#i think its currently in the process of dying anyway

[ooglywooglies]

tbh i do sometimes get a little [sad ant with a bindle] when people make forcefem/eggfem jokes that imply the reader is amab, like i dont want to say its discriminatory because its not serious its a dumb joke but on some level it does kinda feel like oh amab/cis man is the default audience forever

like i get why the tap bros are offended by forcefem jokes right, on some level they feel like detrans jokes from your perspective bc the author isnt considering that YOU might read and process her joke, and thats something youre used to feeling. and like i get why tap bros link that experience to being afab/girl childhood bc it mirrors childhood misogyny. like i was playing crash bandicoot with my husband yesterday and i was talking about how i always liked playing as coco bc it felt like i was being acknowledged even though i never really properly identified as a girl, bc crash was not meant for ME yknow. even though now i know im a guy im still basically never the intended audience of something, and i dont think i NEED that or anything thats straying a little too close to entitlement which i dont fuck with. because then you might conclude that bc afabs are overlooked/excluded that means amabs are not and thats not true because crash wasnt intended for trasnfems either.

like i get why youd essentially have a ptsd reaction to transfems making "everyone reading this become woman" joke, but the reason i say you HAVE to get a thicker skin is because you have to realize the only reason they make those jokes is because they are combating their own exclusion. and like i know im only 6 months in so im hardly less of a baby trans than anyone else so yknow saying stuff like "ive been there i know how it is, i still struggle with it sometimes" is stupid because that was like 3 months ago but ough yeah

its weird being where im at in terms of being trans because ive been like, aware of my transness (like, fully intentionally identified as something other than cis) for like 13 years but theres a MASSIVE material difference between what im doing now and what i was doing that entire time. i think fite-clubs post about micro-identities holding the tap club back from growing in this respect was on point because like i said a lot of these guys are closeted and cant imagine how the reality of gender feels outside of your own mind/discord friend group

thats why i said low self esteem hurts more than yourself, i genuinely think having low self esteem turns you into a bad person and you have a responsibility to build a strong will for yourself for the sake of others (and i mean also obviously it benefits you) and probably one of the first ways to do that is to start HRT and make friends with trans people who you dont necessarily share a gender or sex assignment with (and also all of this doesnt apply to everyone always forever im just a person with a scope capacity limited by my own perspective which may be hindered by lack of experience and nutrients as is the case for everyone)

[toytulini]

Disclaimer im just processing some thoughts im not cancelling the show

have almost thoughts about how i find the like....narrative on here that if you have chronic "zebra" conditions youd want a doctor like House and wouldnt sue for malpractice bc at least youd have a doctor that cares about whats wrong with you but lets take it one step further. so often he does NOT give a shit about the patient and actively endangers them frequently with his god damn heoric era of medicine approach? non zero amount of times he gets a diagnosis but it comes too late, or he gets a diagnosis after their first wrong 3 guesses of the episode shut down the patients kidneys and they either have to get a transplant or they are just, doomed due to other preexisting conditions etc? idk. i know ppl are almost certainly exaggerating and just letting off steam about the very real failures of our current medical systems and the ableism baked in and All That Shit. i just think its weird how ppl romanticize House who STILL, FREQUENTLY, MULTIPLE EPISODES will actively dismiss shit in the exact way that is a problem in our current system, especially when hes being Forced Against His Will To See Clinic Parients, he loves to be dismissive as fuck of symptoms and if he was a real doctor i think he'd be fucking 50/50 on cases he Notices Something To Dig Into vs cases he dismisses as an Anxious Hysterical Woman Who Wants Attention, the only reason he's Right so frequently in his snap judgements is cos it reinforces the narrative. its like a crime drama that has the mastermind serial killer masterfully using "loopholes" and lawyering up all sneaky and dodging Justice and if only our poor little cop protags were allowed to do A TEENY BIT of Justified Police Brutality, they could Save Lives!

and like sometimes in the show they will have a patient die despite his efforts to narratively punish him. not to mention, i think its been at least mildly brought up and glossed over how much they absolutely do not think about insurance costs for these ppl for the insane amount of tests that find nothing and Wrong Medications To Force A Diagnosis they use? i think it was brought up once in the episode following a day in the life of cuddy where she had to fight a lawsuit bc a guys insurance like didnt cover his thumb being reattached but chase reattached it anyway while in surgery cos it was The Right Thing To Do and the guy didnt have the money to cover it and the insurance wouldnt pay unless he sued the hospital or whatever. thats like the only time its come up. whereas like frequently the doctor I go to for osteopathic manipulation tries to check in with me and make sure im covered by insurance etc and that im not going to go broke or get buried in medical debt seeing her.

idk. just some Thoughts. not a defense of our current system and all the flaws it enables and enforces etc. his approach to medicine is really reminiscent to me of what I know of the Heroic Era Of Medicine which i dont...love? and hes framed on here as being an asshole but would kill for his patients to get them a diagnosis etc. but hes definitely extremely paternalistic to patients ? and despite some good clippable lines about ableism and being against eugenics, it honestly feels like his stance on that is kind of a toss up.

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 4

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Currently thinking this will have like 5-7 parts?

The sheets didn't smell like Max anymore. Colette had changed them over a week ago.

She ran her hand over the empty space next to her, the sheets cool to the touch. Empty. Alone. 

Colette wished Max was there. That she could simply turn around and he would be there. But he wasn't. 

Bébé took that moment to kick her bladder and she sighed as she pushed herself to sit up. 

The sun was lower on the sky an she knew that she must have napped at least a few hours. "Bathroom and then we can see what we'll have for dinner," she suggested to the baby.

She got an answering kick in response that made her snort. 

After taking care of her business, she made her way to the kitchen, feeling a rumbling in her stomach.

To her surprise, Colette wasn’t alone in their apartment. "You do know that I am adult, right?" she asked her mother and her oldest brother drily as waddled into the kitchen. Arthur was nowhere to be seen, probably busy with his actual job. "I can be left alone. Chances are I'll just go back to watching reruns of Real Housewives this evening," she said drily.

Neither of them laughed at this. She looked up from opening the fridge to see their...very serious expression. Colette paused, a cold feeling of dread worming its way into her stomach. Something was wrong, she could tell by their expressions. "What?" she asked, closing the refrigerator door.

Was something wrong with Max? With Cha?

She had never outright believed in the whole idea of twin telepathy or anything like that...but Charles and her had this...thing. If something was really wrong with each other...they could feel it.

And she couldn’t feel anything…not like that, not right now.  

"Did...did something happen to Max?" Colette asked shakily, almost afraid of the answer. Her mind instantly went to the worst-case scenario. "Is he...okay?"

Her mother and brother traded a glance, which did nothing to calm her nerves. "Max is fine," her mother promised her. "Why don't you sit down, Choupinette?" This also wasn't calming her.

"Enzo?" Colette asked, her voice shaky.

"Nobody is hurt or dying," Lorenzo promised her quickly. "It's...complicated."

Colette nodded, lowering herself into a seat at the kitchen island. Her heart was still racing, palms a bit sweaty.

"Complicated how?" she asked, her voice a bit hoarse.

"I would like to preface this by saying that Arthur didn't...think this through," Lorenzo said with a grimace.

Colette's eyes widened in disbelief. "Arthur...what did he do?" she asked immediately. 

"He may have posted that post you made on your stories in his," Lorenzo said carefully.

Colette's jaw dropped open in shock. "He...he WHAT?!" she nearly shrieked, hands gripping the edge of the table.

What? How could her brother do this? How could he...

That ill-thought out post she had made...with a Taylor Swift lyric that she had thought was cute...to her less than 200 followers that all knew about her and Max anyway…

What? How could her brother do this? How could he...

Colette's hands were shaking now as she tried to process what her brother had done. "Are you serious?" she finally managed to whisper.

And now it was  out there. For EVERYBODY TO SEE. Everybody. Everybody could see her post about Max. Everybody could see her saying that Max came straight home to her.

They had spent 15 years keeping their relationship a secret. And now...now there they were.

She closed her eyes tightly, trying to calm the panic that was welling up inside of her. "Oh god...oh god," she muttered, her mind racing.

"People are going to see that. Max's fans are going to see that," she whispered, her stomach clenching. "Oh god, they're going to see it and figure things out."

Her mother reached out, placing a calming hand on her arm. "It's okay, Choupinette," she said gently. "It's going to be okay."

Colette shook her head. "No, it's not," she said, her voice shaky. "How could Arthur do this? He knows...he knows that I didn't want anybody to know," she whispered, tears biting in her eyes. She wasn't even sure what to do. She wasn't even sure what to think.

Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions. Fear, worry, frustration...and anger. So much anger at her brother, for not thinking, for not asking first, for not considering the consequences.

"How could he just... do this?" she said again, her voice cracking.

Lorenzo tried to come closer, but she held up a hand to stop him. She didn't want his touch, not right now. "Arthur should have asked me before doing something like this," she said, her voice shaking. "He knows...he knows that Max and I...we keep our relationship private."

"I...I need some space right now," she choked out, pushing her chair back and standing up. She had to get out of here, get some air.

She left the kitchen, leaving her family behind.

She found herself in the living room, collapsing onto the couch, her hands covering her face as tears streamed down her cheeks.

She couldn't believe what her brother had done. 

And now...now it was out there. Their secret, Max's secret, their life...everything.

She tried to take a deep breath, tried to calm down, but she couldn't. She was angry, hurt, scared…

Their relationship...it had always been a safe space to Colette. 

Somewhere where she could just be herself. With Max, she felt loved and safe and quite frankly, spoiled rotten by his attention. She didn't need to think about what she said, she could just be comfortable. And nobody had an inside look into that relationship that she didn't want to. They had admitted it to people over the years, to friends and colleagues and family members. But to the public they had never been connected beyond Colette being the twin sister of one of Max's biggest rivals. 

She had liked her anonymity. Had liked that nobody paid her a second look on the street. That nobody even thought twice about her.

