#once again i think you should read this book

[perdvivly]

Not waiting for chance or fate to dictate the terms of how annoying I’m allowed to be on the internet. I am choosing to answer them all now, unasked as I am.

1) This is mildly variable depending on the amount of effort I’m willing to expend. Typically the common theme is no adulterants. No sugar, no milk, no queen of England. If I’m getting fancy with it I’ll make an effort to time the brewing duration, 3mins for a black tea, 5mins for a green tea, 7mins for a herbal tea. But honestly the sort of depression chic I’ve been serving lately has been leaving the bag in and drinking it straight, tannins be damned.

2) Mandarin. Just seems like it’d be the most useful innit. Also, relatively harder to pick up non-magically given my native Englishhood.

3) God. I try not to honestly. No, but seriously, my sleep schedule has been all sorts of out of shape recently. I should work on that. At the moment it varies wildly day to day and depends on my responsibilities the days before and after the sleep. I’ve pulled a couple of all nighters recently and it gets screwy.

4) Maybe atla? I remember really liking it when it came out but not fully understanding the whole plot because I didn’t see it serialised until later. Maybe the simpsons? There’s something to say here about the earnestness of the earlier seasons and seeing a deeply dysfunctional family care about each other in ways they struggle to express—that gets glossed out as the production value rises in the later seasons—that’s like heroin to someone trapped in an irony poisoned world. But maybe that’s cope? Maybe it’s just the show I had the easiest access to as a kid. I guess I didn’t watch a whole bunch of tv or at least not a whole bunch that stuck with me.

5) Summer ez. (Have you seen her baphomet pics? 🥵)

6) In general, I doubt very much that either the optimist or the pessimist considers themselves such. It’s not really the sort of thing that admits of self-diagnosis in that way… Philosophically, the broader question is what? Do I align with Schopenhauer, Voltaire’s Leibniz, or Russel’s Leibniz? I’m not sure the tumblrinas care about the history of philosophy. I guess I’ll say to the extent that Schopenhauer relies on Indian mysticism, which I think is typically underrated, he’s simply mistaken about the world as will and representation. I’ll say that, I’m *not* a Buddhist. I think the doctrine of dukkha misses fundamental aspects of human existence. I’ll say that people have richer inner lives, deeper felt internal experiences, than you might assume from reading their little words on the internet. And that, on the whole, these are good things.

7) I mean, both ideally. Variety is the spice of life. If I had to choose I suppose it would be sunshine. But I’m terribly glad I don’t live in a world where I have to choose.

8) I have the cutest little book marks. My primary two at the moment are the sun and the moon, which I use for main text and end notes respectively. Though, I have been known to dog-ear in my time. I once got yelled at by my aunt for turning the corner of the page on my copy of Harry Potter and the order of the phoenix because it was a first edition and she was under the impression that it may be valuable some day. I was like, come on man, I’m 7. Don’t even piss. <- I didn’t say these things, but I was *like* that.

9) For the longest time I *only* wore steel toe capped boots because I ran myself over with an electric pallet stacker and tore my toenail off and decided I didn’t want that to happen again. I don’t do that anymore because I interact with heavy machinery less than I used to. Now all that matters to me is that they’re waterproof.

10) *My* signature scent like, I produce it? Or like I like it? I guess one of my favourite scents is lavender. But I've been told... Okay, it's important you guys know I do *not* have a yeast infection... I've been told some parts of my body naturally smell like bread, like, that sort of doughy yeasty (I s2g I do *not* (I did not hit her. I did not! oh hi mark)) smell that you get with bread sometimes. Is that what the question was asking?

11) I mean... That's broadly not for me to decide right? Unless the sort of dragons you're imagining have some sort of glamoury illusion magic, which seems plausible. Anyway, do you guys remember in Moby Dick when he goes on this wild tangent about how St. George and The Dragon was acutally about whales? And St. George's horse was actually a walrus or something. What was that about??

Okay, author's note, there's a time skip here. I've been scrolling through lists of dragons in popular culture for a while now and there are a pretty neat and widely varied selection of designs. I'll get back to you on this one.

