider. If I stopped working, EVERYTHING in my life would stop working. That desperate realization alone was enough to keep going.

My pride and my misanthropic attitude made it difficult for me to find people “close” enough to talk to. It’s hard for me (personally) to ask for help. I understand everyone is busy, EVERYONE IS COPING. I’m an empath, so I already know this about other people and understand it well. I never want to be a burden to anyone. When you’re in the depths of a depression, like I was (I’m slowly coming out of it now) I wasn’t sure if I was really hitting bottom enough that I needed help. I just knew I was exhausted all the time, that my heart is completely broken and that I felt so stagnant that I just couldn’t figure out a good reason to go on.

I was so desperate. Something had to change, something had to stop, and it needed to happen quickly.

I couldn’t be fake about it anymore.

Couldn’t be preoccupied by a social life because I wasn’t living. I didn’t (still don’t) want to go out. I don’t want to be seen or social. And I didn’t want to let anyone in.

People say they are “always there” if you need them but they’re not. Especially when “there” is a dank, dark place that’s not particularly positive a majority of the time. So naturally, “Friendships” imploded.

Relationshits (not a typo) never existed to begin with.

I would get text messages occasionally that I couldn’t answer. I literally just could not (be bothered to) answer.

Some check-ins weren’t personal enough to tell them the truth.

Some were too personal to go into depth with.

If I tell you, I’m not doing too well and you press further (as a good friend would) how could I dance my way around delving deeper without offending you?

What about when I tell you and your response is as vague and generally unsupportive as some that I received...

I was at a complete standstill.

I didn’t and still don’t want prayers or positive mantras, suggestions on books to read, meditations to try. And Thank you!

But NO.

I needed definitive plans of action and new strategies to attack this and NO ONE could give me that but me.

Isolation is NOT good but I needed to be truly alone with myself. Not distracting myself with nonsense or nonsense people and not self medicating.

I thank God that I wasn’t truly suicidal, although some days, I wasn’t sure. For as hopeless as I felt, I was able to keep my wits about me for the most part, I was resilient enough to focus on getting into some sort of therapy and committing myself whole soul and heartedly to getting well.

My first few sessions with my therapist felt a bit pointless. I’d just sit here and talk and talk and talk. She’d say something wise, I’d cry like a blubbering lunatic and then she’d send me on my way.

My therapist was also adamant about me going to a psychiatrist and getting on medication. I was resisting because I didn’t want to admit that I needed antidepressants to be well and I also didn’t want to have to go back out on another QUEST to find another doctor in my network of shitty insurance who was taking on new patients and wasn’t going to charge me violent rates of $250-$350 an hour for a consultation.

Finding a psychiatrist in my network of shitty insurance took me another month and a half, which had me going to therapy wondering if it was ever going to work because I needed the 2 for 1 service to begin to feel relief.

I was suffering through insomnia every night. That tremendous pressure on my chest of wanting to cry but not being able to. Of wanting to breathe but not being able to, of wanting to STOP crying but not being able to.

Because I wasn’t sleeping, I’d be a zombie most of the day. So, I sleep whenever I can, and sometimes sleep comes when I should be the most present.

I’m checked out emotionally, mentally, physically and I hate everyone. Exhausted by frustration. When I tell my therapist I’m so tired, she always chastises me.

“You’re not “tired”- YOU’RE DEPRESSED.”

She tells me, I have to own it, not hide it.

And therefore, I am...

Although, I’m still not ready to “talk” about it. It’s become evident to me that I have to honor myself and my gift of writing by actually WRITING about it.

Writing and journaling is actually a part of my prescribed homework, even though I had sworn off writing about anything until I had found something happy or positive to talk about. Here I am—writing.

Writing from the deep beyond, the depths of heartbreak, in the midst of a self imposed Cold War. Little to no communication with the outside world. Rarely engaging with ANYONE, and releasing any guilt or shame I felt about not being social.

I hardly go on social media anymore, because it’s wildly triggering for me. I’ve blocked any relatively toxic person who could contact me. I live in an innocuous bubble of my personal daily routine.

What’s most peculiar is the randomness of the people who do reach out to me. Folks I don’t actually know, who DM’d me- “to check on me”. Those who still check in, no matter how sporadically I respond. Those truly understanding few who have left me alone completely and those who don’t AT ALL.

The longing in my heart for those I wish cared, the amount of time it’s taking me to sync the intellectual realities with my emotional fantasies or is it my intellectual fantasies with my emotional realities- at any rate- it fucking hurts knowing I’ve chosen- against my best self interest to care for people who do not care about me. And every so often, I get mad at myself for still even thinking about that fact.

There are things about myself and how I love and how I cope- that I am learning for the first time. There are new ways that I am learning how to love myself and understand myself for the first time as well. I’ve been on the precipice of all this before- but each time I discover how childhood traumas relate to present day wounds- and how they show up in my behaviors and I’m astounded in a new way.

I am reluctantly sharing all this because our people don’t talk about depression in the present tense. Most talk about it as if it’s something they’ve miraculously conquered but never as something they miraculously endure.

Depression may come to some in phases but it isn’t just a phase, and it’s okay to be depressed as long as you don’t give up completely. As long as you are seeking to find a way to conquer it, and not pretending your Cold War is over.

♥️

[doomednarrative]

Odd numbered questions

Since you didn’t give me a character, I answered them all for Rhys. (This is really really long so every question after the first is under a read more.)

1. What does their bedroom look like?

Post Helios crashing, all of the Handsome Jack posters have been removed and torn up. I like to think that Rhys has his own room in the Helios remains camp so that he can visit Vaughn and the others whenever he wants to, and I think this room would actually be kinda bare, if only because of the lack of resources available to decorate with. If they’re able to find any paint maybe he’d paint it the Altas colors since he’s now the Atlas CEO, but other than that there’s not much there besides a bed and nightstand and a closet for his clothes. (Later down the line in my vision for post game story, he basically just moves into Vaughn’s room and that’s a bit more decorated.)

3. Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?

Rhys is definitely Not the exercise type (despite Vaughn’s best effort to get his twig of a best friend/boyfriend to put on some muscle), but he’s at least taken to going on daily walks when he can either around the camp or outside of it for a bit. Keeps the fresh ideas flowing and at least keeps him on guard.

5. Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

It depends on his mental health most days honestly. For appearances alone if he’s got a day full of important CEO duties, he’ll always make the effort to get dressed up and look very presentable for the time that he’s at work. When he gets home tho, if it’s a bad mental health day, that all goes out the door when he steps foot in his room and can decompress. If he’s Really bad mentally, sometimes Vaughn has to step in and remind Rhys to do some things so he doesn’t fall into bad habits permanently.

7. Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

I feel like Rhys is the type who would probably enjoy drawing in his spare time. He doesn’t get to do  it often since he’s a CEO with a lot of duties there and he likes hanging out with his friends a lot, but when he does get to, its more loose doodling and more often than not used as a stress relief. He might have some negative thoughts about wasting time when there’s more important things to do, but he also knows that sometimes he Has to separate himself from his work, both for his own mental health and because Vaughn or Fiona will Make Him take some time off if he won’t do it himself.

9. Makeup?

Considering I headcanon Rhys as trans, I’m gonna say that makeup isn’t really his thing. Though he has been known to wear just a bit of eyeliner from time to time when the mood strikes. (He sucks at applying it tho and asks Fiona to help him whenever he does wear it.)

11. Intellectual pursuits?

After pulling out all his cybernetics on his own and fucking up some stuff internally by doing so, Rhys started collecting as much reading material in any and all forms about cybernetics and how to build and maintain and install them as he could. He’s become a lot more knowledgeable about the topic since having to do so to save his own arm and eye, and he plans to use that knowledge to help out the people of Pandora later on in the future through the use of Atlas tech. (His own cybernetics still aren’t the best because he jury-rigged them in the beginning when he was kinda desperate and not at full mental capacity, and his fine motor control suffers because of this, but he’s constantly working on the tech to improve it. He’s no expert in the field, at least when it comes to self application, but he’s trying his best.)

13. Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?

If he had to put a label on it, Rhys would probably say that he’s pansexual, leaning more towards men. In terms of what he thinks in general about orientations though? He really couldn’t give two shits. People are who they are and like who they like and he’s not one to judge for any of that. It’s honestly one of the furthest things from his mind a lot of the time.

15. Biggest and smallest short term goal?

(This one I actually don’t have an answer for, but when I think of one, I will post it.)

17. Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

Rhys has two modes of dress: Fully suited kickass CEO, or oversized shirts with the sleeve possibly ripped off for his cybernetic arm with baggy sweatpants. He’s either at the top of his fashion game or he gives no two shits either way.

19. What do they think about before falling asleep at night?

Depends when you’re asking. Pre him and Vaughn getting together, probably about all the shit he regrets with Jack and Helios crashing and all the people he’s killed and horrible things he did in the name of his job on Hyperion. Post him and Vaughn getting together when they start sharing a room and sleeping in the same bed? He tries to focus more on the now, on being lucky that he’s still alive after Jack tried to kill him and that he still has his friends and that they’re here together.

21. Turn-ons? Turn-offs?

Honestly, people being nice to him and not calling him a dumbass is his major turn on. Turn offs is a longer list but the top of that list is people degrading him and only seeing him as a klutz and not someone they can take seriously.

23. How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?

Rhys is chaotically organized, much to his friends and potential future employee’s dismay. I headcanon him as having ADHD, so some of it definitely comes from that. The other part though comes from the fact that he just has his own ways of doing things that don’t make sense to anyone except him (and sometimes Vaughn.) He’s never lost any important documents or the like, but he’s more prone to losing certain articles of clothing (except for his socks, he’s careful with those) and other more personal items. He can’t count the number of times he’s misplaced his stun baton when he really needed it.

25. How do they see themselves 5 years from today?

Married to Vaughn while being a successful CEO for Atlas and actually making decent strides at improving life on Pandora for All it’s inhabitants and basically doing the Opposite of what he would have been doing on Helios if he were still there.