Her role could just be Charles and Arthur's supportive sister. Nothing more, nothing less. Max knew that she loved him, that she supported him in the privacy of their relationship. It wasn't something she needed anybody else to know.

But now it was out there.

Colette buried her head in her hands, letting out a soft sob. It was out there, and it couldn't be taken back. No amount of damage control, no amount of apology was going to take those words back.

She could already see the headlines in her head: “Max Verstappen’s secret girlfriend”

It was so much worse than she had expected. The idea of being exposed like this...it made her want to crawl under a rock and hide for the rest of her life.

Colette didn't want to deal with the media circus, the gossip, the speculation. She didn't want to deal with any of it.

She didn't want her life to be dissected. She didn't want everything to be picked apart.

But that's what was going to happen. The vultures were going to descend, the media was going to hound her, her inbox would be filled with requests for comment and statements.

She was going to be the topic of everyone's conversation, speculation, and judgment.

She wanted to cry, scream, and throw something simultaneously.

She didn't ask for this, she wasn't built for this.

She wanted her anonymity, her simple life, her relationship to be private. That's all she had ever wanted...was that too much to ask for?

But now it was all in jeopardy, because her brother wasn't able to keep his mouth shut. She knew that he hadn't done it to hurt her...he had just been a idiot without a brain. But that didn't make the situation any easier for her.

She closed her eyes tightly, trying to gather her thoughts.

But now it was gone. The secret was out, and there was no turning back. She was going to be under the microscope, every move she made, every word she spoke, every expression on her face would be analyzed and scrutinized.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

Colette leaned back against the couch, feeling the weight of the situation crashing down on her. 

She had always known that Max's life would come with a certain amount of spotlight and media attention, but she had never expected to be dragged into it.

She had always been in the shadows, quietly supporting him from behind the scenes, but now she was being thrust into the bright light of the media spotlight. And she couldn't help but cry her eyes out about it.

She let the tears flow, feeling the sobs rack her body. It was too much, all too much. She was exposed, vulnerable, and raw. And she had no idea how to handle it.

"Choupinette," her mother said softly, sitting down besides her.

Colette barely registered her mother's presence, too consumed by her own despair. But she felt her mother's hand on her shoulder, gentle and comforting.

She buried her face in her mother's shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.

Her mother just held her, stroking her hair and whispering soothing words of comfort. "It's going to be okay," she promised. "I promise, it's going to be okay."

"Maybe it won't even be so bad," her mother tried to comfort her. "It will blow over. You do love Max and he loves you."

"It was going to get out sometime," Lorenzo said quietly. "It was question of when not if, Colette. It was a miracle that you were able to keep it quiet for so long."

This only made Colette cry harder.

She hadn't wanted anybody to know. She had wanted privacy. She had wanted…

She had wanted it to just be her and Max, living their life together, without any outside interference.

She knew it was foolish to think that it could last forever, but a small part of her had hoped.

Now it was going to be ruined. And it was all because of her stupid brother and his impulsive behavior.

She didn't want the attention. She didn't want the speculation, the questions, the accusations.

All she wanted was Max.

She wanted him, his warmth, his soft reassurances, his quiet love. She wanted him with her and just to curl up in his arms. Where she could forget everything else and just be.

But she couldn't do that. The truth was out there now, and there was no way to erase it.

She was Max Verstappen’s girlfriend, the public knew, and there was nowhere she could hide from it.

And that thought terrified her more than anything else. She didn't know how to handle the public eye, the media interest, the gossip. It was like a massive wave that was about to crush her, and she had no life raft to hold onto.

She leaned closer into her mother, feeling like a child again. The sobs continued to rack her body, and all she could do was hold onto her mother's comforting embrace.

She didn't know what to do, she didn't know how to handle this.

***

This was the last fucking news Max wanted to hear before qualifying. The absolute last.

He loved the Leclercs. He did. He loved Colette’s family like his own. And he loved her brothers like his own. 

But this was making him absolutely furious with Arthur. 

And he would have liked to destroy his driver’s room in a fit of rage, but he wasn’t going to do that. He was not going to let his emotions get the best of him. 

Not when he understood where Arthur was coming from. Even when he hated the way he had gone about it. 

Max had half a mind to simply throw the towel. To give up. What did it matter anymore? He had won his 4th World Championship title…Red Bull wasn’t in the running for the constructor’s championship anymore…that was between Ferrari and McLaren… so did it matter? 

Wouldn’t he be more useful at Colette’s side? 

But he knew that if he asked her…he knew what her answer would be. 

She wouldn’t stand for it. 

She knew that he wouldn’t forgive himself for this. He wanted to win. It was in his DNA. It wasn’t in him to leave things unfinished. 

She would tell him to do it. To finish that race. And then to come straight home to her. 

But it was hard, especially when he knew that the media was going to be all over this. The vultures were going to be circling, waiting for any slip up, any moment of weakness. 

It wasn't like he cared if his and Colette's relationship became public. He was content with screaming it from every rooftop. He would happily post his beautiful girlfriend on his Instagram daily. He was more than willing to take her to some charity gala and kiss her in the view of every camera that was there...but he knew how important it had always been for Colette.

And now she was exposed, without warning and without even knowing. 

Max wanted to find her brother and wring his neck for this. How could he be so careless, so thoughtless?

He knew how important Colette's privacy was to her, how much she valued it. And now it was gone. Just like that.

Colette wanted to keep a low profile. She was more than happy to be the always supportive sister to her brothers, to cheer them on from the sidelines...and she herself was happy to work in her mother's hair salon, and dabble at playing the piano and violin…and content to simply be.

He had always loved that about her…how happy she could be with the most simple of things. 

Colette didn’t enjoy the spotlight, she preferred the shadows. And now she had been thrown into the whirlwind of media attention.

He knew that she wasn’t going to handle this well. 

And he was seriously considering throwing the towel. 

To say fuck it all and go back to Monaco. 

His father didn’t want to hear a single thing about it.

Jos had never really approved of Max's relationship with Colette. He thought it made him weak, he thought Max needed to focus on racing, not on some girl… but Max had been stubborn.

Colette was everything to him. Colette’s place in his life was not something they were going to argue about it. It was set in stone. 

 And so, through the years his father had realised that Colette was there to stay. 

And he may even had started to respect her place in Max’s life, realised that her presence calmed him and focused him in a way nothing else did…Realised that Colette was good for Max. 

And even for his relationship with his father. 

Nowadays…they got along better than they ever had and quite frankly they had Colette to thank for that. She had softened his father with her calm, gentle and yet incredibly stubborn nature, unwilling to take any of his bullshit and willing to call him out on it, constantly.

Still, Max wanted to get to Colette. He wanted to hold her, to reassure her that everything was going to be okay eventually. He wanted to place a hand on her swollen belly and feel bébé rumble underneath her skin…wanted to see that everything was alright with her and their baby. 

“You have a job to do,” his father said drily. “Colette isn’t alone. She has her family with her.”

Max didn't answer, just clenched his jaw.

He knew his father was right, he had a job to do, a race to focus on. But the thought of leaving Colette to deal with that by herself…it didn't sit well with him.

“She’s pregnant,” he hissed. “You want me to care about a race while my pregnant girlfriend is an ocean away, distraught, because our relationship just became public knowledge?!” Max asked sharply.

His father scowled.

“She has her brothers and her mother with her,” he repeated sternly. “I’m sure they can calm her down and make sure she’s taken care of in your absence. But the team needs you to focus on the race. Besides…It ha​​s been a long time coming…”

He knew he had a job to do. He had a race to focus on, a team that was depending on him to be at the top of his game. It was his job to win, no matter what was going on at home.

“Fine,” he gritted out, turning around to leave the room. “I’ll focus on the damn race.”

He took a deep breath, trying to push all thoughts of Colette out of his mind. He needed to focus. He needed to push aside his emotions and put his game face on.

He was a professional and he had a job to do.

He could deal with driving.  He could deal with managing a respectable 5th place on the grid in Qualifying…he couldn’t deal with the press afterwards.

He was surrounded by reporters, camera flashes and microphones. They were all firing question after question at him, shoving the microphones closer and closer to his face.

"Max, is it true that you and Colette Leclerc are in a relationship?"

Max clenched his jaw, trying to keep a neutral expression on his face. He didn’t want to give them any ammunition, anything they could use to try and dig deeper into his personal life. But he knew he couldn’t ignore the question either.

“I don’t see how my relationship status is relevant to the race,” he snapped back. “I’m here to talk about the race, not my personal life.”

They happily ignored that: “What’s Charles’ reaction to your relationship?”

Max clenched his jaw again, the anger starting to boil over. He hated this, the way they felt like they had the right to just poke and prod at his life like it was some kind of spectacle for them to enjoy.

“I’m not discussing my personal life,” he repeated through gritted teeth. “I’m here to talk about the race.”

But the reporters weren’t interested in the race. They were only interested in the juicy gossip of Max Verstappen dating Colette Leclerc.

More microphones were shoved in his face, more questions were asked, each one more invasive than the last.

“How serious is your relationship with Colette?”

“Are you engaged?”

“What did you think about what she posted on Instagram?“

“I think that Colette’s Instagram account is private for a reason,” he said tightly.

The reporters fell silent for a moment, surprised by the harsh tone. Max knew he was skating on thin ice, but he didn’t care. He was angry, frustrated and upset. He wanted nothing more than to find a quiet corner to just brood and worry about Colette in peace.

“I think that George overreacted about something that was posted on a private Instagram profile that has less than 200 followers. ” Max bit out. “There is a difference between posting something for your friends and family to see and complaining about this to the press when George knew it would be put all over the media.”

The reporters were stunned into silence at his outburst.

Max knew he had crossed a line. He knew he shouldn’t be snapping at them like that, but he couldn’t help it. He was so frustrated and upset, and he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He knew he had to reel it in before he said something he would regret even more. “I have already lost all respect for George Russell before, but he has crossed a line when he dragged this into the public sphere,” he said flatly.

The reporters' eyes widened, surprised by the ferocity of his words.

Max knew he was being harsh, but he didn’t care. He was furious, enraged. How dare Russell expose their private life like that? 

