#ive been thinking for years *years* about whether or not my parents would come to my wedding

[prettycottagequeer]

hi this is a rant tw transphobia and shitty parents

[mrradmccoolman]

something interesting i've been thinking about lately is the fact that watching dead poets society for the first time, i thought todd would be the one to commit suicide. i can't remember whether i knew one of the characters would going in, or only after my teacher mentioned it as a trigger warning right before the scene (i watched it in class my junior year). i say im getting back into the fandom, but really, i wasn't quite in it before this. in truth, the movie affected me so deeply that i actually avoided it because i didn't know how to handle it (this, along with forgetting seemingly insignificant details about emotional experiences- like whether i knew going in that one of the characters would die or not- happens...concerningly often, and im not sure if it's indicative of a larger problem or if i want to know).

needless to say, i did remember recently that i had assumed todd would be the one to die, and i increasingly believe this is actually not an uncommon belief that new viewers have going in. why is this? well, there are a few obvious and not-so-obvious reasons that i want to go over.

for one, todd is probably the main protagonist of the movie. the other poets are certainly main characters too, but for the most part, we follow todd's journey at Welton from beginning to end. it wouldn’t be irrational to assume that such an important event would happen to him solely due to this fact.

more than that, todd is arguably the most obviously struggling out of all the poets to the naked eye. he has all the hallmarks of a person with low self-esteem and a veritable heft of familial, educational, and social problems. he's crippilingly shy, anxious, and always uncomfortable; he has a hard time connecting with his peers, difficulty coming out of his shell, and cowers under the burden of unreachable expectations from parents who can't seem to pay attention to him as anything other than second best compared to their eldest son. though it isn't ever outwardly shown, it isn't hard to imagine he's a victim of bullying and/or harassment- in fact, though i don't believe the poets would ever bully anyone, they clearly sense his "otherness" as shown by Cameron's comment in the beginning of the movie. even neil doesn't understand him at first, and it takes time for him to really grasp how bad things are for todd. i don't believe todd's parents' reasons for pulling him out of Balincrest are every directly specified, but ive always thought a big part of it could be that he was being picked on by the other students (along with his parents hope that transferring him to Welton would make him succeed like his brother).

i don't know if by the time i was watching neil's scene with his parents after the play that i really knew, completely, what was coming. i think by then i knew it wouldnt be todd to die, but i hadn't fully accepted that neil would in his stead. there was a sort of comfort in feeling like i knew what would happen, only for the movie to pull the rug out from beneath me and leave me devastated. not that i would've been less sad if todd had died- just that, when neil did, and i could ruminate on the signs shown through the rest of the movie and the grief and the direness of the situation, i was left reeling at the suddenness.

of course, looking back on it, it makes complete sense that it would be neil. knowing his situation, his history, and his personality, it seemed painfully obvious. but i only really realized that after the fact, like i imagine the poets did as well.

ive already mentioned quite a few times on this blog neil's depression and how things were for him, including his relationship with his father, but that's because i find it especially painful in the way i can relate. i imagine a neil who has been struggling with depression since he was very young, crushed under the weight of a father who had planned out who he was meant to be since his birth. a neil who doesn't understand why he's so damn empty all the time, who doesn't speak up because he fears what it means. a neil who has all these feelings about boys that he shouldn't, that finally come to a head when he connects with todd and he can't ignore them anymore. a neil who loves his father, who wants to make him proud. a neil begging somebody, anybody to listen, but his words fall on deaf ears. he is not an adult. he has no control. there is no one to save him, no one to help him. he is trapped. every light has been snuffed out.

i wouldn't hesitate to say that by now, most people are at least aware of the fact that depression manifests in many different ways, some less obvious than others. on the surface, it's easy to view neil as one of those people- he's smiley, focused, talented; he has a group of friends that love him, things he's passionate about, a family who wants what they believe is best for him. he's the textbook definition of somebody who doesn't seem like they'd have issues with mental health.

but...that's not true. maybe for the teachers who barely talked to him, or the families who met him in passing and told their own sons to strive to be like him, but anyone who'd spent more than an hour talking to him who knew about depression would be able to recognize something wrong. he's somehow both responsible and also completely reckless with no regard to the consequences, as if his own life is a game he can play with. his interactions with his own family are stilted and awkward. he gets angry and lashes out like a trapped animal when questioned; the few times he does open up, he speaks with the desperation of a boy prisoner in his own mind. he connects so deeply to todd because he relates to him, because he feels understood by him. he willfully ignores his future and it's implications because when he finally faces it, he knows it will be too much for him to bear.

and it's this, perhaps, that makes it so incredibly frustrating that everything culminated in his decision to commit suicide- because there were signs, clear as day, over and over and over and over and nobody did anything about it. the only people who really tried, directly, didn't have the power or the knowledge to change anything for him. it was so preventable. the movie leaves you breathless with anger at how different things could have been.

i genuinely want to hear everyone else's thoughts/perceptions on this, because i find it really interesting and part of what makes the film so emotional.

[calicoheartz]

Omg could you write about going to Caitlin’s house for the holidays and meeting her family?

A Christmas Kiss ; Caitlin Clark ﹒﹒✧

summary : meeting Caitlin’s parents for the holidays !

wc ; 499

warnings : none! just pure fluff :)

my master list ㇀♡

a/n : tysm to the person who requested this! had a lot of fun writing it ! I hope you enjoy ◡̈

The crisp winter air filled the quaint town, the snowflakes dancing gracefully outside your girlfriends charming countryside home.

You couldnt shake the nerving excitement bubbling within you, as this just wasnt any christmas; it was your first time spending the holidays with Caitlin and finally meeting her family. As you stepped out of the car, you were greeted by th warm glow of the Christmas lights the adorned the rooftops, and the sound of joyful laughter coming from inside.

You timidly rung the doorbell, your girlfriend rushed out to meet you, with her eyes sparkling with delight. “Y/N! Youre finally here!” she exclaimed, quickly engulfing you in a tight hug. “Ive been counting down the days until i could introduce you to everyone” she stated.

You both then entered the cozy home, where you were then greeted by Cait’s family, who welcomed you with open arms and a genuine sense of love and want. Amidst the festive decorations and the scent of cinnamon and pine filling the air, you quickly felt a sense of belonging that you had never experienced before.

As the evening unraveled, you found yourself captivated by the Clark family traditions and the love that radiated from every corner of the room. As you stole short but sweet glances at Cait, you could feel your heart swelling with the affection for the girl that had brought continuous joy into your life.

As the holiday festivities continued, you and Cait had found moments of quiet intimacy amidst the bustling chaos, stealing kisses under the mistletoe and sharing whispered promises of your love and devotion for eachother.

On christmas morning, as you exchanged gifts by the twinkling tree, you couldnt contain your excitement as the brunette handed you a small wrapped box in glistening paper. With trembling hands, you slowly opened it to reveal a delicate diamond ring, with your initials engraved onto the band; a promise ring. You turned to Cait, with tears in your eyes. This was her telling you that she wants to spend the rest of her life with you, whether it be right in this moment or later, she would promise to make you hers forever.

As the day turned into night and the fire crackled in the fire place, you knew this christmas would hold great significance for you for years to come, cherishing it in your heart. Being surrounded by the girl you loved more than anything and her family gave you a huge sense of gratitude and contentment.

Curled up by the couch, basking together in the warm of eachothers embrace, you heard her whisper a small “i love you”, as she peppered your face with kisses. You couldnt help trying to contain your giggles, simply replying “thank you for making this the best christmas ever”

The brunette smiled, looking down at you, her eyes sparkling with love as she said, “heres to many more holidays together”.

That was when underneath the twinkling lights of the tree, you both shared a deep and meaningful kiss, her hands immediately found their way to your hips and she forced you closer to her, doing anything to keep you as near to her as possible.

A kiss that sealed your love and marked the beginning of a lifetime of joyous holidays together.

omg i think this might be my favorite piece of work!! loveee the way this turned out :) tried to keep it short n sweet but fulll of tooth-rotting fluff ! Tysm for reading <3

[whiteskullofroses]

Hi! I saw that you accept request for Baldwin IV. If you do still accept, could you pls write one where y/n and Baldwin would stay up too late talking to each other until one falls asleeps? Thanks 💕

Hi there thank you for the request! And to clarify, you can always request any characters you want❤️ Enjoy!

LATE NIGHT TALK

Baldwin Iv x reader

It was a cold night in Jerusalem. You were walking around the palace gazing up at the stars and thinking about life when all of a sudden, a familiar voice grabbed your attention: "Y/N!" He called out to you from his room. It was all lit up with candles so you could see his shape clearly: "Care to join me?" The young king's voice sounded so energetic, even though it was already midnight. You answered: "With pleasure!" And happily headed out to his quarters.

Once you reached the hallway that led to his room, you noticed that the door was already opened for you but still, you knocked on the wood to make your presence known.

He turned from his desk to look at you. His mask shone from the candles around him and made his blue eyes sparkle.

"Care for a round?" Baldwin gestured towards the chess set and sat down at the table. "Y/n" Sitting down and listening to his words "I've missed you tonight. I rarely see you these days."

You smiled and replied: "Work has been incredibly tiring," taking a sip of some wine a servant poured: "I've hardly found any time for friends."

Baldwin leaned closer to you: "Well now it's the time. Relax."

You started the chess game and asked: "How come weren't you at the banquet last Monday?"