27. What is their biggest regret?

He has a Lot of regrets that plague his conscious constantly for a long time, but plugging that goddamn ID Drive of Nakayama’s into his data port is one of the Biggest ones. So much shit wouldn’t have happened if he had never done that and hadn’t let Jack get deep into his systems.

29. Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?)

Rhys is the one who runs around screaming (most times) until someone gives him instructions on what to do. He does have times though if he’s able to be level headed enough that he can make a solid plan to solve the problem as well.

31. Most prized possession?

The ECHOeye implant where Jack’s AI is held captive. (if you had him keep it and not destroy it that is, which I did.) It’s not prized for the fact that it’s important to him or that he misses Jack or anything like that. It’s prized because he knows if He has the implant, no one else can get ahold of Jack but him. And keeping Jack in the implant means that he’s suffering alone in there by himself which Rhys feels is what he deserves. (He keeps the implant in a bio-encrypted lock deep down in his office’s vaults at Atlas. No one except him knows that it’s even stored there.)

33. Concept of home and family?

His friends are his family. Vaughn, Fiona, Sasha, LB, Gortys, heck even Athena and Janey and August, he considers them all his family to some degree, with Vaughn being the closest out of all of them. And as far as a home goes, that’s just wherever they all happen to be together in his mind.

35. What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?

As mentioned earlier, Rhys enjoys doodling at times but sometimes considers it a waste when he knows he has more important things he could be doing with his time.

37. Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making?

Absolutely more emotional. He goes with whatever his heart tells him is right every single time, which doesn’t always have the best results.

39. What recharges them when they’re feeling drained?

Rhys used to play guitar a bit in college, but once he got to Hyperion that hobby died very quickly. Somehow, Fiona found out this fact (most likely through Vaughn since Rhys never talks about it) and gave Rhys a slightly used guitar she was able to pawn off of someone one day as a gift. She claims it was just to get him out of everyones hair but really, it was just her being nice. Rhys has since then been slowly learning how to play again and likes to pull it out and play by himself when he’s too low on energy to be social. (If he’s too drained for even that, then a nap will normally suffice for a recharge as well. Preferably one with Vaughn, but those are few and far between since he’s got people to look after.)

41. How misanthropic are they?

Rhys is normally a pretty social person and generally enjoys society, but at times, he does tend to withdraw from people and isolate himself after the Helios incident. It’s not for the fact of hating people or society in general, it’s more the fact that he spent so much time alone after defeating Jack and while rebuilding Atlas that sometimes, being around people is just too much and he needs some time alone. He gets better with this as the years go by, but in the beginning he’ll sometimes go two or three days alone before interacting with people again. (His friends worry the first few times this happens, especially Vaughn, but they come to understand his reasoning after he actually takes the time to explain his absences to them. Vaughn is sometimes allowed to see him during those times though because he’s Vaughn and he knows how to just be around Rhys naturally and do his own work without making Rhys talk or interact much.)

43.How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education?

It’s canon that Rhys went to college, but as far as actually finishing and what degrees he got, I’d say he got his bachelors and no further than that, unless he was doing his own independent studying on his own, which he might have done to push himself forward at Hyperion. Rhys is all for self education, he’s constantly doing that himself when it comes to running Atlas and learning what he needs to do to be a successful CEO there.

45. Superstitions or views on the occult?

Don’t think Rhys is much for superstitions or the occult. He doesn’t really Need to be when things like Vault Monsters exist in real life for him.

47. If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal?

Vaughn is definitely his ideal person. He compliments Rhys in a lot of different ways, they have a lot of history from being best friends for so long, and they get each other on a deeper level. Vaughn has always been important to Rhys throughout their whole journey from college to Hyperion to the now. And after seeing how Vaughn grew as a person during the time they were separated, he really came to appreciate him as he was and is. Vaughns is his best bro after all, and bros gotta stick together.

49. If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like?

If he remembers to use his robotic arm to fight, then Rhys might actually stand a chance at least to not be knocked out during a fist fight. But if not, he’s extremely weak and will be beat to shit. He really has no style for physical fights other than “Throw my fist and see if it hurts them.”

[colinphile]

            as a precursor to what this post is about,  this is not only a guide of how i catalog jerry’s behavior but also what you might come to expect when throwing your muse at him,  WHICH I ENCOURAGE YOU TO DO.    HOWEVER, no muse,  unless we’ve talked about it and they know about jerry,  will know these do’s and don’ts.    but you will know and you can do any of the don’ts just to see how the situation will pan out!!    again,  this post is just for my own personal desire.    if we can get something from it and love it,  then amazing.

DO NOT

approach jerry randomly:  he’s a predator.    plain and simple.    not that this shit won’t happen,  any meeting with him will be very random unless he has it otherwise.    but if your character approaches jerry randomly,  a few things can happen.    one of them is that if he’s interested in your character,  expect him to attempt to feed off of them or try to just in general fuck with them/their lives.    he likes playing with people.    he’s been undead for over four hundred years,  so he has his fun when he can.    another thing that might happen is that if he dislikes your character,  expect him to try to kill them just to cut out the irritation.

invite him into an occupied home:  i’m gonna be picky here with what vampire rules he abides to because i don’t want it to be so heavily hinged to the christian religion.    but this i’m going to stick with.    a part of the vampiric curse is that any home that is occupied,  by a person whether it’s through legal means or not,  he can’t under unless he’s invited in.    WHICH IS NOT A GOOD THING.    once you give him invitation,  you can’t revoke it and he can come and go as he wants.    meaning he will come and feed and go if he wants to.    and best case scenario,  if he likes your character and doesn’t want to kill or turn them,  you’re never gonna be rid of him.

shove a cross in his face:  cause that does jack shit.    this is something that happens in the movie,  that crosses repel vampires and if he touches it,  it catches on fire.    though only if the person who set them up or is holding it believes in the christian god.    but i’m just gonna get rid of that because i prefer vampires to not be religion centered unless the vampire is religious themselves.    the vampire i can think of that fits this best is pron.sias cassidy,  hates religion for the people that corrupt it but could dance around in a church with crosses draped over his body if he wanted to.    so just don’t do that to jerry or he’s gonna take that cross and smack you with it.

splash holy water on him:  ANOTHER THING I’M GETTING RID OF.    just as i mentioned before,  don’t wanna do the religion centered vampire.    though it did burn his face off and cause him to regenerate it in the movie,  i’m tossing it out the window here.    splash him with holy water and he’ll spit out whatever gets in his mouth and just smack a bitch.

stake him:  for those hunters or those just wanting to get rid of him,  i’m not saying you CAN’T.    i’m just saying that if you don’t get him right in the heart on the first time,  he’s gonna take no time at all tearing throats out and ripping heads off.    so if you’re gonna stake him,  get it right or don’t try unless you’re ready to face the consequences.

LET HIM FEED:  again,  this is not something i’m saying won’t or should not happen,  but here’s what happens when he does.    feeding in and of itself is a very sensual act.    it not only sates him but it’s pleasurable as well,  and he tends to deal with it one of three ways.    if he just wants to feed and not deal with the pleasurable part,  he feeds and kills with no hesitation.    if he’s feeling particularly horrible,  he’ll feed and turn who he’s feeding from.    and if he likes your character and doesn’t want to turn them,  expect things to go...    well,  just come visit me and my mind as we dwell in the gutter.    IT WILL NEVER BE NONCONSENSUAL,  and if he’s feeding from someone he wants to keep alive and doesn’t turn,  and they show resistance,  he just stops and gets broody and irritated if he has to shelve the pleasure when he doesn’t want to.

TRUST HIM:  last but not least,  and though i could probably think of much more than what i wrote,  DO NOT TRUST HIM WHATSOEVER.    he’s not only a predator,  but he’s a manipulator.    it takes him a while to actually be able to trust or warm up to someone and allow them to stay in his life.    and when i say a while,  i mean we’re gonna have to do a lot of plotting before he develops feelings.    albeit he is lonely because he’s basically been alone for multiple centuries,  but he also hates people in general.    JERRY IS A FULL BLOWN MISANTHROPE.    so unless your character becomes an exception in some way,  shape,  or form,  he’s gonna find some way to use them or gain entertainment from them.

DO

be very wary or aware of him:  as stated before,  he’s a predator and a manipulator.    at any chance he gets,  he could do whatever he wants to your character and have so much fun doing it.    so be on the lookout for seemingly altruistic or caring moments from him because THEY ARE NOT GENUINE unless he’s truly let them into his life.    and if that happens,  he’ll be more likely to distance himself a lot first before actually being caring and like them.    so just be extremely aware of the shit he’s capable of doing.    don’t let your muse know about it if they don’t know him,  but don’t go hating on me or anything if he does shit.    this is how he is.

give him apples:  specifically granny smiths.    this is where i start to get into the stuff where your muse/character can do this if they know him well enough and for a while.    unlike how some vampires can’t eat or drink regular food,  jerry can.    and he doesn’t have any problem with digesting or anything as long as he’s fed recently.    otherwise it just gives him an upset stomach or makes him incredibly uncomfortable.    but no matter what,  provide him a decent supply of granny smiths.    they’re bitter and gross on their own,  at least to me,  but he loves them for some fucked up reason.

give him garlic:  and again we get to what scotch does and does not allow with vampires.    GARLIC IS A-OKAY to some extent.    he like eating foods with a bit of garlic in it just because he actually likes the taste.    but there’s something in the garlic that slows down his metabolism and makes him a bit...   slower in general.    but he still likes the food.    just don’t give him anything in big quantities or he gets bitchy.

give him alcohol:  SAME THING HERE.    he likes drinking,  though tends to drink pisswater beer more than anything else.    every so often he’ll like a good glass of whisky but it slows him down and fucks up his system and metabolism until it’s out of his system.    because of that,  he sticks with pisswater beer like bud and heineken because it’s got a low alcohol content and cheap.

provide him with blood:  if your character is one he’s interested in,  don’t feed him straight from the vein if it can be avoided.    DEAD BLOOD IS BAD BLOOD so he can’t feed from those already dead.    but packaged blood,  such as from a hospital or blood bank is fine.    it doesn’t do him as much as fresh blood does.    it makes him a bit slower,  not as strong,  and he actually needs to sleep when he sticks to packaged blood for a while.    but he’s easier to handle than on fresh.

provide him with emotional comfort:  JERRY IS AN EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED VAMPIRIC ASSHOLE.    which means he’s just a bastard who has lived too long and does not trust or like people in general.    that does not mean he’s completely void of human emotions.    he has them,  and,  again,  it takes a long while for him to really display them.    but this monster can be more humane if you just work at him.    give him a reason to keep someone around,  reason to open up and become comfortable,  and he will change.    it just takes a lot of time,  work,  and patience.