12) It depends on why I'm writing! If it's a quick note to myself for future reference it'll generally be cursive, if it's an important document that will be read by other people generally it'll be print. If it's time-sensitive it'll be cursive. I remember writing essays for undergrad that I'm sure were totally illegible by the end of them, I think literally just a line on a page with occasional lifts and dips.

13) There is more information on wookieepedia than existed in my philosophy but a few minutes ago. The typology I've discerned is thus: blue - jock, green - nerd, yellow - geek, red - edgelord. And I'm a little bit of all of these, so I think any would be fine. Realistically though, I'm not sure a lightsaber is the best weapon in fantasy space-past-future where spaceships and lasers are common. Like, I'll let it slide because the original trilogy was doing a kirkegaardian faith thing and the prequels were doing a logic doesn't matter it's cool thing, and those are both respectable motivations to leave logistics aside for a bit.

14) Sad

15) Ice skates! I love ice skating!

16) I'm a youngest. I have an older sister, I think I talk about her here from time to time.

17) Well, how I would use it would depend massively on what it was. If the question is which superpower I think is the best then why not ask that? Which superpower would I have has a faint ring of incomprehensibility about it. It's really not clear which counterfactual is under consideration. *If* what?

Anyway, I think time control powers are up there right? Top five at least, easy. Imagine what you could do if you could stop time and sleep whenever you felt like it. I feel King Leerish about the ability to just be well rested. I would do such things, what they are yet I know not.

18) The problem with romantic relationships is that eventually, all of your most interesting clothing will end up in someone else's closet. I think my day-to-day wear tends to be mostly blues, blacks and whites. Not hugely interesting colourwise.

19) Snake, I think, they have fewer demands and I can't really handle any more pressure in my life than I already have. I would hate to be a bad bird mom... I would hate to be a bad snake mom too, but I think it's easier. Typically regarded as easier. I don't know.

20) Okay, so, it's like this right: medieval battle = will probably die. And it's also like this: behind city walls = safe, my friend and lover and confidant. And so, for very obvious reasons, it's gotta be a bow right? Like, I'm standing way out of the action and I'll shoot some arrows long range. But if that's against the spirit of the ask then it's gotta be some kind of polearm, like a halberd or something. Not even close. The advantage you get from distance is hard to overstate. Yeah, polearm for sure.

21) Mint choc chip, it's just such a classic. But also, I had a "london fog" flavour recently that was really compelling. It's just earl grey and vanilla but it's so good.

22) I'm more of a herbs person than a spices person. Like, hmm, I do really enjoy paprika and ginger and stuff like that, don't get me wrong. But it doesn't really hold a candle to the sheer universality of parsley or basil or oregano or mint. Herbs stay winning.

23) These days it's aptos because I am the worlds most basic bitch. And yes, I do still have a fondness for arial.

ask game that tells a lot about you.

how do you take your tea / coffee?

if you could be fluent in any language at the snap of your fingers, which one and why?

when do you wake up?

what was your favourite tv show as a kid?

summer or winter?

realist, optimist, or pessimist?

rain or sunshine?

how do you mark your spot in a book?

what are your favourite shoes like?

what would your non-perfume/cologne signature scent be?

if you were a dragon, what would you look like?

is your handwriting more print, cursive, or a mix?

what colour would your lightsaber be?

what is your defining personality trait?

roller skates or rollerblades or ice skates?

are you an only child? oldest / middle / youngest?

what would your superpower be? how would you use it?

what’s your clothing colour palette?

pet snake or pet bird?

weapon of choice in a medieval battle

the best ice cream flavour

what spices do you always use when cooking?

default font when typing?

[zara-renata]

Would you love me if I were a worm?

Sylus x gn reader | A stupid, short drabble that got stuck in my head while peeling potatoes yesterday, no warnings

“Sylus, would you love me if I were a worm?”

Sylus doesn’t even look up from the book he’s reading, sprawled on one of the leather couches in his library, the full red moon spilling through the windows and blanketing him in a softly sinister light. “Yes.”

You lift your head and scowl at him from your position stretched out along his long body, hands folded under your chin, resting on his firm stomach.

“You’re not taking the question seriously.”