The King moved a pawn and sighed: "I had an unexpected meeting which I couldn't miss."

Nodding, you moved on since you didn't want to trouble him with hard topics so late in the night.

"Have you read any new poetry lately?" Asking him like you always do, you always loved to listen to him talk about the things he was passionate about, one of them being literature.

Whether it be myths from across Europe containing dragons and other mystical beings or poetry that many saw as simple, however from a trained eye's perspective it was true art projected onto paper.

"Yes, I've read this wonder piece from a book from France Preseren called 'Poezije'" Grabbing the book from a nearby chair and flipping through it, Baldwin proclaimed: "Would you like to hear it?"

"I'd love to, Baldwin." You supported your head with your elbow on the table, as the late hours of the night cut into your brains. "Where did you get it from?"

"I believe I got this book as a gift from my sister when she visited Carniola."

Finally, he started reading, his voice soft as ever:

Fresh flowers will spread fragrance far and near,

Like roses when the winter's passed away.

Your eyelids became heavier and heavier with every word he spoke:

And spring displays its marvelous array,

While through the trees white scattered blossoms peer

Your breathing became deeper, with waves of relaxation washing through your body. All of a sudden you felt like you were 10 years old again, when your mother used to read you books to help you fall asleep.

All this time away from your parents and away from your childhood made you forget how soothing it was and how much you enjoyed it.

Baldwin continued reading the poem whilst you were drifting off into peaceful sleep, right there on his 'chess table'.

He hardly noticed you falling asleep right opposite to him as he was focusing on the text he was reading. But when he finished reading the poem and looked up from the book, he realized you slept through half of it.

He chuckled to himself. Baldwin wasn't mad or annoyed with you, rather he felt a sort of fulfillment that he managed to get you to fall asleep.

For a moment he just sat there, staring at you. You didn't know it at the time but he admired you deeply. For your intelligence and your beauty. He found that this was one of the times he could truly silently look at you and not feel bad about it.

Whenever he would catch himself gazing upon you he would get this guilt deep in his chest. He felt as though it was appropriate for him to look at you when the two of you were just colleagues.

So he slowly walked up to you and carefully picked you up. Walking up to his bed and laying you down in the middle, he knew he couldn't sleep there that night, that would be simply too much.

He decided to go and spend the night in the guest room. Just as he was about to leave your side, you woke up and grabbed him by the wrist, gently but enough so he could feel it.

"Baldwin, stay."

THE END.

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

august 26, 2021 4:00 a.m. a balcony, somewhere

time somehow seems to simultaneously slow to a crawl and race beyond the speed of light. grant doesn’t remember when they’d ended up perched like lovebirds at the pinnacle of a staircase, peering out over the night-drenched landscape, but it must have been a while ago. customers have long since stopped streaming in and out of the restaurant on the street below.

he remembers in better detail the stream of their conversation–they’d shifted from food and a strangely peaceful, humorous discussion of kicking the bucket to movies, and at some point, paranormal stories came up along the way.

it’d be hard to forget talking to yunha.

there’s something curiously enrapturing about her, something that had drawn him to her when he first made eye-contact with her.

the look in her eyes, maybe. it’s piercing, like she’s baring right through your skin and into your soul, but not malicious or judgmental. it’s friendly, it’s curious, it’s playful.

the way she speaks, maybe. she’s the most engaged conversationalist he’s ever encountered. everything you say, whether she agrees or disagrees, is met with affirmations and a lot of nodding. yes, yes, of course. i see, i see. i understand. ohhh, wow! really?

she’s unraveling every shard of the puzzle that is his personality and piecing it back together in one whole picture, analyzing it. figuring it out. appreciating it.

or maybe it’s the sweetness that radiates off her. she appears unafraid to smile, instead all too happy to flash those pretty, crooked bunny teeth for the world to see.

“so, i'm going to guess you’re not accidentally good at singing.”

she seems not to mind revealing her own puzzle pieces either, and the more she says about herself, the more fascinated he is with her. with who she is. with what makes her tick.

“i hope it’s not an accident,” yunha replies, laughing, “because shit, then years worth of practice was a waste.”

“time enjoyed is never time wasted.”

the unabashed cringe of the line garners an immediate eye roll, but she still seems to find it funny.

they’ve definitely been sitting here a while. grant straightens his back, fixing his gradually slouching posture, and is is met with an immediate flash of pain, distinct from the chronic dull ache underlying every day of his life, that radiates down every vertebra.

“what got you into music, though?”

yunha’s rosy pink lips purse in thought as she dwells on the question.

“a lot of things. my parents like music. i listened to a lot of different kinds of songs my whole life, first with them, and then later with my friends. i had some time between classes and studying to spend having fun, but i couldn't spend any money, so my friends and i would go to this music store. we walked around and picked random albums to listen to on the headphones. we never bought anything.”

grant nods supportively. “what’s, like, the first album you remember really liking? or albums. you don’t have to pick one.”

“ah! i treasure so many albums. seo taiji and boys IV. i think that’s still my favorite nostalgic album ever. i also remember fondly, um, this girl’s in love with you by aretha franklin. i heard that at the music store, and i was so impressed by her talent. i still am.”

“i'm not a music expert. surprise! i know, i know, i'm sorry to tell you, i did not practice for centuries for that wonderful spice girls performance earlier. no, but seriously, i most often just listen to the same old emo stuff i liked when i was 13. so, unfortunately i don’t know the first album at all, at least not yet, but i do know the second one. you have fantastic taste, that’s a classic.”

despite his ignorance, yunha still smiles from ear to ear. “you should look up the first one! look up, like, seo taiji ‘come back home.’ that’s the most popular song on the album. i don’t wanna bias you, so listen on your own and make your own opinions.”

“wilco. and if you don’t mind me asking, how’d you turn the interest in music into a skill? you are talented, but i know it's very much a skill. it does take a lot of practice to become tangibly good at music.”

“to express myself,” yunha says plainly, “it’s easier to tell your story in art than talking about it, and singing is free. you don’t need supplies to learn it. but yes, i needed that kind of outlet, you know? i always liked singing, always did it, but i needed more than only entertainment from it over time.”

“oh yeah, art is helpful. i really should have gotten on that train earlier. i got on board about a year ago. it's much better for you than intellectualizing everything. or at least that's what i tend to do. do you perform, by the way? outside of karaoke, that is."

"sometimes. but also, not in a long time."

there falls a brief, but peaceful lull in the conversation. grant’s eyes draw to black night sky as he recalls the last haphazard art he’d created–the mushy-gushy attempt at processing the universe. seeing it hanging above him now, his thoughts are no less conflicting. light pollution washes out the shining sea of stars, but the sky still retains its beauty, its bewilderment. visible or not, an infinite chain of dimensions and celestial bodies exist in the vacuum of space, orbiting independent of him, yet factoring in the tiny fraction of his mass on the mass of the earth in their delicate ballerina dance across the fabric of spacetime.

the universe must have created me for some reason, for something other than anguish.

his own words. again. ever-present.

“i miss seeing the stars.” yunha’s buttery soft voice breaks his concentration. “you can’t see anything here.”

“polaris.” grant raises his left arm and draws his index finger across the sky until it hovers above the only star he’s seen thus far. “technically, that means we should be able to see sirius, too, but we don’t need to get all science-y and talk about magnitude and that polaris isn’t–”

“i would like it if you did.”

she was thinking of the stars, too.

synchronicity.

“aw shucks! well. i’ll say this, polaris isn’t the brightest star. we just talk about it way more frequently because it has the most cultural significance in the northern hemisphere for, you know, navigation reasons. but hey, give it about 12,000 more years, and it even won’t be the north star anymore. thank you, wobbly earth axis. but also boo, woobly earth axis, because it's a little sad to think about.”

yunha’s eyes glitter with fascination. “it’ll be something else?”

“yep! the next north star will be vega,” he explains, “come on down, you’re the next contestant!”

“maybe we’ll see it happen.”

“if my consciousness is still floating around as little dust particles, that’d be pretty sick. you know? forget fly me to the moon, fly me to vega. why not?”

“i don’t think i'll be dust,” yunha says, not missing a beat at all, even as her focus remains fixed on the faintest twinkle emanating from polaris, “it’s kind of troubling. you don’t want to be, like, stuck in the whole cycle of the universe, but if you’re still here, you can see some really beautiful things.”

“ah. reincarnation?”

“if you’re asking me, you’re not going to be dust. either you escape the suffering or you come back in some kind of physical form, human or not, and you try again.”

grant thinks about it for a moment. and then the feelings, like usual, spill out at once.

“i'm not going to lie, that idea has always given me the heebie-jeebies. i think it’s very cool as a concept, but i'm, like, man, i don’t want to do this shit again. also, look, we're doing the thing again. oh, and shit, that sounded judgmental. i just run my mouth too much."

"most people don't know they lived before. you can't really remember your other lives without a lot of study," she answers, "and no, you don't. i prefer to hear your real opinion. it's actually stupid when people tell you what they think you want to hear."

"do you ever wonder what you were up to last go-around?"

"not too much, but i always heard strange birthmarks and scars are signs from your last death. fears, too. things you avoid. so, i guess, like, a clown stabbed me in the neck with needles."

"are you afraid of storm drains, by any chance? if so, i think pennywise had it out for you."

"hahaha." yunha shakes her head. "wait, i have to ask. is it not worse thinking you can only live once? that's not uncomfortable? feeling like you have to make everything perfect in your one lifetime?"