[saintheartwing]

The Worst Commonality in IZ Fandom

I’ve come to realize something.

All of the fanworks for the Invader Zim realm I hate have a few big things in common. They’re primarily Zim and Dib stories about them taking over Earth and/or killing off lots of people, involving horrific cruelty, torture, violence, sometimes outright RAPE, and they’re all dark, dreary, depressing, misanthropic, and yet somehow attract tons of attention, usually just because it’s ZADR, the same way that plenty of people still went to see the Michael Bay Transformers series because EXPLOSIONS and big-breasted women and slow mo action and all that. It’s appealing to the lowest common denominator.

And you know...people can like what they like. People can write basically anything they want online. But I get, in turn, to say,

THIS IS CRAP AND I WANT SOMETHING BETTER!

I mean, the worst story I read, Aloft in the Airway, featured...I remind you...Dib not only HELPING Zim by betraying his people, he sells his sister out and HELPS ZIM DRUG AND RAPE HER! And it’s treated as a GOOD thing. I remind you, THEY’RE THE PROTAGONISTS. And the author is treating this...this DISGUSTING shit as something good because of “protagonist centered morality”. It’s just assholes getting away with being assholes. Nothing comes back to bite them in the ass. Not even fuckin’ GUILT.

I HAAAATE stories like this. Because I really owe so much to Invader Zim.

Seriously.

I owe much more than most. I'm not bragging. I'm trying to explain.

It was because of Invader Zim that I was inspired to make so many stories. It helped define me as an author and a drawer and renewed my love for cartoons.Invader Zim's creation meant I met with friends here on DA and upon forums who shared my love. The art they made inspired me, entertained me...made me happier than I could have ever imagined. I hope they're reading this: no matter how flawed your work might have been, it was yours, and it was mine too, it was part of ALL who read it, and it made us happy, no matter whether it was silly, weird, unusual or even kinda stupid. It's a part of us, good or bad, and I look back upon it as good.

Thank you for that, Invader Zim.

And...Invader Zim helped me meet the love of my life. She saw my work on Fanfiction.Net. We began to speak over review replies and personal messages. Then we talked more here on DA. And then we actually met each other. We are in love...And this happened because I wrote about Invader Zim. If it didn't exist, I wouldn't have met her. And for that, I will always be grateful to the show.Be it fandom or canon, crossover or slash, I find something to love in all facets of Invader Zim. I can acknowledge it's many faults, but I still accept it and love it, faults and all. No matter how weird things can get, no matter how frustrated I might become with it...it's still a part of my life, a part of my history that helped make me who I am and made me so dang happy.

So......thank you. To Jhonen. To Rikki Simons. To Eric Trueheart. To Andy Berman. To Richard Horvitz. To Melissa Fahn. To To EVERYONE who worked on the show. Thank you to GIR and to Gaz and to Zim and Dib and all the characters.Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. For everything you did. Thank you for what you made. Because you helped make ME.

That’s why I’m so invested in the Invader Zim series. And that’s why it HURTS...to read stories like Aloft in the Airway. And why I get so mad when stories like that get praised. It’s the same reason I can’t read “To Kill A Mockingbird” anymore after reading “Go Set A Watchman”. Why I can’t look at any of Frank Miller’s old, great comics after reading his most recent stories like “Holy Terror”. I can’t look at the things I knew and loved anymore without thinking of that...that TRASH!

And I know some might argue “Well...don’t like don’t read”.

1. How am I gonna know I’ll like something IF I don’t read it or play it or watch it?

2. How will I know it IMPROVES if I just abandon it? It could get better.

And I also know some might go “Why can’t you just appreciate the craftsmanship that went into the tale? Even if the protagonists and characters are awful, if the writing or directing or acting is good, who cares?”

Because that’s secondary to me. When I approach stories of ANY kind, fanfiction, games, movies, cartoons, comics, tv shows, ANY story, my first question is “What is the story about” and “Do I want to see these people succeed”? I put my ethical center and my morality at the forefront almost all the time. Unless it’s porn, since porn’s almost entirely about just being wank material. It isn’t trying to tell a story. But if something IS trying to tell a story, I don’t wanna read about awful people doing awful things and getting away with it! I see enough of that on the EVENING NEWS! I don’t need it in my ESCAPIST FICTION!

And I know some might go “Well what about stories of redemption?” If a story takes, say, 99 chapters for a character who’s done disgusting, awful, sick, FOUL things to finally turn around...fuck the author. You wasted my time showing me all this shit and now you expect me to cheer you for the character being a basic decent human being? No. They should have known to be decent from the start, or have actual redeeming qualities. And no, “being smart” or “cool”, isn’t “redeeming”. Those aren’t moral traits. They’re neutral traits.

You wanna like whatever you like? Fine. But I still think it’s cruel and nihilistic and dark and evil. And I want something better. I see more than that in so many stories, and it’s a damn shame so many others do not, and are just fine with the same old cruel stuff again...

And again...

...and again.

[joylee56]

With this Broom I Thee Wed

for fluffapalooza 2018, Happy Belated Rumbelleversary,

This takes place in the universe of myBonnie Wee Librarian story. You don’t need to have read that story though. Only know that here, Belle escaped from Regina after her capture in “The Outsider” and made it back to the Dark Castle to Rumple’s welcoming arms.

“It is true, young lady,”  The magistrate of Glome informed the chestnut haired woman seated in front of him condescendingly, “I am empowered to officiate at marriages.  However, decent folk opt for religious services.  I suggest you, or far better your father or fiance apply to the clerics or to the fairies.”

Smiling the lady told him,  “Both my fiance and I have cause not to trust either the clerics or the fairies, Magistrate.  Which is why we are inquiring about a civil ceremony.”

The Magistrate snorted.  “Better you should repent your ways and make peace with the clerics before you marry, girl.  I’m sure your father would tell you the same.”

“I’m sure he would, but since my father’s subservience to the clerics is in large part the reason I distrust them, I don’t think that will be happening anytime soon.”  She rose.  Fingers toying with a gold colored woolen thread tied around her left wrist.  “It distresses me that a civil servant of King Midas is refusing to perform the duties of his office.  I will feel obliged to mention this to Princess Abigail the next time I write her.”

The magistrate finally took in the rich brocade of her cloak and the fineness of the walking dress she wore under it.  He spoke more hesitantly now.  “And how comes a woman at odds with the clerics to communicate with Princess Abigail?”

“Before the ogres attacked the Marchlands the Princess would come to study with my mother, Lady Colette.”  The woman smiled sadly.  “Our library was renown.  Sadly what the ogres started the clerics finished and it is no more.  I would be ‘at odds’ with them for that alone even if they had not filled my father’s ears with malice toward my fiance.”

“You’re, you’re… “  the magistrate shoved back from his desk so fast his chair overturned.  “Lady Belle, the Dark One’s whore!  Begone! Guards!  Guard!”

Belle sighed and did not wait for the guards to make it through the door.  Breaking the thread tied around her wrist, a cloud of red smoke surrounded her as she vanished.

To appear in the great hall of the Dark Castle.  Rumplestiltskin was just finishing preparing her a cup of tea.  He held it out to her.  “No luck I take it?”

“No.”  She signed and took the tea.  “I got a lecture on how a proper young woman would apply, or rather have her father apply for her, to the clerics to be wed.”

Sometimes it was wise to heavily edit her reports to Rumple.  Telling him about the fellow calling her a whore might well result in King Midas having to have the Magistrate’s chambers redecorated to get the blood stains out of the carpets before he replaced him.  Besides she could deal with that on her own.  “I shall write to Abigail today and let her know the sort of sexist misanthrope she has serving her in Glome. She would not stand for it if she was aware of it.”

“True, Princess Abigail is quite a competent administrator.”  Rumple sipped his own tea.  “Rare thing among royals.

“Present company excepted.”  He smiled at her.

“I’m not a royal, Rumple.”  She reminded him.  “Merely the daughter of a merchant knight who married into a Barony.”

“Your mother’s bloodline is older than any of the royals in the kingdoms, my dear. By their own rules you outrank the lot of them”

Despite several lifetimes of dealing with Kings and Princes, Rumple’s peasant origins still showed in the way he found the distinctions of rank that royals and members of the aristocracy lived for ridiculous. “Power is what matters, Dearie.  Not whatever silly titles they string after their names.”  He had told her early on, when she had rebuked him for letting the Emperor of Agatean wait on the stoop in a snowstorm.  

But those were not the pressing issues at hand.  

Belle set down her teacup in front of Rumple and herself on his lap, putting her legs across the armrest of his chair.  Rumple hummed happily and put the arm not holding his cup around her waist to hold her tight against his chest.  Nuzzling her hair.

This had become a favorite position since her return to the Dark Castle.  It brought them close without the risk of an accidental kiss if their snuggling got out of hand.

Something Belle was becoming more and more desirous of.  From the way Rumple’s hands were more frequently coming to wander to places her governess had severely warned her against allowing, he apparently felt the same.

Today he merely set down his tea and started to undo her boot.  Leaning back with a sigh as he removed the first, she suggested.  “Perhaps we need to go farther afield to find an officiant.  Someplace where you haven’t had dealings?”