He lifts a dark silver eyebrow, eyes still not lifting from his book, the gold-rimmed reading glasses he’s wearing glinting in the warm light from the Tiffany lamp next to the couch. “And how did you arrive at that conclusion?”

“If you had actually properly considered it, you would have taken a little more time to answer.”

He finally deigns to look at you over the rims of his glasses. “I gave it the exact amount of attention that such a question deserves.”

“Why doesn’t it deserve more attention? I want to know your answer.”

“And I gave you my answer.” He returns to his book. It’s some pretentious title, about the sociology of ingroups and outgroups, the banality of evil.

“How can I take your answer seriously if you don’t think about it properly?”

He sighs. Looks over his glasses at you again. “You’ve been spending too much time with the twins.”

You sit up, leaning against the armrest of the couch opposite of Sylus. He frowns as you move away. “I don’t think I spend enough time with them, actually. They’re hilarious.”

His frown deepens. “I’m hilarious.”

“No, you’re a pretentious edgelord who won’t properly consider my question.”

“You speak so sweetly to the twins. Where’s that honey when you speak to me?”

“Honeypot’s empty until you tell me why you’d love me if I were a worm.” You prod his thigh with your bare foot.

He sighs again, sets the book on the side table. He takes your foot in his hands and begins to rub it, thumbs gently pressing into your arch. You suppress a moan.

“I’d love you if you were a worm because even as a worm, you are still you. I’d love you in any universe, in any world, in any timeline, in any form.”

You stare at him for a moment. “Now I feel bad about being mean to you.”

“As you should,” he gloats. “How will you make it up to me?”

“No, no. I’m not done.” He continues to caress your foot, one hand drifting up to your ankle, circling it between his thumb and forefinger. “You may love me as a worm, but what would you do with me? And would you seek out company in other people, since I couldn’t provide it to you as a little wiggly worm?”

“I would construct the most extravagant terrarium with all of the most luxurious provisions that a little worm’s heart could desire.” He pauses. “I’d also have to construct some sort of grate to protect you from Mephisto.”

You shudder, thinking about what it would be like to be a worm facing down Mephisto’s ruby stare. “I’d probably just be happy in some dirt,” you say, giving him your other foot. He takes the hint and begins to rub it too.

“Tch. My worm deserves only the finest in compost and enrichment activities in their terrarium. I wouldn’t be happy with just giving you some dirt.”

“Of course, and we must keep his royal snobness happy.”

“See? This is why I love you,” he smiles, just a little. “Even though your tongue is so sharp with me.”

“You’re avoiding the question about seeking other company,” you say, sinking lower into the couch as you enjoy the foot massage.

“What’s the point in answering what is clearly a trick question? You will not be turned into a worm. This whole discussion is a waste of time we could spend doing more interesting things.” He gives you an exaggeratedly lascivious once-over.

“I could be turned into a worm! Modified protocores have resulted in weirder shit happening!”

Sylus sighs yet again in resignation.

“I would miss your human company terribly, but there’s no replacing you,” he says smoothly.

You scowl at him again. “That doesn’t answer the question.”

“Darling, I was fine with my own company until you came into my life. I was fine with my own hand until you came into my life. I’d miss your company, and your sharp tongue, and your blow—”

You jerk one of your feet out of his hands and prod him in his stupid sexy abs. “Okay, okay. I get it.”

“I don’t think you do,” he says, sliding out from under you, dropping to his knees on the plush rug in front of you. He lifts one of your legs over his broad shoulder. “I think a demonstration is in order, of all the things I’ll miss that are irreplaceable, should the unthinkable happen and your lovely human form is reduced to that of a worm. I’ll start.” He lifts your other leg over his shoulder and looks up at you smugly.

You look down at him, heart so full with how much you love him that it hurts. “Promise you’re not lying?”

“When have I ever lied to you, beloved?”

You tilt your head. You think he really would love you if you were a worm.

“I’d love you if you were a worm too, Sy.”

“Oh good, I can stop losing sleep at night,” he says, voice dripping sarcasm. You punish him by tightening your thighs, squishing his handsome face between your knees.

He laughs a little breathlessly. “If you’re trying to encourage me, it’s working, kitten.”