"oh no, it's terrifying. dying and just being done with everything is eerie, too, because there are nice things to do and see here in the real world. you’re right about that. and yeah, there is a lot of pressure to get it all right. also, that's not even mentioning that there are people i love that i don’t want to be gone forever. i'd like to think they remain somehow. conscious or not. i kind of think they do, but i don’t know. am i contradicting myself? capital-P probably."

“you don’t know what to think.”

grant immediately bursts out laughing. “yeah, no, absolutely not. i do not know. i just kinda waffle around and hope some scientist throws out some numbers and whatnot that proves some explanation of everything correct. but that’s impossible. it’s literally impossible. we can’t even simulate or predict the wacky physics that were going on at the exact moment the big bang happened.”

“not to be, like, all quirky, but...” yunha reaches over, patting him on the shoulder. “maybe don’t think about it? you’re gonna go crazy. you can just not know? and it's fine. this doesn’t mean anything anyway. the answer to anything is already in you, it’s not out there.”

and then she, too, starts giggling all over again and her cheeks blush deep red from sheepish cringe.

another stereotypical line, but he doesn't mind. they sound better coming from her than him anyhow.

a second later and she checks the time on her phone. her cheesy smile erodes into a slight frown.

“ahh, i really need to leave soon. i have a schedule in the morning.”

grant checks the time as well, drawing the sleeve of his hoodie up just enough to read the minuscule roman numerals on his watch.

on the watch an ex-girlfriend gifted him. not päivi, but...

4:00 a.m.

fuck.

right.

you’re leaving the country in two hours.

[insocat]

i really appreciate how well the fandom’s taking in alhaitham and kaveh sometimes - not in a shipping way but just their dynamic

*some slight spoilers to things like archon quests, character stories (and kaveh’s unreleased ones)*

like despite being shown only in the later acts, ive seen a lot more about them than ive seen with other dynamics (debatably on par with zhongchi when they were introduced)

i think theyre just really relatable for many people because i think a lot of the demographic of genshin community are students or young adults and theyve lived through their student days pretty recently and they understand that sometimes, even in the stifling environment of academics, theres also some stupid things that will inevitably come around

like the reasons why they get ticked off by each other is stupid, but i mean, i want to say weve all been through something like that before and its usually pretty harmless and we look back on it and laugh

or the angst that they also had to live through, and i think its shown best in kaveh - living through the high of his life, pursuing his dreams with the palace of alcazarzaray only to have it all crashing back onto him - a period of his life he would rather forget entirely, and has left him struggling to live on his own

of your best efforts, putting your all into what you do, and the harsh reality that its just not enough, just out of your control, and you can’t do anything about it. they show how you can be gifted at something, but also the burdens of it - alhaitham’s undoubtedly a genius, but also practically ostracized for it for his pragmatism and coldness towards others, and regular akademiya students hold him on some pedestal they just can’t reach, contributing more to his ‘robot’ vibe we initially got of him. kaveh has is own problems where despite talented, he’s taken advantage of by others. not necessarily exploited for his talents, but he’s been tricked and held himself back at times just to help others (whether or not its his own fault is a different matter)

the idea of leaving family. while alhaitham lost his parents, he was essentially brought up by his grandmother and he practically peacefully let go of her, like how children can grow up and parents watch them turn into an adult, support them, and recognize that this time it’s their child’s turn to start their lives, and while his grandmother is no longer present to see through this, it’s still a stark contrast to kaveh’s, specifically his mother. I feel like while it’s his mother that’s the one who moves away during kaveh’s younger years, it’s a lot similar to how parents kick their own children out of their house once they reach adulthood. kaveh isn’t settled into this life of independence or cut ties nicely like alhaitham had, instead, he’s thrown into this world and has to figure things out on his own and bear the burdens of it

anyways thats just my thoughts on the two i just wanted to get this out there because i think hoyo really outdid themselves with this dynamic

(ayato and thoma, despite being that five-star-four-star duo like alhaitham and kaveh didnt really sail as well as these two did but im really happy their dynamic is just so complex)

[saym0-0]

this post on pinterest has somehow made me start thinking about a comedy human au,, all the bots are siblings, ages are fucked, all the walters live in one big house,, the bots r all teenagers (imagine having six teenagers jc). their parents are iris and peter i. they have two adult siblings, ii and iii. mark, wanda and iv are their nephews and niece. peter i has an oc sibling that isn't around anymore but is V's parent, and VI is his son (the bot's cousin).

i dont think the original inspiration post fits in at all but its funny so im not removing it amen

anyways. ages i think would be like,,

II & III in their early thirties

V in his early thirties but younger than the rest of em.

rabbit and spine are 18 and twins

hmm my zer0 headcanon is that he was built first but powered on later so maybe hes like 19 but adopted/a half sibling that moved in slightly later? idk hes 17 or 19

next i think is hatchworth he is 15 and draws on a moustache every morning and tells everyone its real (jon is convinced)

jon is um uh 12 little boy 🫵

upgrade is 9

mark is 11

wanda is 9 (woah two 9 year old girls. yhey tell everyone they're twins)

realising that i cant keep the age difference the same as canon because iv would be -1. oops. hes a little baby

vi is also a little baby.

sorry i lied they're not all teenagers lawl. also realised zer0 couldn't be a half sibling because they have two way older siblings too oops

yeah this au makes no sense but i do think its funny. sitcom au. highschool au.

they all go by their canon robot names, its unclear whether they were named that or if they're nicknames or a mix of both. five is older than four because of a mistake on his birth certificate, he should have been four but they all just kinda went with it and named the next one four

i think rabbit would come out to her [younger] siblings at 13 and come out/start transitioning at 14, partially in reference to the year she transitioned in canon and partially because i was that old when i came out teehee. i think maybe she always knew and expressed it though, she just didnt know trans people existed and didn't have the terminology for it

do they have all-through schools in the us? like elementary all the way to high school? we do in the uk but idk about over there. if they do then that could be funny i think

[aftonfamilyvalues]

I have a sort of conspiracy theory about liberal feminism that I need to get off my chest. The whole "pick me vs girls girl" culture is actively creating TiFs.

Women who don't fit into certain standards society holds have been shamed for it since the beginning of time, but now rejecting femininity is being seen as anti feminist. Girls who aren't even putting down other women are called nlogs and pick me's just because they're awkward and kind of tomboyish.

Look at Jlaw. She was shamed out of the public eye for acting like an actual human and not a walking caricature of womanhood (eating pizza and falling down on the red carpet). There's an audio going around being mocked on tiktok where a woman rightfully says "I don't like makeup. I think it's bad for women". I've seen nasty comments under Korean feminist insta posts where the women in question are smashing their makeup or wearing comfortable clothing and talking openly about it.

I genuinely think this is the reason why a lot of girls believe themselves not to be female. Since it's shameful and cringy to not be feminine as a woman in the year of our Lord 2024, it would logically be better to think of yourself as a man or some in between thing. Tomboys are basically an endangered species at this point and it's really really sad. Little girls aren't climbing trees or playing in the mud. They're playing with skincare and makeup. I truly feel like I'm living in a black mirror episode and it's scary.

Sorry for the long winded rant. I'm semi crypto on main and wanted to put this out there. I dunno why I sent this to the "I want to make a milkshake out of copia's cum" account but I don't really know anyone else who gets insane anons like you do. x

i think youre right though, there is definitely a backlash against feminism right now that comes in the form of hyper femininity and capitalism.

if you dont wear makeup, youre a childish loser who needs to learn how to put on eyeliner. if you dont shave, encourage other women to not shave, youre bombarded with women with "sensory issuee" and are just as bad as a patriarchal man. if you dont like pink, you have internalized misogyny. if you say anything about how high heels damage your feet, youre shaming women. if you talk about how womens clothes are made worse than mens, just go shop in the mens section! stop doing anything, stop going against the quo, let women do what they want! dont question anything!

and in more recent years, ive been seeing the evidence of this seeping into girls younger and younger. we now have little girls begging for drunk elephant and sephora items, to shop where the adult women shop. honestly i didnt even know what drunk elephant was until i saw a girls christmas list on here. theyre spending adult with a job money on products, whether it be from saved allowances and or from their parents. i just saw a video about a 9 year old girl getting bullied for having a tumbler from walmart and not one of the expensive trendy stanley cups. there was always an issue with bullying over not having name brand but i feel like its gotten so much worse. and thats not even talking about the "skincare" aspect of it.

theres so much to say about this but they really did rebrand capitalism as being woman positive though.

[chaotic-jjk-fiction]

Do No Harm

Doctor Getou Suguru x reader

TW: General Yandere themes, stalking, obsession, medical setting, injections, IVs, Lying about test results, Masturbation, drugging, kidnapping, mentioned death of readers parents due to cardiac events, murder, and I can’t really sugar coat this... death of reader

A/N: I don’t really think I can call this a valentines day post, but let’s pretend it is! This is probably my darkest fic yet, so reader discretion is heavily advised. Happy late valentines day everyone! 

Word Count: 1.8k

Was it unprofessional? Undeniably. Did he care? Not one bit. How could he be expected to not fall in love with you? He knew intimate details about your body that no one else did, you confided in him, and most importantly, it was his job to care for you. On top of that, the details he was privy to as your doctor made it all too easy for him to grow even closer to you. He knew where you lived, he knew that you were single, he knew that you were an only child, and that both of your parents had died young from sudden cardiac arrest. 