Max took another deep breath, trying to calm himself. But it was hard. The anger was like a living thing inside him, seething and burning. He wanted to storm over to the Mercedes garage and punch Russell in the face, to wipe that smirk off his face for good. But he knew he couldn’t. 

So he stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to keep the anger at bay. Trying to ignore the way the reporters were looking at him with greedy, excited eyes.

He knew they wanted him to explode, to lash out. They wanted him to go off the rails and say something even more incriminating. Something they could use to make more headlines. But Max couldn’t give them that. He couldn’t let them get a rise out of him. So he stood there, trying his best to remain calm and collected.

But it was hard. So goddamn hard.

He could feel the tension in his body, feel the anger and frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. He wanted to do something, to take action and make the situation right. But he didn’t know what he could do, how he could make it right.

He didn’t know how he could fix the mess that had been made, how he could turn back time and undo the damage that had been done.

"Do you have any questions about the race tomorrow? Because otherwise I am done," he asked.

The reporters stood there for a moment, frozen in shock. Then, a few of them started to ask questions about the upcoming race, but Max could tell that their hearts weren’t in it. They were too distracted by his outburst, too eager to keep prodding at the sensitive issue of his relationship with Colette.

The reporters looked at each other for a moment, unsure whether to press him further or not. Max could see the wheels turning in their heads, could see them trying to decide whether they would press the issue or let it go.

Eventually, the more sensible reporters began to ask questions about the race, steering the conversation away from the minefield of his personal life.

[hinatiny]

trivial things ੈ✩‧₊˚ kuroo tetsuro

kuroo is there with you through thick and thin, for everything between the worst of your days to painting your nails.

w.c: 0.8k

kuroo likes to help you.

the silence you share with him in the space of your bedroom is of the comfortable type—soothing, anchoring your mind to a plane of reality, not in the need of breaking.

your carpet doesn’t do much to soften your seats on the floor, and you’re sure both your and his spine will feel like a disaster within an hour or so. you don’t care about that really yet though.

you can’t care about it, you’re too busy focusing on not moving, to the point where you’re almost forgetting to breathe. you’ve curled a leg up, hugging it to your chest to keep it stable as kuroo, too, is busy focusing; his hands aren’t shaking, but his slight lack of inexperience with nail polish is visible as he tries to paint your toenails.

your feet are cold. just a bit wrinkly as well, the results of washing them after telling him there’s no way you’ll let him do your nails before that. he’d argued back, saying he’ll wash his hands later anyway, but you didn’t falter. thus you sit here with feet, cold, but not freezing at all; throughout the current process, his warm hands brush against your skin every now and then, and it’s oddly calming.

you glance away for a moment, at your own hands that he’d been taking care of just lately. the nails are red, alarmingly red. it’s a shade you didn’t even know you owned, let alone used, and you’re sure you’ll wipe it off before the next time you go out. for now, you’ll let it remain there, although it’s not the color you had initially planned on. “but red was our uniform color in high school!” was what had convinced you, along with a childish pout.

“woops, sorry.” you look back down. out of all the mistakes and accidental strokes kuroo has done so far, this fresh one is the worst. your toe looks like it’s screaming for help, and it somehow makes you feel like laughing. “i’ll fix that later.”

“i’ll forgive you if you let me do your nails later.”

he chuckles, “sure. what color are you planning?”

“black, i think it’ll look good on you,” you say after humming for a moment but he doesn’t seem as pleased with the suggestion, grimacing. “what?”

“that’s daichi’s team’s color.” “fukurodani?” “worse, karasuno. next color.”

you silently scoff, “per that logic, we should be dying your hair too.”

this brings out another chuckle from kuroo, “yeah? what color are we dying my hair then?”

“yellow.” “like kenma-yellow?” “no, it’s called kenma-yellow for a reason.” “are you saying i can’t pull off that color?” “kuroo, i hate to break this to you but you’d probably look like a chicken in that color.”

at any other time, he’d jokingly act offended. however, he can’t bring himself to do so when the image draws a hearty laugh from you as well, the sound only making him smile as he briefly glances up at you.

the laugh is soon muffled below that returning, comfortable silence again. it stays like that for a while, and you wouldn’t mind if it stayed like that the entire night either.

the only issue is the one sob you suddenly let out, one you’d been holding back after already having sobbed more than a just a few times only a short while ago. this time, kuroo sighs.

“i know i told you to cry it all out earlier,” he says without diverting his eyes from the work in progress. “but if your roommate comes in and sees you like this, she’s probably going to think i forced you into doing your nails.”

to his relief, between two more sobs you let out, cracks a small giggle out. “i’ll try to stop. sorry, i didn’t mean to cry again.”

kuroo doesn’t answer immediately. he spends another few moments on the very last nail left to paint, before eventually letting out a deep breath. he puts the brush back into the small bottle of polish, screws its cap shut and puts it aside.

his hand, as warm as it’s always been, finds the top of your head. your hair gathers in messes between his fingers as he ruffles it, but it’s gently done, so gently that you can’t complain like you otherwise would. for a few moments, it makes you forget that you have a whole world of stress and pressure spinning around you.

so you let it happen, finding solace in being able to let your walls down at last. you feel your eyes burn in threatening tears, but as he speaks, his reassurance tilts you closer towards a calm, “it’s okay. everything’s going to be alright.”

kuroo likes to help you, even if it’s through the most trivial ways — like visiting your home at two in the morning and painting your nails. he truly likes to help you and would probably do anything, as long as it meant hearing that laugh again, the one you let out when he soon adds,

“by the way, you weren’t serious about dying my hair, right?”

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

okay so normally when i make informative posts about current news, i try to always link a source for it (i tend to rely on the guardian) or at least explain the source of it.

but i dont know if the government are planning to publicise this or quietly implement it so im hesitant to give details on where i got this info. im just gonna say it was from someone/s who works in the department of work and pensions, and hope that my prior post history speaks well enough of me for you to trust that this isnt misinformation.

i dont like doing this but i think this information is too important for me not to share it and said info is fucking disgusting.

starting in march, in the uk, if you ask at the job centre for a voucher for a local foodbank, you are going to be turned away.

under the current system, if you go to a job centre that has a food bank referral service, the staff will fill in a slip (theyre advised not to call it a voucher but tomayto tomarto you know?) and refer you to a local charity which will allocate you food according to the slip.

that ends on march 1st. after that, they will just hopefully signpost you to other services that can help you get an emergency food parcel. that will likely involve you having to travel somewhere, potentially on a public transport, costing you more money that you dont have. and that does not guarantee that you will get the food you need either that day or at all.

our government does not care about its citizens, but especially not about us who are poor. they see the working class, the impoverished and the homeless as subhumans. they see us as what new right sociologist and white nationalist libertarian charles murray coined the underclass.

and you know this because of how the current system will be working from now until the end of february because if youre gonna stab someone while theyre bleeding to death, you might as well double tap it, ay?

from now until february 29th, you now must have an interview so that they can be "sure" that you need that food.

bear in mind that this does not cost the government anything. they are not losing money because of this service, if you want to call it that.

and that interview? that could take up to 3 days; its whenever they have a timeslot within 3 days of your asking. you could go in and say "i have no money and i have no food, i havent eaten for days, please help," and they could tell you to come back in three days, and then not even give you that slip of paper anyway.

this could kill someone. yes, it takes longer than three days to starve to death, but if someone is struggling that much to need help acquiring food, theyre gonna have more problems going on. people might choose food over heating and freeze to death; they might decide to eat food thats gone off and end up dying from it because they couldnt call 999 because they didnt have electricity; they might decide to try and injure themselves so bad that they have an extended stay in hospital as a way to get food and die in the process; they might not have eaten in weeks and starve to death.

but hey, if you do pass the interview process, youll get the referral you needed up to three days ago and a discussion about how better to manage your finances, because hey, youve already stabbed the stabbed person two more times, why not twist the fucking knife?

[hiskillingjar]

Objectification (Lawrence/MC)

it’s my last night in my current flat and i’m feeling weird about it. enjoy something weird!

day 14: objectification  third person, law’s pov. it/its pronouns for MC.

Dyed hair fell to the floor in messy chunks.

Hastily snipped clumps of platinum, almost yellow, softer than spun wool and lighter than their own, shone in the moon's pale glow, beams streaming through the wide, open windows on a hot, summer night, plants casting shadows over the mold dotted walls.

Dyed hair, the bulk of it that yellow blonde, with dark, muddy roots, like a streak of shit on a pristine canvas.

Doll-like, they thought. 

An artificial version of themself, a version that the could have been (that they wanted to be, deep down), fake, hollow, empty and devoid of anything that made it human. 

Emptier than they already were.

Blue eyes, filled with tears, stared up at Lawrence as they hacked through the hair with garden shears, the rusty metal snagging and painful as it pulled at its scalp. 

Fake emotions, like its fake hair.

"You know that crying won't do you any good," Lawrence murmured, their typical monotone low and intimidating, their gaze giving away nothing close to empathy. "Do you think I'm going to stop, just because you're crying?"

It sniffled weakly, murmuring wordless pleas for mercy (a mercy it was never going to find from them) into the thick layer of duct tape wrapped around its jaw (it had to be shut up, somehow), tears continuing to fall down its flushed face.

Struggling had stopped long ago.

Eventually, the pleading would stop too.

Once the bulk of dyed hair had been cut away, matting on the floor like clouds of gold, Lawrence set the shears aside and took its chin in hand, tilting it up to get a better look.

"You look better this way, I think," They said quietly, leaning in, their dead, grey eyes boring into tearful blue. "Maybe it was for the best that I got rid of all those…fake colours, you know...and revealed something honest about you. Something real." Their lips quirked slightly. "But I'm not done yet."

It whimpered again as Lawrence let go of its chin and reached back to their desk, producing a disposable razor, caked with rust.

"See, I like to keep things clean, neat and tidy." Their head tilted to the side. "Mm, for the most part anyway. But, ah, I want you to be clean, neat and tidy too." Their quirked lips shifted into an odd sort of smile, gentle and eerie. "I think you'll like how it feels...and I know I'll like how you look."