“I had thought of that.”  Rumple sounded contrite.  “I even went through my atlases.  Unfortunately even the places where I haven’t dealt have almost all been er… visited by at least one of my predecessors.  The repute of the Dark One is nearly universal.”

“Nearly?”  That sounded promising.

“Somehow we’ve overlooked the Pearl Islands.”  He told her.  “Mostly because, despite the name, the islands have nothing to recommend them except fat pigs and a porridge they eat that is described as tasting like library paste.

“Not to mention they’re polygamous.  We’d need to round up at couple more people to be wed there.”

“No.  That won’t do.”  Belle agreed.  “Do we have to have a wedding?  Could not something else work as well?”

Rumple sighed.  Her second boot joined the first and he began to rub her feet.  Rumple gave wonderful foot massages, but she was not going to let him distract her that easily.

“In theory, no.” He admitted.  “The ‘work around’ I’ve developed to keep True Love’s Kiss from breaking my curse basically channels off the power behind True Love and holds it in abeyance until such time as we want to let it loose.

“But there is a tremendous amount of power to channel.  So we need to ground it to a symbolic act that is both comparable with True Love and meaningful enough in its own right to have the strength to sustain it.”  He shrugged.  “A wedding is the obvious course.  I’d no realized that the ceremony itself would be the sticking point.”

Not to mention Belle suspected that Rumple’s peasant Frontlands background made him reluctant to bed her without offering her honorable marriage.  The Frontlands was a prudish place from what she had read.  

Rumple retreated to his workroom to see if he could ‘tweek’, as he put it, his work around.  From the frowns he wore as he emerged for meals and periodic sessions at his wheel it was not going well.

In three days he emerged from his tower, accompanied by a dark and foul smelling cloud of smoke, to ask her,  “Be a dear and run done to town and see if the midwife has any dried raspberry leaf.  I need at least four ounces.”

As she neared the town that had grown up on the lands that made up the Dark Castle’s estate, it occurred to her that they had been overlooking a rather obvious spot in their search.  

The midwife, as usual, was happy to exchange a large bag of dried herbs for Rumple’s gold.  “Will He be needing more?  I’ll harvest some and set them drying just in case.”

The townsfolk always showed Rumple a wary deference, but at the same time paid their, comparatively low and paid in the form of goods and services rather than coin, taxes to the castle without complaint.  They also gladly sold Belle any goods she was sent to collect.

“His gold spends as well as any other.”  The Head of the Town Council had told Belle on one of her early trips to town.  “And as long as you’re no stupid enough to cross Him, He leaves us mostly to ourselves.  True He can kill with a gesture, but so can any other lord.  At least here we’re free govern ourselves as we will.  Having to marvel when He shows off one of His tricks is a small price to pay for being safe from outlaws and not having to send our children off to war.”

Leaving the midwife with her purchase, Belle went in search of the town Notary.  Who immediately put down her pen and rose to bob a rough curtsey.  “Lady Belle, I was hoping to catch you.  Please let Him know that the new potter and his family are settling in nicely.  Already have their kiln built and firing.  They’ve done up an absolutely beautiful tiered serving tray to thank Him for letting them settle here.”

The Notary leaned in lowered her voice,  “King George was going to draft both of their girls into his army.  Can you imagine?  Why the younger ones only sixteen.”  

Belle nodded.  “We were drafting boys that young to fight the ogres by the end of the war in my father’s barony.  In the Marchlands they don’t take women as soldiers.”

“From what I hear, King George’s army doesn’t take the girls as soldiers either.”  The Notary said with disapproval.  “We’ve all told them that they’ve nothing to worry about on that front here, but I think they’ll be more assured after they meet you.  And you can take the serving tray back with you.”

“Certainly.” The townsfolk had assumed from the beginning that Belle’s principal duties had been warming Rumple’s bed.  Instead of treating her like a fallen woman though, they had shown her as much respect as if she were the lady of the castle rather than it’s ‘caretaker’.

To the point of defending her honor with their fists whenever outsiders referred to her as the Dark One’s whore.  “Well, we’re no stupid.”  The Notary had told her bluntly when Belle had the courage to raise the issue with the plain spoken woman.

“You’ve got His ear.  And there’s never been another woman either up at the castle or here in town that He’s shown an interest in as far back as anyone can remember.  So it stands to reason He’s right taken with you.  Getting on your bad side would be a quick way to end up squashed under His boot.”

“Beside,”  the Notary had continued,  “It reflects well on the town to have a fine lady as ‘caretaker’ up at the castle.  The Seneschal’s wife over in Entestadt is illiterate and bucktoothed to boot.”

Entestadt was the nearest large town on the other side of the river which marked the boundary of Queen Regina’s lands.  It was the townsfolk's arch rival, not just for trade but in the odd game played in this part of the world where a ball was kicked about a large field.  Rumple had sent Belle off to act as his representative for the last match with Entestadt.  Even after he explained the rules to her, she still did not understand it, but had dutifully applauded whenever the town team had managed to kick the ball between the two posts at Entestadt’s end of the field.  And toasted the players’ victory with the same sort of speech she used to give to the winners of jousting competitions in the Marchlands.

“But before I meet the potter and his family, I have a question.  How do people here in town get married?”  Belle asked.  “There’s no cleric or magistrate to officiate.”

“Depends.”  The Notary’s eyes dropped to Belle’s waist and hurriedly looked up again.  “Those that want a religious ceremony go down river to Beaver Creek.  There’s a cleric closer, but the one there only insists you go through two hours of ‘purification’, before being sufficiently cleansed to be allowed to enter the Sacred Grove. Course he charges twice as much if you live on the lands belonging to the Dark Castle.”

“And if you don’t need a religious ceremony?”

“Well, legally all you need to do is sign the Book of Records and pay the recording fee. For an extra silver I do up a nice certificate you can hang on the wall or send home to the parents to prove you really are married.” The Notary told her.  “Those that can afford it and want to have a party, will jump the broom in the town square after they sign the Book.  For a few silvers Big and Little Jock will get out their fiddles, round up a drummer who can keep time and play dance tunes. Generally the couple or their families will set out some sort of food and a cask of ale for those who turn out.”

“How long do you suppose it would take to pull something like that together?”  Belle asked.  “Assuming the groom arranged for the feast.”

“Full moon’s in five days.”  The Notary shrugged.  “That’s always a good night for a party.”

Five days later just before dusk Belle and Rumplestiltskin stood before the Notary.  He in a beautifully cut suit of wool in the darkest burgundy, heavily embroidered with his own gold thread.  She in a much less constricting, but still form fitting version of the gold gown she was wearing when she first met him.

They signed their names on a clean page in the record book with suitable flourishes. Rumplestiltskin handed over a bag of gold that would not only pay the Notary’s stipend for the entire year, but probably fund the attached school as well.

They exited the Notary’s office to find the broom laid out in front of the door and the entire town gathered around the square.  “Told you they would turn out if we offered them a free meal.”  Rumple muttered in her ear.

The ‘free meal’ was in fact a feast.  Trestle tables were pushed up against the buildings on one side of the square covered in platters of meats, cheeses, bread, fruit, and a mutton, oatmeal and onion pudding that Rumple swore was required for wedding feasts in the Frontlands. There was so much food that the pastries and sweets that were served at Marchlands weddings had to have an entire separate table as did the casks of wine and ale.  

“I think they just want to wish us well.”  Belle whispered back.  “Although I’ll grant you the curiosity factor is probably high.  The wedding of their liege lord is a once in a lifetime affair after all.”

She reached out to take his hand.  “Best to not disappoint them.”

“Indeed not.” Louder, so that the crowd could hear he intoned.  “If you will have me, Belle, I take you to be my wife and vow to be your faithful and loving husband.”

The crowd around them fell away in Belle’s eyes and she saw only her beloved Rumple. “I will most certainly have you, Rumplestiltskin, forever as my husband and I vow to be your faithful and loving wife.”

His hand tighten on hers.  “Shall we then?”  He gestured at the broom.  The townsfolk had wrapped it in the same flowers that bedecked the tables.  Turning it from a household implement into a thing of beauty.

She gathered up her skirts so they would not interfere with the jump.  “We shall.”

They jumped as one. Landing easily on the other side of the broom.  The townsfolk let up a cheer.  Belle giggled as Rumple hugged her.  “Just one last thing.”  

Producing his flask he pour a generous measure into two crystal goblets and offered her one.  “The binding potion.  I used some Marchlands cognac for the base.”

Marchlands cognac did not as a rule bubble and definitely was not lavender, but Belle took a glass and then intertwined their arms.  As they drank she felt a rush of warmth.  The bubbles seemed to flow from her lips through her whole body.  They passed off just as quickly leaving her feeling slightly giddy.  Although that could be the thrill of marrying Rumple.

Or possibly the cognac.

Rumple was smiling down at her with an equally whimsical expression.  From someone in the nearby crowd she heard a comment.  “… heard him say something about the Marchlands.  Must be a custom of Lady Belle’s people.”

Another voice responded.  “’Tis a lovely custom.  I think our Isla should do it when she marries her Ben this fall.”

From the other side of the square a young male voice called out,  “Kiss her already!”

This appeared to be a popular sentiment as other voices took up a chant of “Kiss, her! Kiss, her!”

The Head of the Town Council was standing close enough so that Belle could see the poor man looking like he expected Rumple to turn the lot of them into snails.  It made her giggle

Definitely the cognac.

“Do you think it’s safe to kiss?”  She asked Rumple.

“Only one way to find out.”  He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers.

Grinning he told her.  “Appears to be.  Though I think more experimentation is called for to be sure.”

“Oh, yes!” Standing on tiptoe she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him properly.

Leaving poor Rumple with no choice but to encircle her waist with his arms to keep from being knocked over.  He did not appear to mind.