After your first appointment, he knew the two of you had a connection. So what if he ordered some blood work and scheduled a follow-up appointment with you to go over the results even though it was only an intake appointment and there was no clinical indication it was necessary? The number of people who have vitamin deficiencies and don’t know it is quite high. Was it really that bad if your yearly physicals happened twice a year instead of just once? That didn’t seem evil to him, on the contrary actually, he was doing his duty as a healthcare professional and taking your well-being seriously. 

Of course, the repeat blood tests every three months might have been a little bit excessive, especially because you weren’t actually deficient in any vitamins and had no reason to be taking a supplement, but it gave him a reason to see you. Despite the fact that normal lab results were typically discussed on the phone, he couldn’t resist having you come into his office. 

Because of your family's cardiac history, the health of your heart was of great concern. Getou always made sure to perform a thorough cardiac workup at your check-ups. The way you allowed him to listen to your heart and touch the tender flesh on your chest was a delight for him. You were so trusting. Getou would expect nothing less though, he was your doctor after all. As your doctor, one of the hardest things was the uncertainty of whether you would drop dead of a heart attack the same way your parents did, or if you would have no complications at all. At first, this didn’t bother him, but as time passed he found himself obsessing over it more and more. A need for control started to well up inside of him driving him to stock your daily life. 

After one physical where you complained of new-onset chest pain, Getou couldn’t take it anymore. He knew that there was only one thing he could do to ensure his control and guarantee that you wouldn’t suffer. He had really been hoping it wouldn’t have to come to this. He loved you and he wished that you could have loved him too, but it seemed as though that was not in the cards you two had been dealt. 

Due to your chest pain, Getou ordered a two-week continuous heart monitor. The data collected from the monitor wouldn’t change his resolve, but he had another important use for it. After placing it and reminding you numerous times not to remove it or let it fall off before the two weeks mark, he let you go on with your day. Little did you know that you and Getou had not actually parted ways when you left his clinic. 

You had a terrible habit of leaving the door unlocked. Just more proof to him that your chances of living a long life were quite slim. At the same time, it was quite beneficial for him. He loved to slip into your closet and wait for the sounds of your vibrator to fill the room followed by your moans. The lewd sounds you made when you thought you were alone seemed like music to his ears. He always jotted down the date and exact time he heard the vibrator, this information would come in handy soon. 

After two weeks of wearing the heart monitor, you handed it over to Getou who told you it would take another week to analyze the data. This wasn't exactly true though. It would probably only take a few days to check for any arrhythmias, but that was not of interest to him. The data Getou sought was related to that list of dates and times he had collected earlier. By looking over the continuously recorded metrics during the times when you masturbated, he could watch the way your heart rate had spiked, the peaks when you came, and its slow return back to baseline when you had thoroughly pleasured yourself. 

His dick grew hard as he looked at the EKG readings in front of him, remembering the noises of sexual satisfaction you made. He began to rub his cock through his pants as he continued to line up your times of self-pleasure with the information from the heart monitor. Getou could feel the pre-cum leaking out of his tip wetting his trunks. Eventually, he decided to stay on the data from one of your various sessions and allow himself to finish. 

It felt below him to jerk off, but right now he didn’t care. Grabbing a box of tissues, he sat back down and allowed his erection to spring free. He spit into his hand for good measure before slowly starting to stroke his throbbing cock. Due to the prior stimulation and the level of arousal he was feeling, it didn’t take long for Getou to reach his point of climax. What helped push him over the edge, sending ropes of cum into the tissues he got, was the slight drop in heart rate after you orgasmed followed shortly by another spike as you chased that high again. As he wiped off the semen from his dick, he made a mental note to call you first thing tomorrow and schedule your follow-up appointment. 

Only a few days later you were seated in his exam room once again. His face was stern as he looked you in the eyes and lied, “your heart monitor revealed prolonged QT intervals. This is a dangerous arrhythmia that can spontaneously cause ventricular fibrillation which can be fatal.” You sat there stunned, unsure of what to say or how to react. Getou continued, “There is an injection I can give you that should help. If you would like, I can give you the first dose today.” Your brain still hadn’t processed the news you had just received, but you nodded your head before confirming, “yes, I would like to have the first dose today.” “Alright then, I will go grab it if you would like to roll up your sleeve.” 

He came back a few minutes later carrying a tray with the syringe, an alcohol pad, and a bandaid. “I just want to warn you,” Getou cautioned as he put on his gloves, “this injection can cause people to pass out sometimes, so don’t be alarmed if you start to feel dizzy, just lay down and let me know.” You nodded in understanding and tried your best not to flinch when the needle pushed its way into your arm. For the first few minutes after the injection, you felt fine. Getou was able to clean up and dispose of everything, but then the room started to spin. You laid back and your vision started to get spotty, “Doctor Getou” was all you managed to squeak out before everything went black.  

So sweet and trusting. Suguru looked at your unconscious body in the rearview mirror on his windshield, you looked so innocent laid across the backseat of his car. In a different life, he could have had the future he dreamed of with you. As your doctor, however, he was sworn to do what was best for you and to do no harm. In order to abide by these principles, Suguru needed to move you to a different facility where he could do what he deemed necessary. “Don’t worry, darling. Soon you’ll be cured.”

You awoke disoriented. Despite the fact that your eyes were closed, you could tell you weren’t in the clinic anymore. The sensation of an IV in your hand caught your attention and you wondered if you were in the hospital. You didn’t have time to question it for long when you heard Suguru’s voice, “I really don’t know if you can hear me, but I hope you can.” You tried to turn your head in the direction of his voice, but you found yourself unable to move. “The sedatives and paralytics in your IV drip are just enough to keep you from being awake and able to move, but not to the point where you need a ventilator.” You could hear him moving around the room as he continued to talk. “As your doctor, I only want what is best for you, and I know you know this. I love you dearly, but the oath I took when I graduated from medical school comes first.” Your mind was swimming, trying to understand what was happening and what Suguru was going on about.   

He paused for a minute, letting out a heavy sigh “I just want you to know that the data from your heart monitor will forever serve as a reminder of you, and every time I finish to those perfect EKG waves, I’ll be picturing your beautiful face.” You wanted to crawl out of your skin. How could he say that? Your thoughts continued to race. “I think it’s time we say goodbye now.” A feeling of terror consumed you. “I’m glad I was able to create a plan to cure you, not many doctors out there would care enough about their patients to go to the extreme lengths I am going to for you. The best part about this cure is that it is completely painless. One injection of about 30mg of morphine and everything will be better.” His voice sounded almost cheery. 

The next sensation you felt was a needle pricking your inner elbow and viscous liquid being injected slowly into your vein. “There we go, treatment administered.” After disposing of the syringe in the sharps box, he quickly returned to your side. Your skin was turning pale and the heart monitor began to beep as your heartbeat and breathing rate fell dangerously low. He muted the monitor. Nothing was going to disturb the two of you in these final moments. 

He reached for your hand, it felt cold as he held it, gently running his thumb over your knuckles in a soothing motion. You wanted to open your eyes, your mouth, ANYTHING. You wanted to scream. Your brain was becoming too foggy to even remember how screaming worked, even if it did, it wouldn't matter though and you knew that. It was almost like Getou could read your mind, and as your ears started to ring and the world crumbled away, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, softly cooing, “Shhh. Don't worry, no harm will ever come to you again.”

[beannary]

If you want to talk about one of your aus, or au ideas, I'd love to hear about them! (*scoots my chair forward, looking hopeful*)

ok ive been wanting to answer this for a while but i kept on being so scared because ah! this is the one opportunity ill get to talk about my au! but then i realized that is stupid this is not gonna be my only opportunity to talk about my au

putting my ramblings under a read more because i ended up uh saying a whole lot about Donnie and his relationship with both Splinter and Big Mama

ok so basically ive been thinking a lot about the little prince au because it is fully my child and i adore it so much but ive been specifically thinking about Donnie and Splinter's relationship because I really want to write their relationship well

theyre gonna have such an interesting relationship. I know I havent gotten into how Big Mama ended up with Donnie but I am working on a comic for that so I'm not going to get into all of the details but Splinter does know that he left a turtle behind, he just thinks that the turtle he left behind died in the lab explosion, so over the years he has dealt with guilt because of that but overtime that guilt not necessarily faded but he comes to rationalize it because truly it wasn't his fault that Donnie got left behind, and truly there was nothing he could have done to save Donnie. But once he learns that Donnie is not only alive but that he's been living with Big Mama, Splinter's guilt is going to come back at full force because oh my god, not only is the kid that he thought was dead actually alive but he was raised by the woman who kidnapped Splinter and forced him to fight for years!

Splinter is going to be trying so hard to get Donnie to live with him once he learns that Donnie is alive, and he's going to be trying so hard to be the best parent for Donnie ever to like makeup for abandoning Donnie back in the lab explosion. or you know, not abandoning Donnie but that's what Splinter sees it as

I also want Donnie to have like similar reactions to leaving Big Mama that Splinter had. Like undeniably Splinter was incredibly depressed after leaving Big Mama, and like Big Mama turned this thing that Splinter loved, you know performing and being in the spotlight and entertaining!, and completely took away any agency that he could have to this thing that he loved to the point where he refused to take part in it just so he could have some sort of control over his life again

When Donnie leaves Big Mama (whether its by his own will or not I havent decided or figured out how he comes to live with the Hamatos yet) but he's going to go through something similar just a complete shut down where he abandons everything that he loved to do because he now associates them with Big Mama and her control over him if that makes sense? Like Donnie LOVES dancing and he loves playing music and listening to music! but these are activities that Big Mama actively encouraged and so naturally hes going to associate them with her.