Despite the rust, the razor was still pretty sharp. It cut through a short patch of brown hair with barely any effort, revealing the smooth skin of their scalp, now dotted with near-black stubble (like clogged pores, clogged with dirt and grime and mess, and perfect).

It continued to cry and whimper throughout the long process, as more and more hair tumbled down its trembling shoulders and to the ground, and more and more skin was revealed.

They would be good materials for an art piece, Lawrence thought, or maybe stuffing for a pillow or bed set.

It felt like such a waste not to use everything, after all.

Once the last of the hair was cut away, the only sounds in the apartment were a faint ringing in their ears (a typical arousal response that they hadn't managed to suppress just yet) and the quiet sniffling that came from the occupant of the chair.

"Now now, look at you..." 

Lawrence's voice had lost its harshness, replaced with a gentle and almost sympathetic tone.

"Isn't that better? I think it is, at least. You certainly look a lot more honest this way, mm?" 

They placed their hand on its cheek, feeling the warm tears on their skin as it continued to cry.

"You're still crying...why is that?" They ran a knuckle down its cheek, feeling the beads of tears. "Mm, it probably didn't feel good, did it? You'd gone through all the effort of dying your hair just for someone to...cut it all off. How do you feel, hm?

It couldn't make a sound, trying to swallow back its sobs as its body sank down, shying away from their touch, no matter how gentle it was.

"Do you feel scared? Humiliated, maybe?" They leaned over its shoulder, putting both hands on either side of the chair to box it in, keep it still and pinned, like a dead butterfly or a frog about to be dissected. "Is your personhood that fragile that I could...get rid of it, just like that? Hm?"

It whimpered again, blue eyes flitting to the side, trying to avoid eye contact.

Trying to avoid the difficult truth of their observation.

Lawrence moved in even closer, leaning in so that their dry lips were softly grazing the side of its neck, taking a slow and quiet inhale, the sweet smell of its hair still lingering, even when it was gone.

"Maybe you were never even a person to begin with. Maybe you were always just…an object, fake and hollow, and all it took was someone else, some...other object," They huffed out a sardonic laugh, letting their lips gently brush against the bare skin of its neck. "To see you, to recognise that your act is all bullshit, and actually understand you for what you are. Is that why you're scared?” They tilted their head again. “Because that idea is just so...crushing to you?"

It was silent again.

They could relate to that, at least.

That crushing expectation to behave like others do.

Pretending to be a person was exhausting, even for someone like them who made every excuse not to, who worked unsociable hours and moved away from everyone they cared about at the drop of a hat, just so it would stop.

They couldn't imagine how tiring it must have been for someone like it, doing it day after day after day, with not even a suggestion of respite.

Lawrence felt another huff of sardonic laughter slip out, wheezing, like they were being choked, followed by a sigh.

"All that effort, trying to play at being a person. Hah, what a waste..." They raised their hand back, running their fingers along the nape of its neck, their touch gentle, almost affectionate. "What a waste for it to all mean nothing now."

Its head sank lower with another defeated whimper, wrists twisting in their thick binds, struggling again.

They couldn’t have that.

Lawrence took its head in both hands then, forcing it upwards in a firm grip, so they could look into eyes that had lost almost all of their fight and spirit.

"You're a pretty object, I'll give you that," They murmured, leaning in again. "You have pretty eyes...and a pretty mouth...pretty skin...all fake, empty and soulless though. Just like me."

It gave them a forlorn expression, silently pleading; 

"What else could you possibly do with me now?"

Lawrence's lips curled into an odd sort of smirk, something like excitement appearing at the edges.

"Oh, I'm not nearly done with you yet," They responded, their hands moving down to its shoulders, restless fingers idly tracing its skin before pressing down, making sure that it didn't move from the seat.

"We're just getting started, doll."

[sporesgalaxy]

what's uppppp I have some backstory writing for Pierre I've been fiddling with for aaagesss & I mostly like where it's at now. so I show you :)

short life history intro + Devil Fruit aquisition origin + little blurb from on the way to the Grand Line. enjoyyyy

warnings: animal death, bfrb (nail chewing)

•••

Tiny Pierra lets ants crawl all over her. She watches them tear apart a dying grasshopper in the garden, piece by piece.

Pierra looks with wonder in her eyes at a rotting fish covered with maggots. At a dead baby bird that fell from its nest too soon. At a bag full of bloody ducks her father shot.

Pierra gets too upset sometimes, and too frightened frequently. Pierra hides as often as possible.

When Pierra starts getting big, she wishes she was still small. She used to like squeezing into tight spaces; inside a box, under a small desk, under a bed. She doesn't fit anymore. Sometimes she feels like she's stopped fitting anywhere at all.

Pierra sneaks into places she is not supposed to be when she's alone, just to look around. Just to hear the silence.

Pierra takes food she is not supposed to eat, just to get away with it. Just to test how far she can go without being noticed. Just to be unnoticed on purpose.

When Pierra is 16, she goes to the market with her mother. While her mother speaks to someone, Pierra breaks off a tiny piece of the most interesting fruit at the stand. No one notices her do it this time. Pierra chews and swallows the piece of fruit, and it tastes bad, but Pierra is pleased to have learned what it tastes like without permission.

Later that evening, alone in her room, Pierra thinks she is dreaming, or maybe losing her mind. She wonders half-heartedly if the fruit was poisonous and she's dying. Then, she does what she always does when she thinks she is losing her mind: distracts herself and waits for it to pass.

It passes, eventually, but this won't be the last time. She learns that it's not madness, but the curse of a Devil. She learns she can't swim anymore. She prays for forgiveness. She tells nobody.

When Pierra gets too upset and admits it her mother a year later, she is begged never to transform again. To hide it forever, for her own safety. Human traffickers could be anywhere, her mother says, and Devil Fruit users fetch a high price. Pierra promises to keep hiding. Pierra wonders if it will be easier now, having someone who understands.

Pierra's mother goes back to acting like nothing ever happened. It doesn't get much easier.

----

Pierra Piper is currently one of many passengers on a large Navy escort vessel, which is in the process of entering the Grand Line through the Calm Belt. Pierra is trying very hard not to look at the water or think about Sea Kings. Her nose is buried resolutely in a short book.

The book isn't exactly comforting, though; it's about a man who transforms into a bug and finds himself useless and helpless and burdensome to his family, unable to continue working at his job or caring for himself. Pierra knew the book was about this, and chose to read it anyway. She reminds herself of that as she bravely turns the page rather than closing it.

It still feels surreal that Pierra is making a once-in-a-lifetime journey into the dangerous waters of the Grand Line for something as droll as her lab assistant job.

Pierra digs her nail into the book's spine restlessly.

She wonders if somehow, the Marines who interviewed her had known. Had been able to tell, just by looking at her, that she's been cursed by a Devil Fruit. Maybe there's some dead giveaway that she just doesn't know about.

More realistically, Pierra had been chosen for transfer despite her inexperience simply because she's big. She isn't especially athletic, but maybe being 7 and a half feet tall was deterrent enough for some pirates. Or maybe it was about being sturdy and able to reach things in a large laboratory.

Pierra chews her thumbnail and makes a great effort not to think about the sorts of biological research experiments she's read about the World Government allegedly subjecting prisoners to, or just how many prisoners the Marines have access to on the Grand Line. Those reports might not even be true. Pierra's thumb begins to bleed.

She wishes she had turned this job down. She wishes her mother hadn't been so encouraging despite the danger. She wishes her dad hadn't sounded so happy for her. She wishes the job didn't pay so much. She wishes it didn't promise a free return trip in 6 months. She hopes she'll meet a rich Zoologist while she's on the Grand Line.

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for tricking my (ex-)friend into doing something that benefited her?

I (28 F) recently re-encountered an old friend of mine– let’s call her C, (27 F) – under less-than-ideal circumstances. I have long resented C for the nature of our falling out, and may have been looking to exact a bit of revenge. Long story short, following an altercation, C nearly fell to her death after being knocked unconscious. I was able to rouse her in time for her to catch herself, but was honestly surprised that I had wanted to. Anyway, now I can’t help feeling a little guilty for that (and for her subsequently being afflicted by a curse while rescuing a third party (A, 14 F) that I had fooled into endangering herself as part of the plan to get back at C).

Suffice to say, this has left me somewhat conflicted about the whole feud, and even made me a tad uncertain about its origin. I still believe I was and am in the right, but I suppose there’s no harm in asking for a second opinion, especially as this is anonymous. 

C and I were very close friends throughout high school. She was, for a time, arguably the most important person in my life. We’ve always been very different people, in terms of ambitions, outlooks, and personalities, but we nonetheless made it work. The issues arose when our ambitions came into conflict. For my entire life, I have been working towards the preservation and resurgence of an important natural force (magic) (upon which, among other things, the lives of multiple sapient species depend) which has been slowly and surely dying out over the past few centuries. There isn’t much time left (although, not to worry– I have a plan). 

On the other hand, C, while having as much love as I did for magic, always preferred to focus on its application. She intended to use it to entertain, so that she could, to paraphrase, ‘bring joy to the whole world.’ I saw no issue with this. It seemed a harmless enough course of action, and she was certainly quite skilled at it (even I found her performances charming). 

The problem, then, was that my plan at the time to safeguard magic hinged on obtaining a particular ancient relic (the CS, ???), which has the ability to unlock an immense source of power (the GT, ???) capable of enacting large-scale changes to the fabric of reality itself. I had spent my entire life working towards this end, but the CS and its creator/guardian (W, 1000s F) chose instead to entrust that responsibility to C. 

At first, I did my best to be accepting and supportive towards C in light of these events. I worked with her to the best of my ability to access the CS’s abilities. Unfortunately, around this time, C’s performances began to garner attention. She was signed by an agent, and went on tour shortly thereafter. I was furious. Magic was dying out all around her, and she wanted to use the one thing possibly capable of saving it as a stage magician’s prop! Meanwhile, I was left behind to try to think of some alternate method of accomplishing the same thing. (Obviously, I understand that this was her lifelong dream, but surely her responsibility should have come first?)