You laugh and release him. “Deviant,” you say affectionately.

“Your deviant,” he says, leaning forward, big palms gliding up your thighs. “Whether you’re a human or a worm, that won’t change.”

[weemietime]

https://www.tumblr.com/weemietime/767670429687152640?source=share

I suppose it was easy for me to fall into the Hamasnik trap due to my habit of black and white thinking, which I wish I could blame on my autism, my ocd, or my horrible mental state, but I’m just incredibly stupid lol. But yeah, I was very much a hamasnik myself.

For some reason my mind refused to accept or recognise the nuance of a history that I wasn't even well versed on in the first place. I also think that the constant reductionism presented to me played a part. There’s a lot of reductionism that goes on within the Hamasnik circles, and it goes hand in hand with anti intellectualism. Statements like “this isn’t complex! How can you see these videos of these Palestinian children (videos that I later found out were actually from Syria, but I couldn’t tell, I just ate it up) and think that Israel/Palestine is complex!”

The whole thing of blocking everyone who has a different opinion or ideology (the ideology in question being Zionism, or at least what hamasniks consider to be Zionism) from you and refusing to follow certain news channels because they’ve shown sympathy for those who have a different ideology from you, refusing to read certain books from authors who have expressed empathy for those same people, all of this together effectively creates an echo chamber of the same opinions and views being regurgitated over and over and over again constantly.

Then sprinkle in constant videos of people dying and blood everywhere, videos that you don’t even know where the people are from, whether they be from Gaza, from Syria, Lebanon, or Yemen, but it doesn’t matter because they speak Arabic so it MUST be about the Gazans specifically according to the Hamasnik group you’re apart of, all of these videos you’re being told to constantly watch over and over again because according to the Hamasnik cult you’re in, “if you look away from the violence even ONCE, you’re complicit in genocide! You’re personally responsible for genocide if you look away! The people in Gaza never get a mental health break or comfort so why should you?”

That very same rhetoric is the reason why a lot of you Jewish people can’t find yourself able to escape on fandom spaces and shit like that, the antisemitism you encounter in spaces you thought you were safe in? Yeah it’s because these people are being told that they have to constantly talk about what’s going on in every single space they’re in and that they can’t look away because if they do, they’re considered complicit in the killing of Gazans so they have to let everyone else know the same.

There are a lot of people who are purposefully antisemitic, don’t get me wrong, this isn’t me excusing anyone. I’m just saying that a number of these people genuinely believe that they’re doing something for the greater good by constantly being antisemitic. They don’t consider themselves antisemitic because the echo chamber they’re in has convinced them that Jewish people aren’t experiencing anything, that Jewish people are fine. That it’s the “big bad” that they’re hurting, not the Jews. It’s the “big and scary Zionists!” At least that’s what happened in my case. Constantly told that if I took a break even once, the blood of the Gazans, the blood of every. single. person in Gaza, would be on my own two hands.

You might not believe me, but when you’ve trapped a person in an echo chamber like that, it’s very easy to convince them that an entire country is evil, that every single Israeli is wicked and corrupt and should die and that anyone who expresses an ounce of empathy for them is a “Zionist” and should die as well.

You could’ve told me anything a few months ago. Absolutely anything bad about Israelis and I would’ve believed you. Because I’d scroll social media and see videos of children dying, people being beaten, buildings being destroyed, everything. Then I’d scroll some more and see videos of Israelis doing everyday things, videos of people having fun, videos of people eating, etc, and I found it so unfair that they (according to hamasnik rhetoric) were living in absolute peace while Palestinians are dying right next to them. Then I’d scroll some more and see videos of the IDF (I actually don’t even know if the videos were even of the IDF or not, but as I said, you could’ve told me anything and I’d have believed you. I genuinely believed that it was the IDF) shooting people, beating people, etc. And I was told to look at these videos everyday, every hour, every minute, every second. A lot of the Hamasnik mouthpieces take advantage of the average westerner’s inability to understand Arabic or Hebrew, so there’s a lot of mistranslated videos of Israelis saying they want every Arab dead, a lot of mistranslated Al Jazeera videos of people in Amsterdam for example, saying “يهودي قذر" (dirty Jew) with the wrong captions on and then us non Arabic speaking cult trapped people are none the wiser to what that means because we refuse to engage with any sources that won’t fit our narrative, because we’re complicit in death if we step outside the narrative.