I think one thing Donnie is going to throw himself into when he first leaves Big Mama is his inventing. Sort of like how Splinter would lose himself in his shows, I think Donnie is going to get into a sort of headspace where he just spaces out and doesn't have to think about anything while he's tinkering around.

Donnie and Splinter I think are also both going to want to try to prove themselves to each other? Splinter I think might end up being really overbearing while trying to makeup for all this lost time while Donnie is going to try to be the perfect son for Splinter just like he tried to be the perfect son for Big Mama

But like once they actually get to talking and once Donnie is more comfortable around Splinter I think these two are going to have a lot of heart to hearts just because Big Mama controlled their lives for so long, there's a lot of stuff to bond over and relate to

Idk Im not super confident in my writing abilities and Im trying really hard to portray Big Mama as a narcissistic parent but a lot of the stuff that I've read about how narcissistic personality disorder might portray itself in a parental role like centers heavily on the way that they pit siblings against each other and Donnie does not have a sibling! So I guess in a sense he would be both the golden child and the scapegoat which must make for a confusing existence. I dont even know if im portraying this well at all or if any of this is coming across in my writing but I sure hope that it is!

Another thing I want to get into is how Big Mama like reacts to Donnie's inventing because like having a super smart kid that can build you whatever you want is logically a very good resource to have and she does want him to keep building her stuff. But like inventing is messy! Science is messy! In an ideal world Donnie would be getting down and dirty working hard on engineering and botany, and like Donnie can sometimes get so focused on his work that he turns into a bit of a hermit till he comes out of that focused mindset and that's really the part that Big Mama doesn't like because like yes having a super smart kid does reflect very well on her, but having a kid whose constantly playing in the dirt or messing around with explosives and other dangerous devices and who occasionally goes completely MIA while working does not reflect well on her. So she's put into a position where she both wants Donnie to keep building her stuff but she also doesn't want all that extra messiness that comes with encouraging this interest of his.

Anyways im going to stop now because this has gotten WAY too long and I dont even know where im going with this! but it was so helpful to write this all out and just like getting my like thoughts you know written out so I can actually see if any of this makes sense asdklfjhsakdjh

[dailydragon08]

Random cute Luke x Reader headcanons that live in my head rent-free pt 7 (Mother’s Day edition)

Tw: pregnancy, parenthood, childbirth

- first of all, Luke would be THE best dad and it would be adorable. No matter whether he’s a dad to your biological kids, kids you adopt, padawans, or even pets, he’s so patient with so much love to give and would be an absolute domestic KING.

- Even if you don’t have/want kids, he’ll organize a breakfast in bed with plenty of hand drawn cards with all your padawans at your Jedi academy.

- Or if you have pets, he’ll dip their paw, tail, or foot in some paint and press it to the card, making them “sign” it for you.

- I like to think by later post-ROTJ years, word got out about Luke and Leia being Padmé’s babies and that the galaxy knew how instrumental she was in creating the rebellion. On Mother’s Day, he’ll watch recordings of Padmé in senate sessions with you (courtesy of R2) and tell you how much he feels she would’ve loved you. Also gets all 🥹 when you tell him how proud she would’ve been of him, how much her personality reminds you of him, and how you can see her in his face shape (I personally feel they have very similar noses and facial structure, but that’s just me).

- If Leia has kids, he’s 1000% helping Han and his niece/nephew pamper her as well.

If the two of you have kids together:

- If you use they/them pronouns, he refers to it as “parents day” and marks it as your day, since he uses he/him pronouns, will have Father’s Day to celebrate himself, and wants to make sure you have a day too.

- If you two have kids, he’s so so thankful that you made him a dad and although he reminds you of that everyday, he makes it his mission to go above and beyond for you on Mother’s Day.

- If you’re pregnant, he’ll still celebrate with you and pamper you even more than he usually does and tell you how he thinks you’re going to be the best parent ever.

- He makes sure to tell your bio kids their birth story and how strong and resilient you were (of course he was by your side supporting you the whole time). He’ll even show them pictures of you as a kid to point out the similarities and you’ll overhear him telling them how you’re the best, most beautiful person he’s ever met.

- he’ll either go buy you your favorite flowers or hand pick some wildflowers for you around Yavin IV and have them waiting in the kitchen for you, along with your favorite breakfast, completely homemade.

- You’re just as much a mother figure to all your padawans, no matter how old they are and they all make sure you know how much they appreciate you.

- Bonus: seeing you with the littler padawans is one of the things that made Luke realize he wanted kids with you in the first place.

- of course Grogu has his dad and Luke, but he draws you a little card on Mother’s Day that makes your heart melt.

- If before kids, you expressed the desire to have some, he was always telling you how excellent of a parent you’d be.

- He definitely happy cried after the birth when they put the baby on your chest and he realized he finally had a family to carry the Skywalker name with him—and especially when he held his baby for the first time.

- Loves organizing little family outings—even if it’s just a picnic around base, Yavin IV, or a park on Coruscant—to celebrate you.

- Loves watching your child snuggle into you and just has to join, creating a giant Skywalker cuddle pile (of course R2 is included).

- Will come and hug you from behind in the kitchen at the end of the day and tell you how much he loves you and how great of a parent you are.

[jennylaufeyson]

Another ted talk by yours truly

I have so mucn beef wiith myself about this whole larry denial . Let me tell you something. I've been in this random since 2012. That one random time Harry tweeted, and it was like a before and after of a pic of Louis, i was there for that. I was there for them being besties and then acting like they didnt fucking know each other. And i thinks thats what made Larry real for me. Becuase why? Why live with each other and literally have this bromance that had so mucb spotlight and then have to act like you hate each other? The only other reason that i can come up with for having to do that is that they got into a fight, and again thats a murky reasoning. These boys were literally on top of each other. How do you go from that to never even looking at each other. That's crazy to me. Now, I've been a hardcore Larry shipper for years, but i keep it to myself. I see shit online. I've been there for the gfs and all that, and i just mind my business. Why? Because their personal lives are theirs. Would i like to know whether I've been delusional or not all these years? Yes, of course , but they do not owe me that. Lou said the other day in an interview that the only people that understand what they went through are only them 5, and i honestly agree. Who knows what kind of fucked up shit they had to go through? I mean, Zayn left the band and has been mia ever since, apart from releasing music until now, where it looks like he's finally reached a point to be out in public. The truth is we dont know what happened behind closed doors, and maybe we never will, but i think part of being in this fandom is supporting our boys because of their music and talent. Lou should not have to go on stage and talk about how people questioning his son irritates him because, yeah, of course it does. That is a child who one day will have access to all of this and forget the fact that it says their dad is gay it also questions whether its his actual dad or not. Dont you think he has it rough already? His parents aren't together, and his dad is a world-famous singer who im sure can't see him as much as he would like.

I get asked whether I actually still believe in Larry. The truth? I would like to. But i dont know, i think at this point its like a comfort blanket. Its all ive known and its brings ME comfort. I have no idea if one day itll come out that we were right all this time, in the end all i want is for the boys to be happy and healthy and successful. I love both Harry and Lou and i think fandoms all over need to realize that our idols dont owe us shit about their lives. Their famous because of their talent and personality not because of who they date. And it should be enough. All this and i choose to believe in Larry and let it bring me comfort in private while supporting them publicly in whatever that requires. As always ,love my boys ❤️

[jaywhere]

okay sorry for that rant i offer this as penance. from the fic ive been working on, beginning of chapter four. scene wherein scott summers cites the patriot act as a reason he can't have phone sex with his girlfriend. pg-13ish, i think (?) and severely unbeta'd, but such is life. enjoy.

“I mean, it’s going well enough.”

Jean’s voice crackles over the line. Scott grunts.

“Bush is — you know.”

The empty silence which follows does all the talking.

“Yeah,” Scott agrees.

He doesn’t elaborate. His thoughts aren’t something that should be elaborated on, given Jean’s current location. And the legislation which had been pushed through a few months back. And for the sake of brevity — a year out, Scott is still bitter about the election.

“Charles was worried about how this would go, which — “ She pauses.

Scott stares down at his chessboard. The pieces refuse to stay in place, bouncing from square to square in his mind’s eye.

“But honestly, everyone’s more worried about weapons of mass destruction. Or anthrax. Which is…both expected and unexpected, I guess.”

Scott understands. He’s shaped his life around mitigating the destruction that could be caused by his own power. Scott struggles to imagine himself in the Professor’s shoes — or even Jean’s.

“Yeah,” he says.

“But the reminder that we’re not a threat, you know. Across the board. That’s helpful, I think.”

Scott nods. He appreciates her optimism, just as he appreciates the speed and fluidity with which public ire shifts from one scapegoat to another. The Professor isn’t a fool. An unnamed emotion fizzes in Scott’s gut, pressurized and threatening to explode.

Lost in himself, by the time it occurs to Scott that Jean can’t see him, she’s already overtaken him with a sigh. “I suppose the X-Men are domestic, if nothing else.”

“Logan’s Canadian,” Scott replies.

A pause follows. Scott taps his foot. He has things he’ll need to do after this, but Jean hates it when he rushes her on the phone.