Eventually, C (then 17 F)’s shows started to wane in popularity. I (then 18 F) correctly deduced that this was not due to a lack of talent on her part, but on the inability of magic in its current state to provide enough of a spectacle to be consistently worth watching. I saw an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, so I approached C about a process I had been experimenting with, which would allow her to utilize much more powerful magic, even in locations without any ambient magical energy. This would also serve as a test of my process’s abilities, which I hoped to (and, in the future have) develop into a power source for an alternate means of saving magic.

Here’s where I think I could, from a certain viewpoint, have been at fault. The process had a slight drawback. The power it offered was harvested from the emotions of people in its surroundings, and came at the cost of their own potential to use magic in the future. Now, as I’ve repeated ad nauseam, magic is dying. No one other than families for whom it is traditional bothers to learn to use it these days (foolishly seeing it as nothing but an useless curiosity of a bygone age), and I did not believe that any of those would be in attendance. However, C has always been something of a bleeding heart, and I knew she probably wouldn’t go through with it if she knew how it worked. For that reason, I neglected to inform her.

The performance was far more spectacular than any of her others to that point, and my experiment was a tremendous success. After the show, however, I informed her of the true nature of the process. We had an argument, and then angrily went our separate ways (although, it is worth mentioning that I did attend the final of her subsequent shows, and erased the audience’s memories to protect her from facing consequences for accidentally blowing up the moon). We didn’t speak for about a decade afterwards. 

I feel that I was only doing what was necessary, and that because of her recalcitrance to focus on what was most important, was forced to turn to more extreme measures, but I realize she may see it differently. 

So, AITA?

EDIT: Do you people have no reading comprehension? I wasn’t asking if I was the asshole for nearly killing a child. That was a largely irrelevant aside. Can we please focus on my actual question?

[reds-writings]

Hey!!! I wanted to start this out by saying that your writings for Rust has been nothing short of amazing ! There aren't enough fics out there for Rust, and yours have honestly been getting me through it.

Now, idk if this is the type of ask you were looking for, but with Old Man Rust, especially when he was in Alaska all that time- I've always wondered the details about his time out there (besides the obvious/what we already know). I mean- it's Rust we're talking about, and that poor tortured man...it couldn't have been great.

I know he spent most of his childhood up there alone with his father and such, but this time around? After everything happened? I've always assumed his self-isolation was probably at the highest it'd ever been, especially with how he talked about it.

Idk- I've always wanted to know his thoughts/feelings about so many different scenes/things within the show, but this is definitely one of the biggest ones. Even if you relate it to the jj universe- I think adding a partner adds layers to my curiosity on his experience/thoughts/feelings. I know when you answered that fluff prompt ask, them being away from each other for all that time was talked about; he still loves her very much, and is incredibly troubled about all of it.

Anyways! I feel like I've gotten a bit carried away, so I'll stop before I keep going 💀. You definitely don't need to feel obligated to respond or spend time on this, but know that your contribution to the true detective community on here is greatly appreciated 🥺.

Howdy! I love this ask!! The more detailed the more fun! And thank you so much for the love ahhh!!

(this will include some spoilers ahead for the JJ universe pls don't kill me lol)

I love the dissection of Rust's reasoning for returning to Alaska, of all places, after the big fight of 02. My fave idea being that he did it as a form of self-punishment for taking part in hurting his only companions in Louisiana. Applying these events to the JJ universe: the incident with Maggie will still be taking place sadly. But hear me out!!!!

In 02 with the resurgence of the Yellow King/Carcosa Rust easily found himself obsessively spiraling back into the Dora Lange case. With all the frustration and lack of support from the department (and Marty), he resorts back to nastier habits and ways of regarding those around him with JJ!Reader unfortunately being in the crossfire more often than not. It places a heavy strain on the relationship to the point where she reaches a breaking point bc tbh he is not being a very good partner at all (stress and frustration can only be an excuse for so long). They break up with her telling him to practically get it together if he wants them to ever continue but of course, shit just spirals more out of control with his hurt and anger so of course it reaches its crescendo with him having to quit then Maggie using their incredible emotional vulnerability to an advantage which he ends up regretting immediately of course because even if he's not currently with JJ!Reader it's no less of a pathetic form of betrayal.

When the fight goes down and he loses Marty it's one thing. Seeing the reader and the tie between them being severed completely with no one else but himself to blame is just about as close to dying as he'll get in that moment. He shit on her trust once and for all and took a friend from her in the process. He knows that there can be no forgiveness even if he were to beg with whatever last bit of reverence he had or sell his sorry soul.

Alaska is a bitterly lonely time for him and from tidbits he mentions in the show he didn't do much to change that loneliness while he was away. Circling back to before I think it was his way of extreme penance and if it weren't for another resurgence in the case he would've probably let himself die there alone with all the drinking/carelessness and wouldn't have had it in him to feel sorry about it if it happened.

Coming back to Louisiana things have changed plenty with Marty, Maggie, and the reader. I think the way he prioritizes his crumbled relationship with Marty (for both the case's sake and his) versus how he passively regards Maggie in the bar will forever be interesting to me. I feel like he'd be scared as hell to even come near the reader knowing she still harbors hatred and pain but Marty the Meddler drags her back in because he knows the two will never be able to truly stay away from each other. It takes a lot and the relationship may never be exactly what it once was but he'd selfishly rather have her near in some capacity than never at all once he's gotten a taste of her presence after so many years. I can't wait to write all that angst and yearning bc we love tension 🤭

Now that was a ramble omg! Hopefully, I didn't stray too off course!

[theamityelf]

“ you shoot anyone who comes through that door who isn’t me. ” kamuegi? Kamuegi!