I don’t believe that Zionists should die, but I did. I don’t believe that the hostages should suffer, but I did. I truly believed the worst of things, and perpetuated horrible antisemitism, because I genuinely believed that I was doing good. I found myself justifying unspeakable acts, and saying unspeakable things, things that I would have whole heartedly condemned prior, because I genuinely thought I was doing something right. For example, prior to me falling into that cultish trap, I would’ve wholeheartedly condemned saying a slur coined by David fucking Duke. But after? As I said, I was doing and saying unspeakable things.

I would watch videos from Hamasniks everyday, perpetuate antisemitism everyday, go to sleep and dream about that stuff, and wake up and do it all again, first thing in the morning. A vicious cycle.

And unknowingly somewhere else around the world, some Jewish or Israeli person would wake up, witness antisemitism everyday, witness people wishing the worst upon the hostages, the Jews, the Israelis, the Zionists, everyday, go to sleep terrified for what’s happening to their people, and wake up and see it all again first thing in the morning. Another vicious cycle.

I wish I had a better answer for you, I do. An answer that’s more digestible and less disturbing. I wish I could undo everything that I’ve said and done to the people I’ve hurt whether that be in real life or online. I truly am sorry, and I wish that an apology would fix everything, but it won’t. I wish that all the pain I inflicted on all the Jewish people and Israeli people could be taken away and that I would feel that pain tenfold.

If it’s any consolation or solace, I hate myself more than any of you combined. There is nobody who hates me more than me at this current moment in time and I absolutely do deserve every ounce of pain inflicted upon me, whether it be mental or physical. If you wish death upon me, just know that I do agree with you, but unfortunately previous attempts have failed.

I deleted all of my old posts from that period of time to avoid people getting hurt by them anymore, but I think I’ve done too much damage for me to be a good ally, so I just say nothing now, but I truly do wish the best for all of you and I wish that all of this would stop and that the hostages will be found, hopefully alive.

My apologies for writing a whole Bible in your asks, I truly didn’t mean to.

TLDR - reductionism and anti-intellectualism combined with trapping yourself in an echo chamber of regurgitated rhetoric and constantly regurgitating said rhetoric is a quick way to find yourself dabbling in extremism.

To avoid falling into a trap such as this, avoid generalisations of races, ethnic groups, and the like, look for nuance, try hear people out even when you don’t understand them, instead of blocking them (this is in reference to me blocking every single person who opposed my hamasnik ideology at the time. You should probably block hamasniks, they tend to harass Jewish people a lot), and remember that if someone tells you that a whole war isn’t complex, they’re lying. It absolutely is.

I hope you've been able to see the other responses your other ask has gotten as well! Truly, you aren't someone who I hate. Personally, I do forgive you. Other people may not, and that's their right. But I know first-hand what it's like to be radicalized and to not only commit to extreme rhetoric but also extreme actions. I've learned to have compassion for myself, and I hope that with time you will undergo a similar process.

Someone else said it, "you can't hate yourself into being a better person." All of us, as beings, grow with love and kindness. War is hard it's horrific, and hellish. You're constantly exposed to this violent imagery, this extreme rhetoric, and your whole friend groups are getting in on it. I understand exactly how it happens, and I do have sympathy for it.

To me, the most important part of your story isn't the worst shit you've ever done. It's this part. The part where you learn how to be better, and so you do better, and reach out across the divides and bridge those gaps that have formed. That is a very human story.

[maddiethedogstories]

The Glasses - The Dark Side

Author's Note: I'm trying something a little bit different with this story. I'm calling it a mirror story. I am going to write a story with the same basic prompt and ideas in two different ways. One wholesome and one dark. This is the wholesome story. I hope you all enjoy it! Read the wholesome version here.

Greg fancied himself an intellectual. He had a PhD, was the top of his field, and respected by all of his colleagues. He spent all of his free time reading books and papers, absorbing knowledge like a sponge.

Or at least he did, until he met Daddy.