“And Ororo, Piotr, Kurt…” Jean trails off. “I meant the organization.”

“The Professor’s British.”

Another long pause follows. The kids are watching a movie in the lounge, Scott can hear, and he doesn’t think anyone has bothered to check whether or not it was appropriate. And he’d offered to cover Jean’s class tomorrow — art, of all the useless things — which Scott still needs to prepare for, although the longer he thinks about it the more he comes to believe that his attempts to lead the painting lesson Jean had left may be far worse than no lesson at all.

“Touche,” Jean says. “I think he does just end up feeling like fancy American, though.”

Scott says nothing. It’s a ridiculous sentiment, but he recognizes that Jean is trying to make a joke.

“Speaking of, did you hear about George Harrison?”

Those things have nothing to do with each other. But Scott doesn’t say that, and from nearly three hundred miles away, Jean couldn’t lift the information from his mind if she wanted to.

“Yes,” Scott answers. He taps his foot.

Perhaps that’s why he hates talking on the phone with her.

“It was sad.”

Scott says nothing. An anxious storm brews in his chest. “Yeah.”

A slow, crackled sigh. “I miss you.”

Static vulnerability leaves Scott’s arm hair standing straight up. The clouds dissipate. “I miss you, too.”

“Do you like hearing about your fiance’s exploits as a lobbyist?”

Scott’s lips part. He furrows his brow.

“Yes?” he answers, a futile guess that it’s the correct answer. He doesn’t understand what Jean is even asking him.

Jean laughs. “Not really what I imagined doing with my life when Chuck showed up at my parents’ house. Telling me we’d use our powers to save the world.”

A flinch. Scott hates when she refers to the Professor like that, a habit she’s certainly picked up from Logan. But Scott doesn’t want to think about Logan.

Eyes screwed shut, he plucks at each of her words one-by-one, and conjures the image of her in 1985. With two years on Scott’s twelve, cradled in broad-shouldered blazers and elevated a half-head above him by blocky heeled boots, she’d come across as nothing short of mature. His heartbeat still stutters in sympathy with the memory, shy smiles and the ozone scent of hairspray.

The ensuing months had been the first time Scott had ever cared about what he wore. The Professor’s adoption had marked the first time Scott had ever been allowed to care about what he wore. He still remembers walking into that department store in Moira’s tow, shades of red under glaring lights and blaring music, perfume vapors sticking in his sinuses. Denim jackets, striped polos, and thigh-hugging shorts had hunted Scott, hot on his heels, as he’d locked himself in the changing room. Moira’s stern Irish tone had sliced through the door. Scott had never so thoroughly understood the cage of freedom.

“Yeah.”

Jean waits. Fabric rustles on the other end of the line. Panic brewing in his chest, Scott had refused to emerge from the dressing room. Moira had brought him pieces one-by-one in a huff, and slowly, Scott had exchanged a wardrobe of ratty jeans and pill-ridden pull-overs for acid-washed denim and tennis cardigans.

The look hadn’t impressed Jean. He’d looked frumpy.

“Awful quiet over there. Wha’cha thinking about?”

Surprised, the novelty of the question rolls over Scott. A beat passes, thoughts refusing to coalesce. Eventually, he simply says, “1985.”

Jean laughs. “What?”

Mouth dry, Scott swallows. This isn’t usually the kind of thing he has to put into words. “Remember when, after you moved in, and you took me shopping. For clothes.”

A long hum. “I do. You’d only wear the stuff that Moira bought you.”

Scott nods. He remembers staring at the tips of Jean’s boots through the gap in bottom of the changing room door as he’d stripped off his shirt and pants. Despite his best efforts, at thirteen he’d been almost completely unable to reign in his own thoughts.

Three hundred miles away, Jean reads him like a book. “You had such a big crush on me.”

“Jean.”

“What?”

Scott’s cell threatens to slip through sweaty fingers. The memory is equal parts humiliating and exhilarating. At thirteen, Scott barely knew what sex was. He hadn’t even figured out how to masturbate. His desires had been a jumbled mess with neither a shape nor an outlet, and Jean’s involuntary voyeurism only made things worse. His entire body had burned red when, from the other side of bolted sheet of plastic, Jean had giggled and muttered, cute.

“Are you trying to say you didn’t have a crush on me? Because we both know that’s not true.”

“No,” Scott says.

A lump twists in his throat. He’d always had a crush on Jean.

“You were so cute. Just this handsome little guy who couldn’t stop thinking about —

“Jean,” Scott cuts her off. “You’re embarrassing me.”

More laughter. It’s not mean-spirited. Regardless, his cheeks burn.

“Why?” she asks. Scott’s chest puffs up, preparing to respond with a biting comment about how having your fiance laugh at you isn’t exactly reassuring, when she finishes her thought. “It’s true.”

Scott doesn’t know exactly what it is. Whether it’s her tone, or his knowledge of her, or his own memory of himself as a teen, Scott realizes with a jolt of surprise that she’s being flirtatious.

“It was rude,” Scott says. “I was, I mean.”

“I liked it.”

Scott blinks. He distinctly remembers sitting on the little bench in Ororo’s greenhouse after they’d already started dating. Scott had carefully laid his hand on top of Jean’s. At the time, it had been the kind of contact that made his heart race and stomach twist itself into knots. Unable to handle it, Scott’s thoughts had run amok. And Jean had slowly, deliberately turned to Scott, and asked, Scott, do you want to have sex?

When, after an excruciating minute, Scott had finally finished rambling about how they were teenagers and that was not appropriate, she had smiled woodenly at him and continued, Then please stop thinking about my breasts.

In the present, a gravelly creaking reverberates through Scott’s skull. He’s grinding his teeth. “You definitely didn’t.”

Jean hums. “I mostly liked it.”

“It was embarrassing.” He hadn’t been able to look Jean in the eye for nearly a week after that. Ironically, she’s essentially the only person who would’ve ever noticed. “I had no self-control.”

“Maybe I like that.”

The maybe isn’t necessary. Scott already knows that she does. He’s seen it, in the twisting thread-thin caves of her mind. The same darkness that colors her voice creeps its way into Scott’s.

“You don’t want to see me with no self-control,” he says.

Jean laughs. “Oh, don’t I?”

The bottom of Scott’s stomach drops out.

The terminal velocity of an adult man is about one hundred twenty miles per hour. An aloof problem presented in a physics text given to him by the Professor, the maximum speed of a freely falling object in relationship to the drag of the medium it falls through.

Scott’s eyes burn. There’s nothing so uncontrollable as death.

Jean sighs. “I’m curled up in bed. In my nightgown.”

It takes Scott a long moment to snap back to reality. The memory slips through his fingers, leaving his

“Where are you?”

“Uh, in our room. At the table.”

Scott answers simply. It isn’t until a breathy silence encroaches that Scott begins to consider the question had been rhetorical. Only a few moments had passed, he thought, but perhaps it had been longer —

“What if I told you I was wearing those panties you got me for my birthday last year.”

Jean doesn’t sound frustrated. She hums, her tone light, and allows the call to lapse back into unworried silence. Like she’s waiting for Scott to think through his response.

Dumbfounded, his jaw flaps open like a fish. He would say she’s happy that she’s getting some use out of them — except that can’t possibly be what she’s looking for. She wouldn’t have brought it up if that’s all she had wanted to hear. He’s supposed to say that she’s beautiful. He can’t see her. He’s supposed to ask her why she’d brought those on a trip without him. She’s trying to start a fight. Ororo had been the one to suggest Scott buy her something other than jewelry for her birthday, and that the joy of such a gift was that it was pleasurable for both of them even if it wasn’t really within the bounds of Scott’s character. Jean is about to tell him that it was a stupid idea, and Ororo knows nothing about their relationship. Except Jean would never say that so directly, as much as Scott sometimes wishes that she would, his feelings be damned —

A soft, breathy noise sputters over the line. “You’re so handsome, Scott.”

Wind rattles the windows. Inappropriate arousal coils in the pit of his stomach. “You’re beautiful,” he answers, almost entirely by reflex.

More silence follows. Scott isn’t disappointed. He’s certain that was the correct response. But on the heels of his relief comes the unwelcome image of Jean tangled up in unfamiliar sheets, fingertips dragging lazy circles over her stomach, blinking slowly, hem of her nightgown riding up over her thighs.

Scott swallows. Another thoughtless little high-pitched noise drifts over the line. Jean must be tired, wanting to stay on the phone because she wants to talk to Scott. Guilt fills Scott to the brim.

Excruciating seconds tick by. Scott has no idea how to get the conversation back on track. His temples throb.

“What are you thinking about?” Scott asks. He has nothing else to say.

A few beats pass, marked by the nervous drumming of Scott’s fingers on the lip of the table. Jean lets out a nervous laugh. “You really wanna know?”

Scott pauses. She’s acting strangely.

“Yes,” Scott says. Hesitantly, he continues, “That’s why I asked.”

“You and Logan. Actually. Is what I was thinking about.”

Air pounds against the inside of Scott’s lungs. The breath fizzes out of him on the back of the question, “Like. Sexually?”

Discomfort perfuses the radio waves linking their two phone speakers.

“Um,” Jean finally response. “Yeah.”

Baffled, Scott asks, “Why?”

Another laugh. Jean is immediately more comfortable. Briefly, Scott imagines the conversation as a scale upon which a set amount of embarrassment must be distributed. The weight of it bears down on Scott’s shoulders.