They did not break off until the applause sounded.  When they looked up, they found the townsfolk were filling various drinking containers with the wine and ale.  The Notary had the presence of mind to refill their goblets from a pitcher of wine she was taking round.

She raised her glass and toasted,  “A thousand welcomes to you with your marriage.  May you be blessed with long life and peace and may you grow old with goodness, and with riches.”

“Thank you.” Belle told her.  

The Notary glanced over at the Head of the Town Council and frowned.  Clearly the man was supposed to step in at this point.  But he was still a bit pale from the ‘kiss her’ chanting.  A couple of the Council members were chivying him forward.  

Taking up the slack the blacksmith raised his glass.  “M’ father gave me the best advise I ever got on m’ weddin’ day.  He said, son, let her know right from the beginnin’ who’s boss.  Look her right in the eye and say, ‘you’re the boss’.”  

He bowed at the laughter that got and then said,  “May your love be like the misty rain, gentle coming in but flooding the river.”

By now the Head of the Town Council appeared calmer.  He cleared his throat and began, “Sir and Lady Belle, honored we are to witness your wedding.  We hope you will permit us to wish you all the best in your married life.”

From the pause at the end of his remarks the speech was clearly supposed to be longer. One of the Council members, jumped in with,  “A toast to the bride and groom.  May they live happily ever after.”

That was a popular toast.  After that the entire crowd looked directly at them.  Belle nudged Rumple.  Who blinked and then realized he was suppose to respond.  “Yes, right.  Thank you good people for your well wishes. On behalf of myself and Lady Belle, my bride...”  This idea appeared to make him loose his train of thought as he looked down at her with a grin.

“We thank you for your kind wishes, and for joining with us to celebrate our happy day.”  Belle finished up for him.  “Please partake of the food and drink.  And didn’t someone say there would be dancing?”

“There will indeed.”  The Notary took up hint.  “Jocks, are you ready?”

“Let’s get this party going.”  A small man with a fiddle called out.  “First a waltz for the bride and groom.”

It turned out the Rumple was a very good dancer.  Leading her easily around the floor and even putting her through a few turns and lifts when he realized she could follow him.  He stole another kiss when the dance ended.  

Several other couple came out onto the floor for the next dance.  A lively jig that Belle had never danced before, but the steps were easy and her skirts hid all her mistakes.  At the end of it she was rather breathless.  “I need a break.  Shall we eat?”

“We could.” Rumple agreed.  “But it occurs to me that we have food and drink back at the castle.  And far more privacy.”

“I like the way you think, husband.”  

“In that case, wife.”  A quick gesture had red smoke surrounded them and they disappeared.  Leaving the townsfolk glancing at each other knowingly.

“Well the foods still here.”  The Notary commented.  “Might as well enjoy ourselves.  Clearly They’re going to.”

[multiimuse]

Dilan HCs

Odds for your boys tbh. B)

I’m never trusting u with meme powers again, kitty.

ANYWAY.

1. What does their bedroom look like?

Relatively neat, if still rather dusty in corners from years of disuse. Sparsely decorated with a bed and a nightstand, a dresser and a closet. He has a (probably) useless decorative lance mounted on the wall above his dresser, and and a small lamp on his nightstand. There used to be a bonsai on the dresser, but Aeleus rescued it  took it away a few years before the garden fell, when Dilan’s attempt at using it to relax nearly did the poor thing in. (He’s considering trying again, but it would probably meet the same fate if he did.) Overall? It’s not very personal - it’s just the place where he sleeps. His space is the kitchen.

3. Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?

Dilan’s more likely to be caught moving than standing still, honestly. If he’s not cooking or working on putting the castle in order, odds are he’s exercising or training. Keeping in good physical condition is important to him - one of the few things that had little to no change during his time as a Nobody. And it’s certainly better than sitting around letting whatever he’s feeling catch up to him. As for what, specifically, he does, he rotates through routines so that he can generally keep from overstressing any one area.

5. Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

Unless he’s been actively working up a sweat (which is admittedly rather often), Dilan tends to keep himself and his personal spaces presentable and neat. It’s easier to get things done when everything is kept neat. Really, that’s all it’s about - it’s not so much a personal preference as it is practicality and training. (Although when it comes to the kitchen, it’s also about avoiding contamination and bacteria, because no-one wants food poisoning and unwashed dishes are gross.)

7. Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

Dilan doesn’t waste time. If he does something, it’s because it needs or should be done, for some reason or another - and idleness is something he outright refuses to indulge in. Even if that reason is simply to try and make himself feel better? It’s worth doing.

9. Makeup?

Hahaha no. He does groom his sideburns though? (Sorry ladies, those eyelashes are all natural.)

11. Intellectual pursuits?

He prefers to leave science to the scientists, but Dilan does have a soft spot for history. Knowing what happened in the past can prepare one for the future, after all. (He’s also rather interested in nutrition, mostly because it ties into cooking and being able to balance good food with needed food is important.) Really, though - he’s just not that interested in research.

13. Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?

It isn’t something Dilan thinks of much. He fell for someone exactly once, and it ended so badly that even decades later he’s not willing to even consider the concept of being attracted to anyone. (I as mun would tentatively label him as both demisexual and demiromantic, but neither he nor I know if heteroromantic or biromantic or panromantic; it’s something to find out if it ever comes up, I suppose.) As for views of it in general? Love is Stupid and he’ll recommend avoiding it, but doesn’t actually care one whit what anyone’s orientation is. It’s just not a thing that he thinks about one way or another.

15. Biggest and smallest short term goal?

Right now, his biggest short term goal is getting his temper back under better control. Living so long without it has gotten him out of the habit, and the sheer intensity of it’s rather overwhelming. His smallest is to make sure Braig keeps eating because he doesn’t trust the man to look after himself right now.

17. Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

He... tends to stick to his uniform, really? After years of wearing the organization’s coat he’s not exactly prone to thinking about alternate clothing. It... doesn’t really feel right to wear the guard uniform like he has been, either, but - there’s something comforting about it, something that makes it easier to reintegrate into his life as Dilan. Maybe he’ll branch out in the future, but right now, this works. (As for rituals, unless he ended up wandering into the kitchen in the middle of the night and fell asleep there, you’re not likely to catch Dilan leaving his rooms without him being fully dressed in his uniform. He isn’t particularly comfortable with leaving things done only halfway.)

19. What do they think about before falling asleep at night?

He tries not to, actually, beyond lists of what he needs to do the next day or going through what he’s already gotten done. Thinking too much leads to feeling, and he’s really not fond of how free the heart is with forming emotions to even the littlest things. 

21. Turn-ons? Turn-offs?

NEXT QUESTION BECAUSE THIS ISN’T RELEVANT.

(On: When someone isn’t intimidated by his temper, who has the fire to match himself. Touches to his collarbone. Massages. Soft voices reading aloud in the evenings. Off: the slightest sign of distress, strong perfume, poor manners at meals.)

23. How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?

He’s relatively organized? It’s again not so much a personal thing as it really is just the discipline required to be a decent guard. So things tend to be kept in order, he keeps appointments, etc! However... his temper can easily throw that all into disarray. When he loses his temper he tends to throw and/or misplace things, or lose track of time until he’s finally calmed down again. It’s another reason why he wants to get it under better control again.

25. How do they see themselves 5 years from today?

That isn’t something Dilan’s letting himself think about too much - it’s easier to take everything one day at a time. Providing the worlds are still standing in five years, he imagines he’ll be in much the same place he is now: rebuilding his life, whatever method it takes.

27. What is their biggest regret?

He has two: that he never saw his daughter after his relationship fell apart and as such has no idea what her ultimate fate was, and that he did not stop Xehanort, did not even step in, when he knows that he should have. (Perhaps it wouldn’t have made a difference in the end, but that doesn’t negate the responsibility he feels he bears.)

29. Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?)

He’s a guard, so he’s trained not to panic - instead, he’ll respond to whatever it is as calmly as possible and if it’s something he can deal with, he’ll deal with it. If it’s not? Get everyone he can out of the way and keep them there until someone who can deal with it has been informed and is on their way.

31. Most prized possession?

If anyone were to ask, he’d state that it was either his weapons or his cooking knives. But the true item he prizes above all others is a soft child’s doll shaped like a knight. He never got to give it to the one meant to own it, but he kept it safe for her on the off-chance that someday he might. Eventually, it simply turned into a reminder that he can’t bear to let go of. (And he’s just about as possessive of it as, say, the Beast and his rose. Never touch it without permission, if you even have been given the right to know that it’s there.)

33. Concept of home and family?

The castle is his home, and its denizens his family - or as close to one as he has or bothers to think about. Family, to Dilan, is made up of bonds of loyalty that can never be broken - if they are easily shattered, then they were never family in the first place. If any physical location could be considered ‘home’, it would probably be the castle kitchen - it’s where he’s most at ease, where his path is most likely to cross with the people he cares for, and where he retreats when he needs to do so.

35. What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?

He doesn’t really waste time, so if an activity could be considered as such he doesn’t let himself try it long enough to find out if he likes it or not. ... He probably should, just to branch out a little more, but it would take some persuading to convince him that anything that might be seen as a waste of time (movies, meaningless doodling, etc) is worth giving a shot anyway.

37. Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making?

He tries to be analytical, but that was far easier as Xaldin. Now that he has his heart back, there’s something of a push-and-pull going on in his decision making. So unless he forces himself to calm down, his first reaction is going to be emotional. (Have I mentioned he really didn’t want his temper back, yet? Because he sure didn’t.)

39. What recharges them when they’re feeling drained?

Cooking, mostly. Dilan uses it to unwind, to de-stress and to be productive in the face of more overwhelming emotions. If he’s too drained to even manage that, however, he’ll simply make some kind of tea and relax at the table until he’s doing a little better. If he’s hit that point, however, he’s not likely to be social, so it’s usually best to leave him be and let him make the first move.