(Alright, less fluffy than last time! XD)

~~~

Their place of refuge only had one entrance.

This was not accidental on Izuru's part, of course. There had been an active choice between the security of a single entrance (the chance of being cornered) and the security of many exits (the chance of being faced with enemies from many directions at once). Either scenario was one he could handle well enough on his own, so of course Makoto was the deciding factor.

It was easier to protect him from unidirectional ambush than from multiple lines of fire.

And anyway, Makoto hated to be surrounded. Specifically, particularly hated to be surrounded, physically, more than he hated to be physically cornered. It was a leftover anxiety from the trials, Izuru believed. As much as Makoto didn't want to see it as such (and perhaps didn't believe he did), each time he had been suspected in the trials had been a moment in which he had been surrounded by enemies. Managing multiple streams of attack to protect himself.

(This fear was a subtle post-traumatic stress symptom, so it hadn't been sanded down as much as his more people-facing ones, like the way his defensiveness would sometimes flare up in casual arguments as if they were of critical importance.)

All this to say, there was one door, and it was now unsafe. The hacked Monokuma which Izuru had been using for perimeter surveillance revealed the hordes closing in. Human hordes.

And he was pressing a handgun into his lover's hands.

"I-I can't-"

"Yes you can," Izuru interrupted, before the unproductive thought could spread its spores. "It's no different from using your hacking gun on Monokumas."

"It is different. These are people. I can't-"

"Yes you can, because you love to be alive, because you love your friends, and you love me. The beings who will be trying to get through this door-" (He was careful not to say "people".) "-want to kill you. You want to be alive."

Makoto's eyes were damp, but the tears weren't falling. They usually didn't. Izuru briskly dabbed his lover's tears away, so that he could see clearly as Izuru redirected his attention to the handgun.

"This is the safety. It's currently on. Now it's off. If you pull the trigger, the gun will fire. The aiming of it is no different from your hacking gun, except that you're no longer going for the eye. Aim for the torso; it's a larger target than any extremities. Shoot anyone who comes through that door who isn’t me." He needed to leave now, but he also needed to be assured that Makoto wouldn't freeze, if it became necessary to fatally wound someone. He brought their faces closer together, eclipsing all else from Makoto's vision. "Think of it this way: However many of them you have to kill in self-defense is nothing compared to how many I will kill if you die." He kissed him, quick and fervently, and then looked him in the eye. Makoto was upset, but he was also focused. Izuru made his exit. "Lock it after me. Every lock. Then stand back." He shut the door.

The hordes were here. He cracked his neck and got to work.

...

The door was off its hinges when he returned. He had known that there was no way to prevent this, with the numbers he'd been facing, but still his pulse ran laps at the sight.

It seemed that not many had made it inside. He only had to step over one body on the way in- alive, shot in the stomach. Encouraging, where the silence wasn't.

"Makoto?" he called.

There were no reactive sounds, but he could hear breathing in the next room.

He rounded the corner.

Three bodies. Two dead, one dying, all in a heap on the floor. The blood pooled beneath them, and just beyond the reach of the pools was Makoto, standing frozen with his gun outstretched, visibly distraught. The sight of Izuru seemed to spur his brain back into action; he processed the arrival first as a threat (Izuru had entered silently.) and then as a relief.

"Please, can you do something for them? Can you help them? I can't-!"

Izuru stepped over the bodies, turning Makoto away from them and drawing him into his arms. Their heartbeats conversed at a patter-pace. "You're alright."

"D-Did I kill them?"

"They just passed out from shock. They'll be fine."

"N-N-No, they...All that blood..."

"They'll be fine," he insisted. "As for us, we have to leave before the next wave arrives."

"But if they die, I killed them. Then I'm the murderer, I-I'm the culprit..."

Izuru once again placed his face close to Makoto's, taking the handgun from him as he did. "You are not in a killing game anymore. There will not be any consequences for this. You're safe, as long as we leave." And with that, he lifted Makoto from his feet, resting his weight mostly against one shoulder while his other hand held his gun at the ready.

"Wait, we can't just leave them there!"

He ignored the squirming and stepped over the bodies again. Casually kicking the one who was still alive, so that he would make a noise (however faint) and prove that he wasn't dead. "You were acting in self-defense. Your guilt is irrational. Don't adopt Enoshima's standards for wrongful killing."

"Everyone...Everyone will hate me..."

"Do you think they haven't had to kill in self-defense?"

"I..." His whole frame shook once, but then he said, "I can walk."

Izuru set him down. They were out the door, now. Those who would have killed them were spread on the ground, twitching impotently. He had mostly shot or broken their spines, killing only when it was most efficient by a significant margin. A carpet of corpses would have bothered Makoto.

"...Would you tell me if they were dead?"

Izuru wished the matter wouldn't weigh so heavily on his lover. Makoto deserved someone who wasn't a liar. But he needed someone who was. "Of course."

They were making quick progress, now that Makoto was cooperating. Soon, they would be somewhere safe again, and Izuru would have time to comfort him, feed him, distract him. Regrettably, Makoto had already had enough time to return to the killing game in his mind, but Izuru would pull him back.

In fact, it was probably more accurate to say that he had been playing by the killing game's rules all along, and this was his first time breaking them. Which meant he just needed time to see that there was no execution coming for him. That Enoshima's judgement no longer held weight, and no one alive would hold this against him. He hadn't lost her game; he had won. He had won a long time ago, and now it was over.

"Look at me," Izuru said, deciding that they'd walked far enough to pause for a minute. "At me," he said again.

Makoto's eyes met his. Slightly wet. Foggy with shame. His face had that remote look that it always acquired when he went through something emotionally overwhelming.

"Thank you, Makoto."

He blinked, confusion interrupting the daze he'd been in. "Thank...?"

"Thank you, for protecting yourself. Thank you for choosing to defend yourself. I was worried you might not."

His eyes became wetter. "It's not...It's nothing to...thank me for."

"But it is. You've never killed needlessly. When the need arose, I'm glad you met the need."

The tears fell. Better than the alternative; he didn't cry enough. "So I did kill them?"

"They were always going to die today. That was the choice they made when they tried to kill you. The choice you made was whether you would die with them, and you decided not to. I'm thankful for that." He brushed his lips gently over Makoto's, then took his hand. "Just a little farther. Then breakfast, alright?"

He exhaled a shaking breath which Izuru took to be affirmative.

He would need a lot of attention, today. A lot of reassurance and affection. And Izuru was more than happy to provide it.

[iri-desky]

Oooooh I saw your reblog on my post and I'm intrigued to see what you can do! >:D

If you have the time, I would like to request for a Horropedia x fem!reader for a headstart... Maybe specifically with the reader also wearing glasses? It would be funny if he asked if the design is from any movie and stuff XP

No rush and good luck! 🙌

Thank you so much for the ask, yay! I tried my best. And sorry for the wait! I had school finals ;-; Didn't really have much time nor energy to write--nonetheless, I enjoyed this!

___________

(◇BESPECTACLED ◇)

♡ Horropedia x Fem!Bespectacled! Reader

♡ Type: Narrative, One-Shot-- Reader Self Insert (denoted by (y/n))

♡ Genre: Romantic Fluff

♡ Content Warnings: None!

Enjoy~

___________

"I'll admit, I can absolutely say the first X-Ray Monkeyman movie is fantastic, although the second film is compartively sub par..."

It was a quiet evening, sunlight flowing through the windows and painting the room in scarlet and tangerine. Within the pallid walls of the foundation, you were assigned the blandest of paperwork.

Well, it would've been a quiet evening if it weren't for Horropedia's--your best friend and current coworker-- perpetual chatter.

His voice tends to carry, Horropedia's, although nonetheless you didn't quite have the heart to silence his persistent jibber-jabbering. The absolute glow on his face whenever he discussed one of his favorite horror movies or was asked about the latest horror debate was incomparable to anyone you've ever seen, a gleaming grin on his face as his glasses shimmered with a tiny, piquant starlight in the evening sun. Eyes like honey, delicate and sweet, and an intellect, serrated, sharp.

Indeed, he had not a tint malevolence of in his jabbering or gaze, just passion.

"Hey! ... (y/n)? Earth to Miss (y/n)! You alright there?...It looked like you're looking straight into the void. Careful, the void stares back should you gaze too long," He chuckled heartily, taking a swig of his coffee.

"What? Oh, nothing." You muttered, shaking your head-- you blinked rapidly in the light of the sun, attempting to reorient yourself. "Lost in my thoughts. But, anyway, I still think the second movie's better than the first." You chuckled.

He smirked as he processed your counterclaim. "Actually, while I can respect your point, the first film is definitely better than the first. Scares are higher quality, the actors give a more believable performance..."

"Well, didn't the second film have better marketing?"

"Not quite. While the second film had a more active marketing campaign, the first one was more successful. In fact, in one of their first screenings, they sold limited edition glasses similar to the pivotal artifacts from the movie. It was only sold at the premiere, it was a huge success... in fact, these glasses aren't ordinary spectacles," He stated, proudly, pushing up his own glasses. "They were in fact the glasses sold at its premiere!"

"Oh, wait," He said excitedly, rushing over to you, "Those glasses look familiar... did you get them from the film's premiere? I did, myself--" He slipped off his glasses and stepped in front of you, proudly presenting the inner pattern of the frames to you, bumping shoulders with you. He was so absorbed in his ramblings, he didn't notice the streak of pink dashing across your face. "They may not look like much, but see here? This inner pattern--it's highly distinctive!"

Your face brightened at his enthusiasm. "I don't think so, but I guess you can look sometime."

He turned up to you, and slipped on his glasses again. "Wait, lemme see here for a second-"

Before you had a moment to object, he stepped right in front of your face and was peering to the side, in an attempt to see the inner rims--in doing so, he bumped noses with you as you gasped in surprise. It took him about three seconds to realize what he was doing.

One -- he touched noses with you, brilliant eyes amber in the dying sunlight, enthralled by his passions.

Two -- he peered to the side, searching for that telltale pattern in pure, analytical fascination.

Three -- he pulled a strand of hair out of your face, behind your ear, his movements, delicate.

It was to get a better view.

After that final moment ticked by, there was a beat as Horropedia stared at your face. Then his cheeks flooded with fuschia, his eyes growing wide as saucers. His hands began to shake.

"Oh." That's all he could stutter out.

For once, he had nothing to say.

"...I guess I'll...I'll...um..."

He slowly slipped off your glasses, taking a step back--just one.

He then, shakily, slipped off his own.

He stared down at the two pairs in his hands.

"...nope...haha...yours aren't the souvenirs..."

You couldn't speak.

His head tilted up again into your direction, glancing up at you as he continued to awkwardly fumble with both your glasses in his hands.

"...(y/n)?"

"...mm-hmm?"

"...Have I ever told you...uh...you look...look...I love the way you look...with...uh...your eyes with...your eyes are really gor--gorgeous with no glasses and your glasse-"

He didn't have a chance to finish his sentence. You had cut him off when your lips touched his.

It was a gentle, saccharine kiss, his supple lips meeting yours with adoring pressure and fast succession. His kiss was zealous, albeit pure--and clearly, he didn't mind it at all.

He was so absorbed into the kiss that, several moments later, both of your glasses clattered to the floor from his hands.

He dragged himself away, his visage frazzled and--to say it plainly, an absolute blushing mess.

"...Whoops," He chuckled, reluctantly bending down to scoop up both of your spectacles. He handed yours over, hands still shivering. "I--I believe these are yours." He said with an awkward grin as he shoved on his own glasses, brushing stray hairs out of his face.

You grappled your own glasses in your hands, an involuntary smile tugging at your lips.

"...(y/n)?" He asks.