“I don’t know. You’re both attractive.” The click of Jean’s tongue, perhaps sucking her teeth or licking her lips. “And I like the idea of you just…giving in. To feeling good. Even though you know it’s wrong.”

Her voice grows more and more coarse as she continues, low-pitched and gravelly.

“Not that it’s like, wrong, but. You know.”

Not as speechless as he would like, Scott replies, “No. It’s definitely wrong.”

The sentiment oozes up from his gut, an acidic sludge eating at the grout that holds the floor tiles in place. The chandelier trembles, rooks scuttling forward on the diagonal and pawns crawling shyly backward. It’s the same disgust that accompanies the phantom shape of Jean’s toes between his lips, only stronger, and Scott doesn’t even have the chance to scrutinize the shape or scope or meaning of it before Jean continues with a giggle.

“Yeah, but I mean — I know you’d never cheat on me.”

Scott’s brain skips into double-time as he attempts to follow the conversation.

“And I know you like being bad.”

A fuse blows. The lights flicker out. “Huh?”

Even more laughter follows, pitched at a cackle. As the backup generator rumbles to life, Scott briefly wonders if Jean is mocking him.

“Oh, come on. Everything you like is like that. Mister Perfect loves to break the rules just a little.”

Scott’s brow furrows. He glances back at the window. No rain.

“Do I?”

He doesn’t. Jean’s making a joke. There’s no other explanation.

Should Scott be laughing? Jean isn’t. Her voice vibrates on the back of each breath, nearly a moan. Her chest heaves in his mind’s eye. Teeth pluck loose skin from the back of his lip. Scott squeezes his thighs together and tries to ignore the way he’s throbbing. He has to figure out what the hell is happening in this conversation —

“God.” Another noise crackles in Scott’s ear. It sounds even more like a moan. “I love what’s gotten into you recently.”

Scott blinks.

“Are you touching yourself?”

All at once, every muscle in Scott’s body locks up. “What?” he hisses. “Are you?”

“Um.” Embarrassed, Jean’s voice is just as tight as Scott’s. “Yeah. We’re having phone sex?”

Scott had not picked up on that.

“I’m. You. We. I don’t.” Heat creeps down his neck before descending even further, his chest breaking out into a blistering itch. “You’ll be back in two days.”

A beat passes before Jean responds. “What, so you can’t enjoy yourself because I’ll be back in two days?”

“No, I just.” Words slip through Scott’s mind like a sieve. “I don’t need to.”

More silence follows. Scott realizes, shame searing the corridors of his mind, that had not been the correct thing to say. He doesn’t know what the right thing is, and doesn’t particularly care. He wants out of this conversation.

He swallows. “The Patriot Act.”

Jean breathes into the line. In retrospect, Scott should have been able to discern the difference between her titillated little breaths from before and the shocked ones that rattle the Nokia speaker now.

“Scott,” Jean says, slowly. “The United States government doesn’t care if I masturbate in the White House.”

Logically, Scott knows this is true. The sentence makes him want to curl in on himself.

“Literally took a lawsuit for anyone to give a shit about Clinton, Scott, I don’t think — “

“Jean,” Scott interrupts. He bends at the waist, his skull sandwiched between his phone and one broad palm just as his dick is between his stomach and his thighs. He’s never wanted Jean to be able to read his mind so badly. “I don’t. Do that.”

Steely, Jean doesn’t give an inch. “Yes, you do.”

She knows. She probably knew when Scott first figured out how to. She’d probably known exactly when he was, salacious thoughts emanating from him every time his grip on his own mind slipped, impaling the surface of Jean’s mind as she simply tried to go about living her life.

But Scott doesn’t like to.

He says nothing. They both know this.

“You can, um. Keep going, though.”

Disappointed, Jean sighs. “Scott.”

Crushed beneath the weight of his own humiliation, Scott lashes out. “Why are you mad at me? I didn’t even do anything.”

“I don’t know, Scott, even if you hadn’t just embarrassed the hell out of me for thinking we were having a nice time together,” she snaps, “asking me and only me to keep masturbating while you just sit there because you’re uncomfortable with yourself is — uncomfortable. And weird. As — no.”

Scott blinks. Of course he had embarrassed her.

“You’re stressed,” he says. “You should.”

He wouldn’t mind listening to her. Probably. Truthfully, Scott’s not sure. But —

A groan of frustration hits his eardrums. “Did you not hear a word I just said?”

Frowning, Scott furrows his eyebrows. She’s not being fair. He’s not hard anymore, which should be a relief. Instead, a cocktail of helpless frustration races through his veins.

“I was listening to you.” The words scrape through clenched teeth. Scott doesn’t even think about telling her to calm down, as much as he wants to.

She sighs. “Okay.”

Like she’s trying to convince herself.

“Scott, that’s weird. It’s weird now. I’ll just — I’ll see you in a couple of days.” Leg itching beneath his cast, Scott stares down at his chessboard. The pieces remain stubbornly stationary. “I love you.”

Silence encroaches. Scott begs the pieces to move across the checkers tiles in the foyer of his mind.

An angry sigh cuts him off.

“Oh,” Scott says. “You, too.”

The line clicks dead.

With his own angry sigh, Scott drops his phone onto the table. The plastic clatters frantically against the glass. With his eyes screwed tightly shut, Scott peels his visor off and digs his fingers into his eyes until the pressure stimulates long-dormant cones. Saturated blues, greens, and purples erupt on the back of his eyelids.

With a resigned certainty, Scott straps his visor back to his face. The arms settle into the permanent canals lining the top of his ear, a familiar hurt. Crutchless, he shuffles over to Jean’s dresser and opens the topmost drawer.

Neatly-stacked rows of panties and bras stare back at him. Grim, Scott fingers waistbands and straps until he feels scratchy lace on his fingers. Its translucent white fabric glares daggers back at Scott.

He’d thought it was pink when he bought it.

Scott isn’t good at this. He doubts he ever will be.

As he collapses face-first onto the foot of the mattress, grime-ridden cast dangling haphazardly over the edge, Scott desperately misses the shape of Jean’s foot in his mouth solely for the fact that, for one brief moment, he hadn’t fucking thought about anything.

[borderline-culture-is]

Hi, this is a long ask. I am not diagnosed with anything, but Ive been thinking that I might have bpd. I started self harming at 9 yo, and was given ssri and antipsychotics to treat the symptoms, because i was too young to be diagnosed. Three years ago I moved countries, and I was so stressed that I literally ragequit talking all my medications, because I couldn’t sustain importing it from my country. Follow two horrible years of withdrawal, where I kept having derealization episodes, panic attacks, delusions followed by crying spells that lasted for hours, inability to maintain any relationships at all, I was incredibly angry and abusive to my mother, all that fun stuff. For the first year I refused to get any therapy because I thought they didn’t care about me and didn't want to settle for that, and the second year I was so crushed that if a fucking rock would listen (metaphorically), I would break down to it. Still not getting much support atm because being underage in an unfamiliar system makes it really hard to know what to do.

I only shook out of this state in the beginning of this school year, when my teacher called the cops on me for self-harming. I started working on regulating my emotions, meditating, and just accepting that I am the weird one for feeling this way and learning not to blame or burden other people. I also started noticing that my whole live ive only had FPs, and not a lot of genuine close relationships (I feel like I depend on them for my satisfaction, always feel betrayed for not being closer, but also feeling hesitant to even call them a friend). Before I kinda just assumed that everyone felt the same way, and that I was pathetic for feeling dependent and lonely. I also noticed that I have horrible episodic memory loss, I have to exclusively rely on other people or recorded evidence to shape any perception of my past.

I think, to an extent, my other traits have cancelled out some of my symptoms: I never lashed out or argued with my classmates because I was too scared that they would leave me, so instead I forced myself to act in the most mild way possible; I do have black and white thinking towards new people, but I make myself ignore it because I understand that it is my fault and I am being unreasonable; I never acted impulsively because I was too depressed or too scared to be proactive in any way at all.

My biggest issue with self-diagnosing is that I have never had any traumatic experiences. I come from a caring family, and, although I still blame my mom for feeling unfulfilled and neglected, there isn’t anything my parents really did wrong. She did as much as she could and I feel guilty for resenting her. I don’t remember any of my childhood, but it is completely reasonable to assume that nothing ever happened that would count as traumatic.

My point is, I have already either developed some coping mechanisms, or have come to accept that I will always feel misunderstood and unhappy. Even if I do have some kind of a disorder, I am unsure whether I should even try to get diagnosed in the first place. If I do, this would mean that my whole life is thrown out of the window with a diagnosis like that on my medical chart. It would negatively impact my human rights, my employability, my independence, all those things I really can’t afford to compromise, being an immigrant and trans. But at the same time, I just really want to find out what the hell is wrong with me, to feel understood and to have some support on how to live a normal life.

Yeah I guess the main purpose of this ask is to vent to someone who understands, and to ask for your opinion and advice on whether you think I have a disorder and if I should attempt to get it diagnosed.