41. How misanthropic are they?

He’s... pretty misanthropic. Naturally a little suspicious and guarded around others, his relationship falling apart led him to drawing farther back, guarding himself further and making it that much harder to trust that anyone has good intentions, and then, after what happened with Xehanort... well, by now he’s more or less given up on humanity as a whole, or bothering with people he doesn’t already have some connection with. (There are a few exceptions, but they are exceptions.) 

43. How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education?

Dilan’s family wasn’t particularly wealthy, so that while he had formal education up through the end of high school, that’s where it ended; he enlisted upon graduating, and anything he’s picked up since has been self taught. Primarily, this includes cooking, but he’s also picked up more than he would like to know a few things from being around Ansem and Even for so long. He has no strong opinions on formal versus self-education, save that he wishes more people were taught how to defend themselves - a silly thought, perhaps, before the Garden fell. But now? Now, he’s willing to bet more than a few survivors agree with him.

45. Superstitions or views on the occult?

He doesn’t really have any? Dilan isn’t a superstitious person by nature, and tends to not do a lot of thinking about occult matters. His mindset is more or less one of ‘if I don’t think about it, it won’t affect me’ - which works well enough until you lose your heart and start living an existence that is neither truly living nor existing but still somehow something. (Now that he’s himself again, he’s still trying very hard not to think about such things.)

47. If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal?

Hahahahahaha, ha. ha.

Never again. (Ideals are for idiots and children, anyway.)

49. If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like?

If it’s to the point of a fist fight, it’s usually because Dilan’s too angry to think straight, so the only thing he’s focusing on is releasing his anger onto his opponent. Thus it lacks in his usual finesse and precision... but given that he’s still strong, and fast, and trained in combat, he’s... still pretty dangerous and not one you really want to piss off to the point he’s throwing punches.

[tirkdi]

Hospital alarkling au! Yes!!!

omg, ok, here we go. this is like, half crack.

Alina blinked, fidgeted. Coughed into her white sleeve. Maybe he hadn’t heard her, maybe she should say it again – but his countenance, as brutally beautiful as it was, didn’t invite repetition. He stared down at her, unamused.

She’d thought the stories about him were overblown – no one with standing job offers around the world would choose to work at a teaching hospital and be that much of a misanthrope. 

She had apparently been wrong.

When he did choose to respond, it wasn’t exactly the first words she’d hoped to hear from the doctor who would be her mentor for the next year. “You’re my intern.”

“Yup!” she replied, far too brightly.

He looked her over, his gaze traveling down the white coat she was so proud of and back up in quick dismissal. “Do you have any surgical experience?”

“Um, no, sir – er, doctor. I just graduated medical school, you know, last week.” She mentally chastised herself for her timidity and wished, not for the first time, that she had the same unreasonable self-confidence that all the other surgical interns seemed to.

Disbelief and dismay warred across his features. “And before that?”

If only the last conversation she’d had with her parents before they died had been about her being a dermatologist, or a professor, or a dog-walker – if only they’d told her to go into anything but surgery. But she’d busted her butt for years and here she finally was, intern to a surgeon who was a worldwide legend. Damn if she was going to let him get the better of her on her first day.

She snorted. “What, you think I spent my childhood cutting open my friends?”

She’d been expecting him to disavow the idea, but he just lifted an eyebrow in an expression she couldn’t read. It was uniquely disconcerting. “So I’m going to have to teach you everything.”

“Not everything,” she countered. “I did go to med school.”

“Did you.” His gaze sharpened to a scalpel’s edge and she got her first glimpse of the surgeon Morozova, ready to carve open a living subject. “Then let’s see what you know, shall we?”

*

“Dr. Starkov.”

Alina bent her head towards the linoleum floor, trying to stifle the smile that threatened to erupt across her features any time she was called that. She hadn’t quite gotten control of the grin by the time she turned around, but the steel gaze that met hers made quick work of the kill.

This seemed like a bad way to begin her second day.  

“My office, please.” Dr. Morozova gestured to down the hallway. She marched ahead of him and entered, sitting in the chair in front of his desk as he sat behind it. He leaned back, elbows on his armrests and fingers steepled in front of his chest, and stared at her.

For a while. She could only return the look for a few seconds before diverting her eyes to the bookshelf behind him. The books were worn, each shelf bookended by bones hinged together with wire. It wasn’t unusual for a surgeon’s office to have skeletons interspersed with the decor, but there were significantly more bones in the room than she’d expected.

“Um,” she said, finally tired of looking anywhere but at him and hoping he’d say something. “Am I in trouble?”

“Do you know what I read this morning?”

“The newspaper?” she guessed.

“Your file.” He leaned forwarded, rested his forearms on the desk. “You graduated first in your class. From the best medical school in the country.”

She blinked, unsure of where he was going but pretty sure she wasn’t going to like it. “I already knew that?” she asked, her nervousness forcing her snark into a question.

Dr. Morozova sneered. “There it is again.”

“There what is?”

“That appalling lack of confidence. I grilled you for three hours yesterday. Based on your tone alone, I would have said you had no idea what you were talking about – yet you answered every question I asked perfectly. You don’t seem to know what it is you know, let alone have the ego to slice into someone else.”

Her anger at being insulted finally eclipsed her anxiety. “I figured if I ever needed extra ego, there would be no shortage of surgeons to borrow it from. And here I am, paired up with you, giving me a convenient lifetime supply.”

He leaned forward even further, nearly in her face despite the desk between them. “I have the ego,” he said, voice tense but even, “because I’m the best at what I do. If I second-guessed myself all the time, I couldn’t be.”

Her brain generated a number of responses to that, but she bit her tongue, not trusting herself to not make a bad situation worse.

“You could be an excellent surgeon if you believed in yourself.”

“Just because I don’t think I’m the best doesn’t mean I don’t believe in –”

“You don’t,” he interrupted. Then he leaned back in his chair, picked up a file of case notes and began leafing through them, dismissing her. “I hope you’ll decide to one day, though. Preferably soon.”

*

There were leaves on the trees. And birds. Alina blinked slowly, allowing her brain to reacclimate to sunlight and the fact that a world existed beyond the walls of the hospital. Her first week as an intern had been brutal but she hadn’t killed anyone – a low bar but a good start. She inhaled deeply and mentally gave herself a gold star as she began the walk to her car. Good job not murdering your patients, Alina.

“Leaving already, Dr. Starkov?”

Alina startled and stopped, turning towards the voice. Her mentor sat on a bench outside the hospital, a stack of files in his lap.

They’d spoken almost not at all since their meeting in his office several days prior, though he’d been conspicuously present as she went about her rounds, hovering in the shadows, watching, waiting – though for what, she wasn’t sure. She had returned the favor during his surgeries, positioning herself in the corners of the room to watch as he sliced, examined, and arranged with a deftness and confidence that she would never be able to muster. She hadn’t killed any humans her first week, but she was getting ready to bury her hope of becoming even a mediocre surgeon in a shallow grave.

She sighed and rubbed a hand across her face, trying to hide both her fatigue and her caffeine shakes. “Yeah, it’s … I’m off, now. I’ve been working for twenty-four hours straight.”

“Is that all.” His gaze was even and clear though Alina could have sworn he’d been at the hospital at least as long as she had. “They let interns get by with so little these days.”

This was too much. Half the reason his reputation was what it was was that he was impossibly young himself – while there were other surgeons that approached his skill level, none were within even a decade or two of his age. “It can’t possibly be that different from when you were a medical student,” she snapped.

“You’d be surprised at what’s changed.”

His medical school must have had a class in non-answers or else he was just a prodigy at those, too. “How old are you, anyway?

“One hundred and twenty.”

She lowered her lids halfway. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Yes,” he turned back to his files. “I count in surgeon years. If you can ever be bothered to become a decent surgeon, you will too, soon enough.”

*

Dr. Morozova materialized seemingly from nowhere as Alina was making herself coffee in the breakroom. She avoided spilling it all over her white coat, but it was a close call.

He leaned against the counter in front of the sugars she’d been about to grab, a case file dangling carelessly from one hand. “There’s a surgery I want you to take tomorrow.”

That was enough to almost make her forget her coffee. “What? Why?”

“Because I’m a surgeon and you’re my intern.”

“You don’t even like me.” One of these days, Alina would remember that she didn’t always have to say what she was thinking.

One brow raised a millimeter. “I don’t have to like you.” A beat, considering. “I saw how you handled Mrs. Bratslov’s case yesterday.”

“You saw that?” she whispered. It had not been her finest hour; she’d been performing a routine examination when the woman had gone into cardiac arrest. Alina had screamed for backup, grabbing the defibrillator and giving the first person into the room the instructions that happened to pop into her head. They hadn’t been the ones she’d learned in medical school, though at the time she said them they seemed correct; she still hadn’t figured out why.

“I did.”

“She almost died.”

“But she didn’t.” He straightened and walked towards her, his head tilted down to look her in the eyes. “You made a call –”

“A bad one,” she interrupted, though he had to have known it.

“The only bad calls are the ones that don’t work. Something went wrong and you handled it, well. There is confidence buried somewhere in there. You just need the right thing to bring it out.”

“And you think this is the way to do it?”

He handed her a file. “Read this tonight. Surgery is tomorrow.”

*

She scrubbed her hands viciously, trying to project the confidence she knew she should feel, attempting to hide the shaking that betrayed her intense nerves over her very first surgery.

“This is straightforward,” Dr. Morozova said from the sink next to her. “Simple patellar fix. In and out.”

“Right, right.” Alina nodded her head, scrubbing under her fingernails. “I just don’t want to forget the plan.”

“You remember the plan.”

“Sure I do.” She swallowed. “But could we maybe just go over it one more time?”

He cut her a glance. She was worried he might call off the surgery right now, send her home, kick her out of the program – but whatever he saw in her face, he relented. “One more time: we’re going to go in there. I’m going to pick up a scalpel and get the site prepared for you. That means that I will strip away all of the skin, all of the flesh, until you have no surface but knee. All you have to do is take it from there.” He lifted his foot from the pedal, turning off the faucet. “Ready?”