"Yeah?"

"... thanks for listening to my stupid questions."

You step back up closer to him, his flustered expression a badge of his affection.

"It's my pleasure," You smile. "And, Horropedia?"

"...yes?"

"... would you like to take your glasses off again for a second?"

_________

I had a great time writing this, but just FYI that this is my first request anywhere! So definitely feel free to give me some feedback. Hope you enjoyed!!

[maelstrom007]

I've got the @ghouljams Fae!au brainrot, and I needed to write more about my OC Mal. This time, featuring ghoul's OC Love, and Fae!Ghost. Thank you so much for letting me borrow them! I hope I do them justice, and they're not too out of character. While it's implied that Mal already knows Witch (I think their friendship started well before this) I thought this was an interesting way to bring Mal into the darlings and 141's sphere of influence.

I hope you enjoy!

Mal stood at the far wall of their crafting space, studying their old leather bound notebook. It was an account of every project they’d ever undertaken here at the shop, filled to the brim with notes. Currently, it was open to the last commission on their list for this quarter, someone wanting a garment that would fill them with confidence after a particularly difficult time in their life. Before them stood several cones of yellow and orange cotton that they had dyed with this intention in mind. Now to decide what it would become. Mal closed their eyes, imagining the customer in their head, how their shoulders had hunched and neck sunk involuntarily. They needed something to straighten up, bring some height back into their frame. A jacket would do them nice. 

Mal took the cones to their warping board, a square frame with pegs hanging on the wall, and readied the yarn. Before they began Mal closed their eyes once again, taking deep breaths and pressing their bare feet firmly into the floor as they grounded themselves. Once they were settled, they imagined in their mind what their customer would look like in this new jacket. How their face would be full of warmth and joy, how much taller they would stand, the swagger and spring in their step as they walked. Mal let the feeling wash over them, filling themselves up with the giddy confidence. Full of energy, Mal began the warping process, tying an orange yarn to one peg and wrapping it around sequential pegs until it was as long as their fabric needed to be, then doubling back and following that same path back. 

Maintaining this confident headspace Mal continued on, occasionally switching between colors to create a shimmering ombre across the warp. This warp will act as the vertical threads when they weave the fabric later on tonight. Already they could see the gentle halo radiating off of the threads as the intent gets buried deeper and deeper. By the end it’ll be radiant like the sun. 

The slight jostle of someone attempting to open the front door made Mal accidentally skip a peg, breaking them out of their concentration. Immediately the halo of the current length they were working on dimmed, forcing them to backtrack and do their best to bring themselves back into the confident headspace. They didn’t really care if someone was at the door, there was no reason for anyone to be there and thus no reason to give them the time of day. Pick up was always reserved for the last week of the month, and they hadn’t pulled aside the heavy curtains hanging from the gutters that prevented humans from seeing the shop, and warned Fae from entering without an invitation. No, those get pulled when Mal’s commission list was empty and ready for new customers. Which it wasn’t. 

The jostle returns again and only a well timed breath keeps the bubbling anger from making its way into the warp. They tied it off and stepped away with a sigh. They couldn’t afford to keep having their concentration disrupted by the mystery person at the door. 

Opening the door reveals a girl, smiling brightly, “Hey, I think your doors locked.”

“It’s not,” Mal replies. Not in the physical sense anyway. Witch’s wards are strong and clever like that. Although they will have to check up on the curtains outside. Nobody should have been able to find their shop with them pulled shut, although now there was a clear section that was pulled to the side where the girl seemingly forced her way through. Those damn Moth’s were probably nibbling on it again. 

The girl stares at them for a moment, as if expecting them to say more. Evidently the silence becomes too long as she presses on, “Aren’t you going to let me in?” 

“Why would you want in?”

“Because you’re a business? And I’d like to do business here?” The exasperated look on the girl's face is enough to set Mal’s teeth on edge. 

“Pushy aren’t you?”

“Yes. Now come on, I want to get something nice for my boyfriend and he’s going to pick me up any minute now.”

Something about the girl’s big, insistent eyes made Mal’s resolve crack, “Fine. You’ve caught me in an indulgent mood.” Mal turned around, walking back towards the counter, “What are you thinking of?”

When the girl didn’t immediately follow they turned around again, only to see her seemingly stuck mid stride, foot unable or unwilling to touch the hardwood floor of the storefront. Curious. The girl seemed perfectly human to them, but looks could be deceiving. 

“You’re welcome in, for this transaction,” her foot fell with a solid thump, and she continued walking in as if nothing had happened.

“So I’d like to get something for my boyfriend.”

Mal settled in and flipped their notebook to a new page, “So you’ve said.”

“Yeah, well I know that he likes to cover up a lot, but recently his gloves have been falling apart and what with Winter coming up I don’t want his hands to be cold-”

As the girl talked, Mal kept a close eye on her chest, watching for any tethers that shone brighter than the others. Humans, and sometimes Fae, had a hard time deciding what their real intent was for a gift, and sifting through their tethers was always easier than getting it out of them through words. Except that the more this girl talked, the more her chest started to light up like a god damn christmas tree. She was tangled and pierced and snared on so many hooks it was almost distressing, and one in particular burned so bright it almost hurt Mal’s eyes to look at.

“Excuse me,” Mal interrupted her, “but may I?” they said, pointing towards the brightly glowing tether at the center of her chest. 

“Uh, sure,” she said, slightly confused but trusting all the same. 

Reaching out they gently snagged the tether with the tip of their pinky finger. Even with that small amount of contact all they could think of was LOVE LOVE LOVE. So much love, and passion, and desperation, and protectiveness. 

Within the next second, Mal’s ears popped as air that used to be in the space behind the girl forcibly vacated in favor of someone apparating there in its place. Mal stumbled back, eyebrows raised in shock as the absolutely massive fucker came into focus. Piercing brown eyes peered out through a pale white skull mask, with one hand wrapping protectively around the girl's chest and the other landing solidly on the table creating an effective barrier between them and Mal. 

“What’s wrong, Love?” The man's voice was deep, and although he was addressing the girl, (the capital L was obvious in his tone) his eyes never left Mal’s. 

“Well I was going to get you a surprise gift, but I guess that’s not happening anymore.”

“Why were they touching you.”

Mal straightened, “I received permission, if that is your concern. I was only attempting to see what her true intent was for this gift.” Despite the way he was glaring, Mal could tell this man didn’t think they were a threat, at least not physically.

On closer inspection the guys gloves did look as if they were threadbare, ready to fall apart if a stiff breeze came through. He was fae, no doubt about it, and even his human form commanded respect. Mal could see the shimmery effect of the fae’s obscura, hinting at a much larger and much more. . .sinister silhouette. They could do better, break up the outline of his body like camo on a soldier's fatigues, but something told them that he wouldn’t appreciate being upsold at the moment.

“And what was my intention?” Love looked almost giddy to know, leaning over the counter top with a manic grin on her face. 

Mal quickly looked between Love and the man, trying to gauge the pro’s and con’s of this whole interaction. 

“Go on,” he said. 

“Well, it seemed like Love here wanted to stake a claim on you. To possess and protect you as much as you do her.” 

Like a seesaw, Love rocked backwards into the man's embrace, wrapping her arms up around his neck and giggling, “Yeah, I guess I am a little obsessed with you.”

For once he looked a little bit out of his depth, and once again Mal almost had to shield their eyes from the sun that seemed to light up between the two. Jesus these two were co dependent as all hell. 

“So,” Mal said, desperate to get this conversation over with, “any design you want in particular?”

“Oh, right, I think his gloves should be dark black, with white details that look like finger and hand bones. And can you make them really warm and soft? Am I asking for too much? You’ll tell me if it’s too much right? Also-”

Mal dutifully took notes, not even attempting to get a word in edgewise as Love rambled on. Briefly looking up, Mal saw the masked man curled contentedly around and over top Love’s much smaller form like a mountain sized cat. It was hard to find him intimidating now that his eyes were full of love and adoration. 

What a strange pair indeed.

[dangermousie]

A web novel recommendation - Wishing You Eternal Happiness

I am currently about a fifth into a novel that is in the running to replace Dreamer in the Spring Boudoir as my favorite het web novel. It is Peng Lai Ke’s Wishing You Eternal Happiness/ 表妹万福.

This novel couldn’t be more different from Dreamer, with its hard-edged and hard-souled protagonists ruthlessly cleaving their way to the world and, eventually, each other, its smart cynical air. Except in one thing - the world of Wishing is just as bloody and dark. Its two protagonists are gentle, deeply wounded souls who may find salvation in each other but even something as basic as safety almost seems out of reach. 

Jiafu, our heroine, is neither a modern-day transmigrator, nor some exotic princess or demoness. She is very much a period woman of her time, from a weathy merchant clan, whose beauty is her curse. You can tell the novel’s tone from that utterly bleak opening chapter where she, a favorite concubine of a capricious dying emperor, is ordered to be buried alive with him and is not even given the “grace” of white silk but slowly suffocates in the coffin, scrabbling at the lid. There is no grand threats of vengeance on her part, not dramatic opera events. Just despair and death. The whole introductory chapter is haunted by emotional ghosts - the empress’ unrequited love for the monster on the imperial bed (turning into desire for Jiafu’s suffering after he dies), the emperor slowly dying in his prime after waging too many wars, and his fear of being haunted by Pei Youan, a brilliant if sickly minister who died of illness long ago on one of imperial campaigns. There is no triumph for anyone, only loss. 

Jiafu wakes up in the past after her death but there are no plans for grand revenge or world domination. All she wants is to stay with her family and to avoid the future emperor and also her future husband - in her past life, he gladly gave her away to the emperor once the emperor asks sending her to a life of trauma and horror and eventually awful death. Her schemes to do so are small and driven by desperation. But unfortunately, things never go as she wishes. The marriage may be easily scuttled but the attention of the royal monster not so much. 

Jiafu is such a deeply wounded person - some of the deep melancholy of the novel is that she wants so little - a normal life with someone who won’t sell her or bury her alive; she does not need to love him or even be married - and even that seems almost impossible to achieve. She is fighting for her life so desperately. 

Her widowed mother and brother are lovely but they cannot be her bulwark. Who can? Pei Youan. 

Let’s get this out of the way - I FREAKING LOVE PEI YOUAN!!!! He is a rare cnovel ML who would be considered a good person by any standard. But he is no shining powerful hero. Pei Youan, despite his brains and ability, drifts through life. I don’t mean he’s abandoned “work” - he assists the father of Jiafu’s eventual monster emperor ably etc etc. But emotionally he just exists, having given up on anything in his life, a sort of a living ghost. In modern terms, he clearly has depression. Apparently his background is pretty awful (and it does not take much to guess he’s actually not a Pei but a secret son of the imperial dude/Jiafu’s emperor’s half brother and in past life got killed for that) but all the bad stuff that has happened has not made him weak or self-pitying or dramatic, just a quiet, competent ghost. Jiafu is fighting for her life desperately - not even for happiness but for survival - but she knows happiness is possible, it’s just lower on her Maslow hierarchy of needs. But I don’t think Pei Youan can process happiness for him can exist.