Daddy was everything Greg desired. Daddy was tall, strong, assertive, and brilliant. Greg found himself immediately under the other man's spell.

The first day Daddy brought Greg home, Daddy sat Greg on the couch and pulled the glasses off of Greg's face.

"That's much better," Daddy growled confidently as he watched Greg's panic set in.

Greg, in contrast, found all of his self-confidence leave him as his corrective lenses were removed. Without his glasses, all Greg could see was a soft blur where Daddy's face should be. Greg was almost completely blind. He had never felt so vulnerable in his life, and he hated it.

"Um, could I please have my glasses back?" Greg asked timidly, butterflies fluttering in his stomach from the fear of being left without his glasses for any expanse of time, "I can't see anything without them."

Daddy laughed in response.

"Oh, my pet, you only get to see when Daddy says so."

Horrified, Greg dives for where he thought his glasses were, only to find himself perfectly draped over Daddy's lap.

"Oh, Greggy, you need to learn whose in charge!" Daddy said before Greg felt his pants pulled down to his knees and blows begin to rain down on his bottom.

Daddy never returned Greg's glasses that night, and, despite his horror at being effectively blind, all Greg made no attempt to get them back. With a sore bottom, Greg didn't dare cross Daddy again, especially once he realized that he was entirely reliant on the dominant man to care for him.

Over the course of the night, Greg struggled to care for himself. He sat frustrated through the whole movie, unable to tell what was going on.

He stumbled through Daddy's unfamiliar apartment, unable to tell where he was going. He made a mess of himself eating dinner, unable to see the food he attempted to shovel into his mouth or the utensil he was using to feed himself. And worst of all, Greg eventually ended up wetting himself when he couldn't find the restroom in time to relieve himself.

The whole time, Daddy looked on and teased him.

"Careful, big boy! If you're having this much trouble walking, maybe you should crawl?"

"What a messy boy! Looks like a certain someone could use a big!"

"Oh no! Did the big, smarty-pants professor go potty in his pants?"

Over the course of the night, Greg felt more embarrassed and humiliated than he had ever felt before. By removing just one of his possessions, Daddy has functionally reduced him to a small child.

When they parted that night, Daddy gave Greg his glasses back before showing Greg some pictures and videos on his phone. Greg, able to see again, looked on in horror at images of himself covered in food like a toddler, crawling on the floor after tripping, and, worst of all, wetting his pants.

"What do you think all of those smart colleagues you have would think of you if these ever hit the internet?" Daddy asked like a spider who knew it's pretty was now stuck in its web.

"Please, no…" was all Greg could say in response.

After some 'negotiation,' Greg was able to convince Daddy to keep the images private in exchange for Greg's future cooperation.

As Greg left Daddy's house that night, he felt a strange since of dread set in at the prospect of what the beautiful man had in store for him next. He couldn't imagine giving in and losing his personal autonomy like that again.

Pursuant to their deal, Greg kept seeing Daddy after that night. Their dates took on a common form. At the start of each one, Daddy would remove Greg's glasses and take control over the other man. In turn, Greg would find himself fully submitting to Daddy and all of the humiliations he had devised for him. The few times Greg balked at his treatment, a quick trip over Daddy's lap, a reminder of the photos in Daddy's possession, and a threat to set Greg free without his glasses was all that was needed to remind the submissive man of his place in their relationship.

Over time, Greg--the PhD, the intellectual, and the brain--found Daddy taking more and more autonomy from him each time they met. It was painful for Greg, a struggle and hit to his ego each time he lost a part of himself. However, with Daddy's power over him he could do nothing to stop each relinquishment of freedom.

Over time, Daddy started picking the food Greg ate. He found his mature diet replaced with bland Cheerios, dino nuggets, and other foods designed for the picky palates of toddlers. When he complained, Daddy just pointed out it was easier to eat those foods with his fingers, since he couldn't see well enough to use utensils without his glasses.

He began drinking all of his drinks, which had predominantly become milk, out of baby bottles. Daddy told Greg it was to keep him from spilling given his lack of depth perception, but Greg could help but fill like an infant everytime the rubber teat was pressed between his lips.