--☀️🎣anon

okay. even if you dont think you have any trauma, theres still a lot of factors that could contribute to it. i think its also worth mentioning that you said you cant really remember your childhood, so it does leave some room for trauma that you either may not remember or just might not see as traumatic. and i also think that feeling neglected as a kid could do some damage, even if its unintentional. sometimes parents hurt their kids without realizing, and it doesnt invalidate the way that you feel about it!!

as for diagnosis, i think its okay for you to self-diagnose, as there are a lot of difficulties and struggles that comes with being diagnosed. i think it really depends on whether or not you personally see it as worth all of the potential trouble that it can bring. i do think that your symptoms are valid, and i can see a lot of hem as lining up with BPD. if you're really doubting, i dont think downloading a copy of the DSM-5 would be a bad idea, since it's what professionals usually reference from anyway.

regardless of whether or not you choose to get diagnosed, you and your struggles are valid!!! as someone who has also experienced BPD symptoms since we were young, we definitely feel for you. if you definitely think you are borderline, then i believe you are valid as long as you dont mean any harm, and i am pretty sure that you dont :]. we genuninely wish for the best for you, and we hope that your situation and overall well-being gets better soon 🫶 (/p)

- oliver

[kingcunny]

What's your opinion on Viserys and Otto after the Episode 4 confrontation? There's such a difference between what Viserys says and implies to his face and what he says to Rhaenyra.

When Otto makes his report to Viserys, he immediately clocks what Otto is trying to do. (And makes a clear distinction between Aegon as Otto's blood and Rhaenyra as "mine own." OOP.) And then as he's scolding Rhaenyra, he acts entirely oblivious. "What vulture?" Is he putting on act for Rhaenyra? To counter her trying to put blame on someone other than herself? Is it more conflict avoidance?

And THEN he fires Otto, and he's like, "I think you killed my dad. Or at least you were gleeful at the opportunity his death provided you." There's some deep suspicion and resentment going back yearsss in that conversation that had nothing to do with why Rhaenyra wanted him gone.

oh my god viserys accusing otto of killing his dad makes me INSANE. cause no one wouldve told him that? the fact that we never hear daemon or any other character accuse otto of the same thing means this is a theory viserys came up with on his own, and has been just quietly holding onto all these years. and that theory sounds like the paranoid jealous ramblings of a kid on some “youre not my REAL dad” type shit. like Obviously the man who came in to take his fathers place MUST have killed him to steal his position and power. but viserys was like 24 at the time.

about viserys theory, i believe the unknown is the scariest thing of all. humans have a need to try and make sense of the unsensable. i think viserys theory about baelons death comes from that same place. viserys not understanding how his father could go from “a hale and healthy warrior and dragonrider at the peak of his ability” to so feverish and racked with pain that he cant even get out of bed and finally dying, all in the span of 5 days, is terrifying. he doesnt know what an appendix is, a ‘burst belly’ doesnt mean anything to him (just like his own illness, appendicitis would be both undiagnosable and untreatable in their time) . but poison? treachery? thats simple. thats understandable. he can point at someone and its *their fault* his father is dead.

this doesnt take away from anything ive said about viserys and otto before either. even with the belief that otto mightve killed his dad, what other father figure does he have? baelon is dead, aemon is dead, vaegon doesnt want anything to do with him. jaehaerys is so ill at this point hes calling viserys by the wrong name half the time. otto is the only one he has to cling too, to seek that parental affection and approval from. and after seeing how he takes care of jaehaerys during his final years, and prepares himself for being king, viserys starts to put his resentment on the back burner. otto is just a faithful and loyal servant, he has to be. jaehaerys trusted him after all. viserys was just blinded by grief.

when otto comes to viserys to report what rhaenyra is doing the first thing viserys does is almost engage in a strange game of chicken? like he refuses to accept ottos implications of what rhaenyra and daemon were doing, makes him "speak it, plainly" almost either *daring* him to say it or maybe giving him a chance to back down. and i think this is a part of his conflict aversion, if he can pretend its not real then it isnt. but otto doesnt back down, even when viserys tries to offer the out of "youve been lied too", either because he *is* trying to ruin rhaenyras reputation or because he believes viserys should know the truth. (theres that scene right before this were otto looks very upset. either debating whether or not he should tell viserys or trying to mentally prepare himself for what he knows will be a very difficult conversation? considering ottos conversation with his brother in ep 3, im leaning toward the latter, hes just been given a very real reason to discredit rhaenyra. aside- i would KILL for the rest of the hotd script to be released) its the confirmation that his daughter and brother have betrayed his love and confidence, and ottos refusal to let viserys remain delusional, to speak it into being almost, that upsets him so much. because now he *has* to accept that this is the truth, to deal with each of them, and the knowledge that Someone Else Knows. (both otto AND alicent now) and im wondering if the distinction between "your blood" and "mine own" isnt a freudian slip at this moment, both revealing that he does not view alicents and his children as 'his' and a resurfacing of those old paranoias about ottos ambitions with the new knowledge that otto has been spying on his daughter.

speaking of daemon actually, something interesting when viserys confronts him, he doesnt directly accuse him either. ("my daughter. wont you even deny it?") he tries to offer daemon an out too, for him to offer up some other explanation for what happened last night. but daemon is all too happy to take credit for taking his nieces virginity.

so when viserys finally confronts rhaenyra about it, he doesnt ask her what happened. just implies that he knows. where she challenges him that he hasnt asked her the truth of it, and he replies it doesnt matter what the truth is, only perception, HIS perception. it doesnt matter what really happened now, just what *he* believes is/isnt true. and both otto and daemon have forced him to accept that the truth is that rhaenyra slept with daemon. but he still doesnt directly accuse rhaenyra of this, because even though hes been forced to accept it, hes moved on to the 'covering it up' phase. if he can pretend it didnt happen, then it didnt. daemon is gone, rhaenyra will be married, it didnt happen and even if it did it wont happen again.

i think when rhaenyra calls otto a vulture it takes him aback a bit. cause how many times in those early days, when viserys believed otto was responsible for his fathers death, or at the very least jumped at the opportunity his death provided him, must viserys have thought of otto in the same way? i think he is feigning ignorance here, for two reasons. the first as a way to shift the blame, but not rhaenyras- his own. his own guilt of letting a man who he does not trust to become so close to him. to have allowed himself to become so reliant on someone who does not have his familys best interests at heart. the fact that otto is using him for his own gain, and viserys even suspected him of this and yet let it happen anyway. the second as a similar sort of game he was playing with otto, to see if rhaenyra will confirm his suspicions about otto. to make her 'speak it into being' so to speak. unlike otto however, rhaenyra does not hesitate to accuse him.

and thats why when viserys fires otto, he does not bring up rhaenyra, but instead the thing that originally made him suspicious of otto - his fathers death.

[tennessoui]

i would for one would be interested in the extreme angst of Alaska AU

cw: sort of visceral grieving (of parent over lost child); very angsty

. . .

. . .

ok so i can't find the actual snippets in my (unorganized and frightening) google docs or notes app (lol) but it was mostly like this (sort of from memory and written directly into this ask so idk how good this will read but i very much remember some parts of this snippet tbh i think this is like. the closest ive ever come to not writing fanfiction ):

Obi-Wan doesn't think he was insane before his daughter died.

He remembers having a sound mind and a stable countenance. He was a writer, a blogger, a poor chef--though a chef nonetheless.

(A chef of boxed macaroni and cheese and cinnamon sugar toast. A chef of dinosaur nuggets and microscopic sized vegetables snuck into casseroles. A chef with a singular purpose, a singular audience.)

He would never have called himself a man of science, but he was a man of rationality at the very least. He found reason in everything around him. He did not always understand science nor math, but respected them as fundamental laws of the universe.

When Rey died, it was the rational part of himself that first followed her into the grave.

Three months after they bought her coffin and two and three-fourths after they buried her, the weather turned unseasonably cold. Obi-Wan woke up in the middle of the night halfway to a panic attack. They had buried her in a summer dress.

Years later, when the pain of the loss was incrementally easier to bear, he would write:

You do not spend nine years of your life fretting over whether or not your child will be cold just to turn that instinct off the moment they are no longer susceptible to the elements. After my daughter died, I spent countless nights awake wondering if she was cold there beneath the ground. We had not thought to bury her in her red winter coat, and it haunted my dreams. She would be cold without it. Children have horrible control of their body temperature. You must bundle them up, and the idea that we hadn't when we buried her drove me to insanity.

The first time it rained after her funeral, I saw her yellow rain boots lined up by our front door as I was leaving. I sat on our front porch stoop and sobbed for what must have been hours, thinking only of the water that would eventually, inevitably seep through the wood cracks of the coffin and wet her toes. Before, when a sudden rainstorm blew in, as they were wont to do in our town, I would pick her up and put her on my shoulders should we be caught out of the house sans rain boots. She hated the feeling of wet socks and cold toes, so I spared her the sensation.

That I had forgotten about the rain when we gave a set of her clothes to the mortician was unforgivable. Sitting on the porch that day, I felt a weight on my shoulders, like she was still perched atop me, trusting me to carry her over all the more dangerous and distasteful parts of the sidewalk.

I hadn't, and so she was cold. Her toes were wet. She was shivering. A child needs to be bundled up. It is one of the first things a parent learns should they take a class on the parenting, and I took many. A child must be bundled up, or they become cold.

I could not shake the idea that she was cold in her casket. Logically, I knew that whatever constituted my daughter was long gone. Her soul, her spirit, her conscience--whichever. She was not what we buried. Rationally, I knew that. But logic and reason have no starring role to play in grief. Guilt and blame and hysteria take the stage.

I could not shake this last failure. I could not forgive myself for it; I could not forgive my wife. When the weather began to turn cold once more, I packed my things and moved to the coldest place I could find. As a parent, one knows this: if you cannot cure your child of their ailment, you will weather it with them however you can.