Anyway, Pei Youan (at least in his ostensible identity as a member of the Pei family) and Jiafu are some sort of distant cousins. The reason Jiafu latches on him is because he is the sole man in her past life who showed her kindness and tried to protect her. When the emperor took her for the first time in past life, she begged for his help and despite barely knowing her, he managed to get her out and send her to her husband (only for said husband to gladly gift her back to the emperor.) Jiafu knows he is not interested in her, she knows he dies young, but he is her best bet, all she hopes is to marry him or even be his concubine, anything to stay out of the paws of the future emperor who fixates on her yet again. The scene where she explains it to him after he protected her, her desperation meeting his quiet competence but denial is one of my favorites.

I am spoiled enough to know eventually they do get married and things go all to hell for Pei Youan even more than before (In fact, @mercipourleslivres who knows me too well, sold me on this novel by mentioning that at one point Jiafu gets to be a Decembrist wife) and there is ultimately a hard-won happy ending. But even this early in, when they have not interacted that much, it is lovely to see Jiafu feel reassured around him, her desperation mixing with a tiny bit of reassurance at least and to see frozen Pei Youan feel something around her and not even understanding that this is his coming alive somehow, slowly and tentatively, but unmistakably so.

OK, where to find? The novel is complete in Chinese and can be found all the usual places. There is an abandoned translation of the first 20-odd chapters than can be found on novelupdates.

And I made a word doc of the MTL of the entire novel, here:

https://www.mediafire.com/file/yfoqmeaetx9xe3a/wishing_you.docx/file

Happy reading!

[loopspoop]

I don't know about the others (Jigen DEFINETLY has panic attacks), but Lupin is 100% so rude about them. He starts thinking he's dying and the way he deals with it is by being a huge cunt to whoever's nearby, I'm talking nitpicking the hell out of what they're currently doing while his heart is going at 200bpm. It's the way he reacts to knowing he's vulnerable as hell, but doesn't want to appear to be, especially not in front of the others because come on Lupin you're the silly one you aren't worried at all ahaha oh shit you're actually dying fr maybe you shouldn't have yelled at them they probably hate you now. hm

Jigen figured it out pretty quickly, though. The first few times he DID go "wow what a huge bitch" and left him be; not anymore though. Through sheer trial and error the two of them discovered that Lupin calms down pretty quickly if they're hugging 'cause he just feels a bit safer like that so hey maybe he's NOT dying, at the end of the day

Anyway took him awhile but he figured - again through a hard process of trial and error - that when Jigen is not availible, he can put ice in his mouth so his body forgets to panic really quickly and straight up goes to "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU FEEDING ME!!!! ITS COLD!!!"

Okay can I say how much I love this??? I love this. 100% Lupin vibes and honestly very accurate. I feel like if the pressure and the ice don’t work Jigen either resorts to laying on him (more pressure), sour candies, or giving Lupin repetitive work to do while they talk it out (Lupin wouldn’t ever really be 100% honest but talking does still help)

[makorays]

how did your diagnosis of bipolar go? ik its weird to ask but i struggle similarly and etc to you (or what you post online anyway) and i feel i may have been misdiagnosed as a kid i'm an adult now bc i got crippling anxiety so hoping if i understand how like someone elses thing went then maybe it might help a little bit maybe? i often have zero motivation on some days to even get out of bed and then can't sleep other days and other days i'm hyper motivated to do stuff i'm not sure how it works but it seems very inconsistent like not like up and down at a rate but sort of one day i'm fine next day i'm dying next few days i'm fine then week of dying again and etc i guess what i'm really asking is 1. how is bipolar from your POV like in as much detail as you are comfortable with (i don't wana overstep bounds you are a content creator after all basically a fictional character) 2. how was the process of getting diagnosed like step by step like do you just like walk into the hospital and go "i think might have disorder lol" idk i've not been to hospital other than emergencys as an adult and rarely go outside so its like new teritory for me to like do normal human stuff i didn't intead for this to be one of those "weird" asks just wanted to know how it is and how the process was for like benefit of me i guess (is it ego to ask someone advise on this even if you know they have a disorder you might have? idk i'm over thinking this)

you're fine to ask this, don't worry.

so, in order to get diagnosed you need to see a professional, either a psychologist or a psychiatrist. i was diagnosed because i went to therapy and they hooked me up with one of those professionals. psychologists have a more thorough understanding of how the brain works from what i understand, whereas psychiatrists exist to help you find the right medications. basically just find a mental health place and tell them you wanna find out if you're bipolar, then you describe your symptoms, answer their questions, etc.

as for what it's like for me? well i'm glad to report that i seem to have found a combination of meds that keep me stable and relatively not-depressed. still a bit of depression, but i believe i can improve what remains of it via improving my life.

before meds, it was like...at first it was like how you describe, with me being horribly depressed for a few days/weeks followed by me being super motivated for a few days/weeks, but eventually as i aged through my 20s it got worse and worse and the bad days became way more frequent than the good days. it got to the point where it felt like 80% of my days were just pure suffering, like i was just in mental pain and everything was horrible and the world was terrifying and my entire brain and body felt like it was wrong to be alive. i know other people have suffered more than me, but it's still kind of hard to describe how absolutely hellish that existence was. it was so bad that i decided that if i couldn't find the right medication combo i would kill myself, because life wasn't worth living when it was filled with that much raw suffering. the bad far, FAR outweighed the good. i felt like a chronically pained animal for whom it would have been ethical to put out of its misery.

so, uh, needless to say these medications have most likely saved my life, and if i can make it out of that, you probably can too. this isn't necessarily a recommendation (i'm not a doctor) but in case you wanna ask your psychiatrist about these meds that have helped me, i am currently on 200mg lamictal (mood stabilizer) and 2mg abilify (antidepressant that seems to work good for bipolar). i also take 20mg ritalin but that's just for my adhd.

i wish you a well journey. i know exactly how horrible it can be, but if you can hold out just until you find what you need to be free of it, you'll be glad to be alive.

[twistedastrology]

🪐 my take on the outer planets 🪐

---------------------------------------------------

saturn is constantly given a bad rap just because it does its job- saturn's placement in your chart isn't always a bad thing- it can signify difficulties in that area of your life, yes, but it can also tell you what you have unwavering resolve in (especially if you're saturn ruled or saturn is positively aspected)

for example, my saturn is in my 1st house in leo (cancer rising) and I've seen people say that saturn in the 1st house can indicate a fear of growing old or being lonely, whatever- my personal experience with this placement is, ask anyone that knows me and they will tell you i am fucking petrified of losing myself- losing my mind, losing who i am and dying early are my worst fears (dreams in which im dying are NOT the best ive ever had 😮‍💨)

but as a result of this, i know myself SO well. i do think saturn in the 1st house can indicate issues with finding yourself IF it's afflicted, which mine isn't (thank god 💔💔💔)

im also very scared of growing out of touch with the world around me- dont get me wrong, i love being a hermit, but if im ever that old man that can't understand trends or whatever and is overly cynical of younger generations... dawg- take me the fuck out 😕

uranus i LOOOOVEEEEE and i think it stands for so much more than just rebellion- my uranus has a LOT of power in my chart (so does my neptune but they're in mutual reception 😮‍💨) because my moon is cusped (1° pisces, but i feel both pisces and aquarius influence 💔), and it and my mercury im pretty sure are why i think backwards as fuck- (fun fact, my mercury is FIRMLY direct but it likes to act like it's in retrograde 💔💔💔💔)

but!! more interestingly, i have a very specific mental process where whenever im goin thru it, i cant stay goin thru it for a while- if my brain is fucked up for a little too long and i start getting pissed about it, my uranus takes over and legitimately propels me through the pain in almost an instant. i could be going through something for weeks and once i start getting pissed about it or legitimately bored of it, the next day it's like nothing ever happened BUT i still learned from it

ofc I have to do something to trigger that effect, which is where my mars in cancer comes in and i do a workout to tap into the physical catharsis and BOOM, go to bed and wake up the next day a new man 🙏🙏🙏 god bless 🙏🙏🙏

neptune Ok i am not entirely sure what made whoever said neptune is the higher octave of venus think that but I've never been able to see it. this might be controversial as hell but neptune is the higher octave of the moon to me and jupiter is the higher octave of venus. THAT BEING SAID-

neptune is an absolutely fascinating planet to me lately and im not sure why- i do have a couple transit aspects with it right now but ive wanted to write about it literally all day now- U KNOW i might love it so much bc it's in my 8th house actually that would make sense- ANYWAY-

neptune to me is the source of all the visions from god i get, especially my creative ones- (source: it came to me in a vision from god.) the moon is a very creative placement in my opinion (i have a WILDLY different idea of the moon that i can go over in another post), so neptune follows a similar current, but neptune is higher creativity, higher emotion, etc- it's the planet of spirituality and the absolute depths of our subconscious, like to the point of past lives, that's the kinda shit neptune fucks with

but because it's also the higher octave of the moon, to me it can absolutely represent addictions and vices, everything garbage- personally, my neptune isn't very afflicted at all but i also have a major lack of earth in my chart so i Do find myself experiencing classic neptune-based paranoia sometimes- fuck dude i went neurotic for a week at one point, that was some serious neptune delusion- But my uranus/saturn pulled me back from it, because like i said, saturn makes me petrified of losing myself, so those two joined forces like "ya this shit ain't cool actually take it out back and shoot it"

i might make a post on specifically neptune stuff soon and/or right after this bc the hyperfixation is hyperfixating 💔💔

pluto i FUCK with because it's such a soul searchy planet (my 8th house is very active so ofc i fuck with pluto) in the darkest ways and i love that shit- jonathan davis has his pluto in a fucking mastery degree (29° virgo) and i am to this day like 😦 over it- and it makes SO much sense for him to have PLUTO of all planets in a mastery degree- and i have mine in 26° sag so like im not that far behind... 💔

but dude that's mastery of some SERIOUS transformative powers- that's mastery of the wildly darker shit in life and that is so fucking tight to me- i value that kinda stuff more than anything dude- probably why korn is my fav band (been listening to them as i write this 😭😭)

one thing abt pluto that i DONT agree with tho, and this is more of a scorpio thing BUT i know everyone loves to say scorpios are the sexy signs but dawg... it's cancers... i swear 2 god it's cancers- i will write an entire fucking post on cancers and why i HATE everyone's interpretations of them bc everyone's like "cnanncers are cRYBbaueiis and tHyeyre the most emOtIknal siGnsns 💔💔💔" Bro. Bro. Bro dont do me like that for the love of god. that shit made me hate my rising sign for SO long and also not relate to it!!!! then i started doin my own research and found out "Oh fuck nvm im totally a cancer"

BUT if you look at pluto like the actual God- nowhere in his mythology (that I read anyway- i could be wrong i dont wanna act like i know everything) does it say anything abt him ruling over sex or sumn like that- but everyone says pluto rules over sex!!!!!! Where!!!!!!!!!!! dawg they said he was a god of abundance bc he ruled over the underworld and gems and stuff were found underground 😭😭😭

i do think pluto fucks with taboo shit though But back in the ye olden days when astrology was being developed, sex was not taboo at all, that's a new development that i think uranus fucks with more because uranus is a very future focused planet in my humble opinion

i could definitely keep writing but i think this is already a novel SO- to specify tho, this is all my opinion of the planets, ive read PLEEEEEENTY of books and stuff so by no means do i not know how this shit works, but my uranus makes me rip everything apart and make my own take so 💔