Having his pants and underwear removed and replaced with pull-ups and, eventually, diapers each time he entered Daddy's apartment was similarly mortifying. Daddy made sure to emphasize the importance of the extra protection each time he dressed Greg in the infantile garments, given Greg's proven inability to make it to the toilet on time (something made worse each time Daddy changed him out of his soggy padding after Greg repeatedly failed to locate the bathroom in Daddy's home).

Daddy also stopped letting Greg pick out his own clothes. Daddy pointed out that the artificially blind man couldn't see them, and Daddy was the one who had to worry about getting Greg's clothes off to change him anyway, so giving Greg the freedom to dress himself just didn't make sense.

However, no matter how much control Daddy took from Greg, at the end of every 'date,' be it for a few hours or a weekend, Daddy would hand Greg his glasses back, returning Greg to the adult world of academia and filling Greg with a sense of hope that maybe, this would be the last time Daddy would call him over to play.

That pattern continued until one day, Daddy finally made the declaration that Greg had been dreading to hear for months.

"Baby boy, I think it's time you moved in with Daddy full time."

Greg started to cry in his place on the floor where he sat on a soft blanket dressed in only a diaper and onesie while failing to stack wooden blocks due to his poor vision.

Greg immediately crawled (walking haven been forbidden after a particularly nasty trip) over to the Daddy shaped blur sitting on the couch and stared up at him with pleading eyes.

"Please no, Daddy? Please! I hate it here! I hate being your stupid little baby!"

Daddy beant down, wrapped his large hand around Greg's cheek and chin before shoving a pacifier between Greg's lips.

"Hush, pet," Daddy growled softly, his face menacingly close to Greg's, "I've made it very clear who is in charge in this relationship. It seems like you need a reminder."

Daddy then harshly pulled Greg over his lap before proceeding to deliver the worst spanking Greg had ever experienced. At the end of it, the apartment was filled with nothing but the sound of Greg's soft sobs and the crinkling of his diaper, as he thought about the ramifications of daring to question Daddy's judgment.

The next few months passed in a blur. After moving into Daddy's house, Greg found himself wearing his glasses less and less.

Deprived of his ability to see, Greg spent more time forced to participate in infantile activities like playing with blocks or trucks or futilely trying to color in a coloring book instead of reviewing the latest literature in his field like he used to.

Greg's coworkers started to notice how the once brilliant, workaholic man's performance had dropped off. Greg was pulled into his boss' office and lectured on his need to improve, but, Greg, who once prided himself on his career success and independence, found himself unable to improve his performance at work given Daddy's humiliating restrictions at home.

After six-months of living together, Greg's boss had had enough and fired his once best employee.

Sitting in Daddy's lap in nothing but a soggy diaper, Greg cried as he told his tormentor about his lose of a job.

"Daddy," he began softly, hesitant for fear of judgment at what was coming next.

"Yes, pet?" Daddy asked Greg, his ever predatory tone dripping from his every word.

"I was, was, was fired today," Greg chokes out between sobs.

Daddy smiled, although Greg couldn't see it. He rubbed Greg's back possessively.

"Oh, did someone's boss finally realize what a soggy little pants wetter he really is? I can't say I'm surprised, but I am ~very~ excited for what that means. You can finally be my diapered little pet full time!" Daddy said triumphantly.

Greg's sobs redoubled at his sudden understanding of the truth in Daddy's words. He tucked his thumb in his mouth, a soothing habit Daddy had long ago trained in him, and continued to cry in his tormentors arms.

Daddy brushed Greg's hair with his fingers, relishing this moment of absolute victory.

"Daddy is so excited for you to be my soggy little pet forever."

Daddy laughed a little as Greg continued to cry before grabbing a small object that Greg couldn't quite make out off the table.

"I guess you won't be needing these anymore. Maybe we should get them mounted for posterity?"

Greg frowned.

"What, Daddy?"

Daddy responded with a guffaw.

"Your glasses!"

Greg felt his heart drop in sudden realization. Daddy was right. As Daddy's permanent pet, he would probably never wear be allowed to wear glasses again. His world was now fated to forever be a blur.