She rinsed her forearms and did the same. “As I’ll ever be.”

“You need to believe in yourself. For what it’s worth,” he continued as he shook the excess water from his fingers in the sink, “I do.”

He headed towards the operating room before she could respond. When he reached the door he turned, hands held in front of him, ready to push it open with his back. “Wait,” she said. “What are you wearing?”

“Scrubs,” Dr. Morozova replied.

“They’re black.”

A corner of his lips quirked, not quite a smile. “Hides the blood.”

He leaned back into the door, letting it swing shut behind him. Alina took a deep breath and followed suit, entering the operating room for her first surgery.

*

Her hands had stopped shaking by the time her mentor handed her the scalpel and she made her first cut into a living human. It had gone better than she anticipated – not only had she done well, but, to her horror, she’d enjoyed it. Dr. Morozova had stood as he had for most of the week prior – unmoving, silent, just watching – and she had been grateful for the mask that had hidden her smile as she sewed the final stitches into place.

Her fourth day as an intern, she had put in an inquiry to the anesthesiology department to see if a transfer might be possible. She’d heard the saying in medical school before, and they had repeated it to her then: “If your favorite place in the hospital is the operating room, be an anesthesiologist. If your favorite place in the world is an operating room, be a surgeon.”

After the surgery, as the two of them made their way through the maze of corridors to their lockers, shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor, she felt it acutely: she was walking away from her favorite place in the world.

Her mentor looked down at her. Even without the safety of a mask, she found that her smile couldn’t be constrained.

“I told you,” was all he said.

*

Her fifteenth surgery made her feel as invincible as the first. “Did you see that?” Alina practically screamed, jumping into the air. “I crushed that tendon!” She furrowed her brow. “In a good way.”

“That you did,” Dr. Morozova agreed. “But the surgery ended minutes ago. Take some of that youthful exuberance and direct it towards the problem at hand.”

“You’re no fun at all,” Alina complained. He’d become a more active mentor over the last month; she had thought she might find some humanity underneath his all-work-no-play exterior, but she’d only found an interior that was no-play-all-work.

“You’re not the first person to point that out.”

She sighed, not wanting to let go of the post-surgical high, but finally turned around. She was face to face with a tumor on a backlit scan. She examined it a while, trying to focus.

“Well?” Dr. Morozova asked from behind her. “What’s your diagnosis, doctor?”

She’d been working with him on straightforward cases so far, building up, but this was the first time he’d let her see what the whole department referred to as a Morozova Surgery. The tricky surgeries, the ones only he could handle.

The answer hit her. She lifted her hand to her mouth. “We’re going to have to take the whole thing out.” The surgery was going to be horrifyingly invasive – this was not a part of the body she was looking forward to rooting around for cancer cells in, but there was no other choice.

“What about cutting off the blood supply? Finding some way to starve it?”

He was testing her, and she shook her head, transfixed with the image, beginning to mentally step through the incisions. “We’re not going to be able to control the tumor, it’s too much. We’re going to have to cut it out completely.” She whirled around, more confident than she could ever remember being before. “This is going to be fun.”

He smiled at her for a moment, then looked at the desk he sat on and moved a paper to one side. “Yes,” he said. “It will be.”

*

The next week, Alina high-fived the head of surgery after he had watched them perform the operation – flawlessly. She was walking down the hall with her mentor, still smiling to herself when Dr. Morozova leaned closer and spoke.

“We don’t high five over surgeries, Alina.”

“You don’t,” she replied. “Maybe people just like me more.”

“If you keep up that sort of behavior,” he continued, his voice casual and more serious for it, “you’ll kill both of our careers.”

“My career will be just fine.” They reached a turn in the hallway where Alina would head back to her locker and Morozova to his. “And if your whole career is built on being an unrelenting asshole, maybe it’s time to rethink your strategy.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “It’s half the reason I went into surgery in the first place.”

“What’s the other half?” she asked, but he just continued down the hallway. “Wait,” she called after him, “where are you going?”

“Home,” he replied over his shoulder without breaking his stride.

She hadn’t really thought that he lived at the hospital, but as she watched him walk away she realized she’d never actually seen him leave. She stood dumbly as his black clad figure disappeared into the parking structure, a strange loneliness settling in her chest. She’d never been in the hospital without Dr. Morozova before.

She blinked a few times, shook her head, then headed to her locker. Whatever she was feeling, it was nothing that a hot shower and a good night’s sleep wouldn’t cure.

[cuntess-carmilla]

This is just an extremely long vent post sparked by my brother. ^_^

(Reclaimed r slur by the end in reference to myself)

Someone explain to me how my brother can be so smart yet always soooooooooo fucking wrong in everything other than thinking cops and Piñera are scum.

Actually? I know exactly why! It’s because in his colossal immaturity coupled with his trauma of having always been told that he’s dumb because he’s autistic and the combination of mostly STUPID awful teachers and bullying was the actual reason why he did so badly in school after like 3rd grade. Which I get! But the way he ~copes~ with his inferiority complex is by being possibly THE most arrogant person I’ve ever known!

Ok, no, the most arrogant one was my ex-boss who sexually harassed me, but my brother (being actually a good just really frustrating person) comes 2nd. Besides that insecure arrogance, he’s way too driven by his gut feelings without supporting those gut feelings with reason or proper sources. Sometimes AGAINST proper sources. He ESPECIALLY doesn’t inform his gut feelings with other people’s opinions to form any sort of balanced collection of ideas to consider!

Given that he also has really bad anger issues (I’m fucking uncle Iroh post-war crimes compared to him) and represses every emotion that isn’t Wrath, a lot of the time his gut is just going by whatever position, POV or idea causes him the strongest emotional reaction - again, without proper research - that aligns with his like, misanthropy and sense of The World Inherently Sucks, so a lot of the time it’s motherfucking conspiracy theories! And he sticks to the position that took 5 minutes to convince him no matter what anyone says if they don’t passionately agree with him.

AND when someone doesn’t passionately agree with him, or innocently asks questions that could make his position be exposed as wrong or unfounded, he takes it as the grandest personal insult meant to make him feel stupid and if we try to tell him that disagreeing with him or even just not being sure what we think of the positions he adopts, he literally, legit says we’re just saying that to demonize him and make HIM out to be the psycho.

I love him but he’s wrong a lot of the time EVEN compared to my very fascist parents when it doesn’t come to specific local politics (ie. hating cops and Piñera). Don’t get me wrong, they’re fascists so I disagree with 99% of their views (the ones I agree with being stuff like “rape is bad” and “femicides shouldn’t happen”), my mom herself makes up a lot of insane fascist conspiracy theories, and both of them source their information from right-wing mainstream media.

But like... At least they try to form opinions based on (the sadly biased) information they can get rather than immediately making up their minds with NO space for questioning anything based on what aligns with their emotions?

Ok, my mom not so much but she’s only like that when it comes to subjects she thinks she knows well. When it comes to subjects she knows she’s ignorant of, she doesn’t do that. She’s open to asking questions, being corrected and thinking things through in those cases.

My dad is generally capable of all those things that my mom does when she knows she’s not knowledgeable enough in the subject at hand, and actually has a pretty decent capacity to admit he’s wrong when he’s proven wrong by undeniable facts! He knows too that a lot of his own ideas and perceptions can change through time and he’d rather be properly right instead of clinging to past ideas and perceptions just to never admit he was ever wrong. What’s more, he fully accepts that people aren’t always going to agree with him on everything and that’s not a fucking hate crime! What a concept.

So like, yeah I think their politics are wrong almost entirely lol. But I can at least... Think of them as relatively functional adults when it comes to that shit even if they’re wrong and stay very wrong? My mom does take some things more personally but never to my brother’s level.

Just minutes ago my brother was spouting conspiracy theories about COVID (you know the shit, virus was human-made, it’s a conspiracy by some secret society to kill people, etc) like it was objective fact. My dad has stayed away from watching or reading any news for the sake of his own sanity so he doesn’t actually know all the facts, BUT with the facts he didn’t know, he asked him where his information came from in a very neutral way, or filled in the spaces with reasonable logic and distrusting things that are obviously conspiracy-mongering.

Just that my dad didn’t immediately agree with him and put the things he was saying to question my brother started fucking yelling and victimizing himself. I was so fucking annoyed that I committed the crime of interfering not regarding the subject itself, but regarding how my brother was handling not being agreed with. He word by word said “OH, SO YOU AGREE WITH HIM?" I told him I wasn’t agreeing or disagreeing with anyone! Because I wasn’t! I was just trying to calm the dude down and TRY to teach him, for the billionth time, to learn how to take CONSTRUCTIVE gentle criticism and to handle others having a healthy minimum of skepticism regarding the extreme ideas he proposes out of the blue! You know. Like a fucking (by tomorrow) 22 years old guy SHOULD. Ah, yes, he’s not a fucking teenager! HE’S TURNING 22 IN 23 MINUTES FROM NOW.

THEN he started victimizing himself, WITH ME.

ME! THE ONE BITCH IN THIS HOUSE WHO ALWAYS ADVOCATES FOR HIS ASS, HAS ALWAYS TRIED TO LISTEN TO WHAT HE HAS TO SAY WITHOUT DIRECTLY SHUTTING HIS IDEAS DOWN WHEN I THINK HE’S WILDLY WRONG BECAUSE EVEN THEN I MAKE SURE TO DISAGREE WITH HIM IN A WAY THAT HE DOESN’T PERCEIVE AS ME THINKING HE’S A STUPID PARANOID IMBECILE (paranoid he IS by the way!).

I’M THE ONE CUNT WHO’S ALWAYS TRIED TO MAKE THE REST OF THE FAMILY UNDERSTAND WHERE HE’S COMING FROM WHETHER HE’S RIGHT OR WRONG, WHO’S TRIED FOR YEARS (AND SUCCEEDED A LOT OF THE TIME!) TO TEACH THE REST OF THE FAMILY HOW TO ACCOMMODATE FOR HIM, HIS DISABILITY AND HIS TRAUMAS WHEN HE DOESN’T RETURN THE FAVOR TO ANYONE, SOMETIMES ASKING FOR MAYBE MORE COMPREHENSION AND PATIENCE FROM THE REST OF THE FAMILY THAN IT’S FAIR TO ASK FOR!

HELL. EVEN WHEN I TELL HIM OFF WHEN I GET PISSED AT HIM AND SAY PRETTY HEAVY THINGS TO HIM? I MAKE SURE TO ARTICULATE WHAT I’M SAYING IN A WAY THAT SHOWS COMPASSION AND IS COMPLETELY CODDLING IN TONE SO HE DOESN’T FEEL PERSONALLY ATTACKED. EVEN HE SAYS I’M THE ONLY ONE WHO “LISTENS” TO HIM.

THIS EMOTIONALLY REPRESSED DUDE WHO BREAKS FURNITURE AND DESTROYS OUR FOOD WHEN HIS ANGER OR ANXIETY TAKE OVER, WHO DOES NOT LET ANYONE SEE HIM VULNERABLE UNLESS HE’S HAVING A MELT DOWN ONLY BECAUSE THEN HE CAN’T STOP HIMSELF FROM CRYING? HE USUALLY TRUSTS ME ENOUGH TO HAVE CRIED ON MY SHOULDER MANY FUCKING TIMES.

AND HE ACCUSES ME OF JUST WANTING TO MAKE HIM SEEM LIKE HE’S THE INSANE DUMB DELUSIONAL AWFUL PERSON, SO I CAN SOMEDAY USE THIS INSTANCE AGAINST HIM IN ANOTHER “FIGHT”, WHEN I’VE NEVER FUCKING DONE THAT EVEN WHEN HE, TO BE HONEST, DESERVED IT? SERIOUSLY DUDE? FOR FUCKING REAL?

I’M THE ONE YOU’RE GONNA ACCUSE OF THAT WHEN I SPEND MY WHOLE FUCKING LIFE CODDLING YOUR PETTY ASS, PROTECTING YOU, BEING A SECOND MOTHER AND CHARGE FREE SHRINK TO YOU?

OR PULLING ALL-NIGHTERS TO HELP WITH YOUR COLLEGE HOMEWORK WHEN I’VE HAD CLASSES TOO THE NEXT DAY? SOMETIMES DOING THE WHOLE COLOSSAL PROJECT ALONE THE NIGHT BEFORE IF I REALIZE YOU’RE TOO BRAIN FOGGED, FATIGUED OR TRIGGERED TO DO ANYTHING WITHOUT GETTING SUICIDAL OR SOMETHING? SENDING YOU TO BED WHILE I DO YOUR SHIT AND DON’T SLEEP AT ALL? SOMETIMES GROUP PROJECTS WHERE YOU WERE GROUPED WITH LAZY ASSHOLES SO I’M DOING THE WORK OF 4 PEOPLE ALONE THE NIGHT BEFORE? FOR FREE?

M E ?

BITCH, I DON’T EVEN WANT A MEDAL OR TO BE THANKED BECAUSE BEING THANKED FOR ANYTHING MAKES ME UNCOMFORTABLE! BUT COME THE FUCK ON. I’D JUST APPRECIATE NOT BEING SLAPPED ON THE FACE IN RETURN, YOU KNOW?

*insert gif of Disney’s Hades exploding in red fire then calming down 2 seconds after*

Like you just! Can’t fucking have an adult conversation with this dude if you’re not validating him without question! You can’t! You can’t have any level of healthy friendly debate with him! You can’t beg him to be reasonable! YOU CAN’T!

He was saying “BUT IT’S OBVIOUS”, my dad asked CALMLY “With what proof?”, then it was “WELL, IT’S OBVIOUS TO ME”, then “That’s an opinion, not a fact. We can google the number” and OH MY GOD!!!! OH MY GOD!!!!

Then to ME he was all “YOU JUST LOVE TO BE RIGHT, DON’T YOU?” calling US immature and saying WE are the ones who don’t want to listen to a different opinion!!!!! When I told him he fucking loves being right he victimized himself again with a “WELL, FOR ONCE I’D LIKE TO BE!”

I was about to tell him, with the last dying bit of my patience, that yeah, like most people I do actually like to be right and I like it a lot! But that being right requires actual fucking work and THINKING rather than just going by whatever supports your misanthropic Kill Society angry feelings, and the moment you’re proved wrong YOU HAVE TO CHANGE YOUR POSITION IN ORDER TO BE RIGHT, BECAUSE IF YOU CLING TO YOUR DEBUNKED FIRST BASELESS CONVENIENT OPINION OUT OF PRIDE THEN YOU’RE OBJECTIVELY WRONG AND A PISSBABY.

But I didn’t get to say that because something else interrupted it and then things cooled off while, like a good Scorpio Mars, I’m still endlessly ruminating on and won’t forget about the rest of my life as much as I’d actually LOVE to be able to forget this instance of him being an idiot. 8)

Like, does this motherfucker not fucking get that unless I already know the subject thoroughly and have a fully fleshed Opinion, I don’t often give opinions out loud BECAUSE I try to first shape my thoughts properly and THAT’S why I tend to be fucking right? That that’s why I always have a lot of arguments and am so certain of what I think, because I’m so insecure that I only fucking talk when I’m 99.999999% confident in what I have to say, rather than it being because I’m an inflexible asshole who thinks is better than him!

And he’s seen it. He’s fucking SEEN ME acknowledge when I’m wrong!!!!! Including the times I’ve been wrong TO HIM.

In all honesty I don’t enjoy admitting when I’m wrong (in big part BECAUSE I put a lot of effort into articulating the ideas I’m standing by!), but when I realize that I am, just out of a minimum of maturity and sense of DIGNITY - because I’d find it so fucking humiliating to not acknowledge being wrong when it’s obvious that I am to everyone involved and I can no longer defend my point - I still do it!

Bitch, you said it yourself, I LIKE TO BE RIGHT. I’m going to side with what I genuinely think is right even if I used to think it was wrong! There’s a motherfucking reason that as a teenager I was a Pinochet apologist, Gays Go To Hell, Communism = Evil / Capitalism = Freedom, pro-life, Catholic and now I’m THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE OF ALL OF THAT.

Does he think it didn’t hurt my pride to discover one-by-one that my views were absolute shit? IT DID AND GOD KNOWS MY PRIDE IS SENSITIVE AS HELL. Does he think it wasn’t depressing to have my whole world views destroyed? I NEED TO STAND ON FIRM GROUND ON EVERYTHING OR ELSE I LOSE MY SHIT, IT WAS AWFUL TO SUDDENLY HAVE MY WORLD VIEW WRECKED. Does he think I didn’t try to argue for my WRONG ideas for as long as I still thought I had decent arguments to back them up? OF COURSE I DID, I BELIEVED IN THEM FOR A REASON, AS WRONG AS I WAS.

But I changed! I changed when I no longer had any space left to think I was right! And I operate the same way with my current positions and ideas now! Dude, I tend to be right over you BECAUSE I don’t immediately get set on the first thing that makes me feel emotionally Validated, unlike you! You ARE smart but you’re SO driven by your own colossal yet insecure ego that you don’t even BOTHER to be critical of your own thoughts and all your potential goes to waste.

I ruminate on every single little thing obsessively, to my own detriment, being my own Devil’s advocate having an ruthless debate against myself in my mind, starting off COMPLETELY insecure about my own thoughts, paranoid trying to imagine in what way I could possibly be proved wrong by someone else if I said my ideas out loud and how to hold my stance in case it happens. I NEVER say my ideas out loud to people who I think know more than me or are smarter than me, to not make a fool of myself in front of anyone because I’m a coward and I was also bullied into firmly believing I’m a fucking retard!

All of that pathological effort because I actually don’t think I’m better than you or anyone else! I think I’m really fucking stupid! So I overthink it all endlessly and by PRINCIPLE I distrust and question my own thoughts and perceptions at every single second. For hours, days, weeks, months, EVEN YEARS.

That’s why when I do speak I’m one of those annoying bitches who have an answer to everything! BECAUSE I THOUGHT YOU’D TRY TO PROVE ME WRONG ON THAT FRONT ALREADY AND I DON’T WANT TO GO THROUGH THAT HUMILIATION SO I ALREADY HAD THAT SHIT COVERED BEFORE I DECIDED TO SAY ANYTHING.

And nothing in that exhausting, paranoid process guarantees I’ll be correct! So even when I firmly think I’m right I keep it to myself some more in case that maybe two years later or something I’ll discover a flaw in my thought process.

It’s so tiring, it’s so fucking tiring how EVERYONE who knows me from afar or from very FUCKING close, thinks that any and every one of the fucking things I achieve just fell into my stupid hands out of the sky by mere luck because God felt like giving me an easy ride that day. They ALL think I’m some arrogant bitch for the very few things I don’t doubt anymore when I try my best to be humble as long as I don’t humiliate myself! But I’m SURE they all think I’m a conceited lucky show off!

EVERY TIME I’m for fucking once proud of anything I achieve, people tell me to my fucking face that I’m just naturally and inexplicably talented, taking away any merit of my fucking own.

Like it’s a FUCKING compliment that, supposedly, everything I’ve achieved by pushing myself to my limits despite being at a disadvantage in so many areas, destroying my already ill body and breaking my autistic little brain, barely sleeping for days, having panicked crying fits where I self-harm because it’s not good enough and I don’t know how to make it right... What I finally accomplish by putting in all that effort, self sabotage and sacrifice?

Oh, it just fell into my hands because I’m THAT blessed, apparently! It’s all just LUCK AND TALENT I DIDN’T DO A THING TO EARN! I’m SO lucky and effortlessly talented! I feel SO fucking flattered!!! :) Thank you SO much! :) I’ve never EVER doubted myself also! :D