[moonlight0934]

Jason shoots the man in front of him, once, then twice, and then a third time. The image of this man standing over his baby brother is seared into his head, and he can barely push back the green tinting his vision. The only thing that pulls him back from the edge is Dick’s voice. It sounds muffled and far away, but he can make out Damian’s name. Jason turns around, his hearing starting to come back. Dick is hunched over Damian’s body, his hands pressed against Damian’s chest. It takes Jason a few seconds to realize what’s happening, but he feels his legs almost go out from underneath him when he does. 

Four Hours Earlier

Jason kicks his feet up on the coffee table, leaning back in his chair. It’d been a long day, and he was working early instead of his normal six to three night shift. He finished all of his work and got home by seven. So, he turns on the TV as background noise, and picks up a book. He quietly reads for a few minutes before his phone starts ringing. He glances at it, and sees Dick’s caller ID on the screen. So, he silences the ringing, and puts it back down. It only takes a few minutes for it to start ringing again, and Jason puts his head back. 

“I can’t get one night where they leave me alone?” he mutters as though the last time he talked to one of them wasn’t two weeks ago. Also, it was Damian, who busted in on one of his drug deals while actively fighting a rival gang. “What do you want?” Jason asks, sounding annoyed. 

“Damian is missing. I need your help.” 

“Where’d the brat run off to this time? Have you checked the Kent’s?” 

“Yes, he didn’t run off. He was kidnapped, and I’m sure of it.” 

“Ok, why can’t Bruce just track him down?” 

“Because Bruce isn’t here.” 

“Then call him. Where could he possibly be that’s more important than tracking down his son?” 

“He’s in the hospital. Can you please just stop arguing, and help me look for him?” 

Jason freezes, his throat getting tight. “Why is he in the hospital?” His voice comes out tighter than he means for it to. 

Dick’s tone softens as he answers, “He’s fine. Apparently he and Tim were out walking earlier when someone started shooting everyone in the area. They think that it was a random shooting, but Tim got hit. That was actually why it took us a while to realize that Damian wasn’t home after school. Some of the teachers saw him before class, but he wasn’t there when class actually started. His bag was still at school too. I need your help to find him. I haven’t told Bruce, because Tim needs someone there in case something happens.” 

“In case something happens? Like a medical proxy?” 

Dick sighs. “Yes. It’s not looking good right now, but he’ll pull through. He was shot in the chest, and he’s in the ICU. They think he’ll be fine, and that he’ll be moved soon.” 

“Ok, I’ll help. I still think we should tell Bruce though. I know he’ll want to come running, but we can’t lie to him about his youngest child being missing .”

“I know, I know. I just wanted backup, so I could convince him not to leave the hospital.” 

“Fine, where should I meet you?” 

“I’m almost at your safe house right now.” 

Dick hangs up before Jason can respond, and he grips his phone almost hard enough to break it. He grabs his guns, and heads outside to meet Dick. They end up searching for hours without finding any leads before Dick’s phone starts buzzing. 

“What’s that?” Jason asks, peeking over Dick’s shoulder. 

“It’s a distress signal. I think it’s Damian’s. We have to get to this location. It’s an abandoned amusement park on the edge of town. That’s really weird. I don’t know why anyone would take him there, but we have to check it out. Keep your eyes peeled.” 

Jason nods, forcing himself not to roll his eyes. They head to the amusement park. Even as they’re hopping the fence surrounding the property, they can hear laughing that breaks the silence. Jason frowns, reaching out to touch Dick’s arm. Dick barely glances at him before following the noise. Jason follows a little more cautiously. 

That is until he sees the scene that’s causing the laughter. One man off to the side is telling the others to stop, but no one is listening. Two men are standing in front of a small body while a third one is standing over him with his foot planted on Damian’s chest. Jason’s chest constricts as Dick races over. He kicks one of the first two men in the head, and everyone backs up. 

Jason starts shooting before any of them can do anything. Two go down immediately, and he shoots the last one in the arm. The one Dick kicked was knocked out cold on impact. The two men Jason shot are already dead by then, but he saved the rest of his bullets for the man that thought he could put his foot on Jason’s brother. He shoots him over and over again, unable to even stop. 

Then he sees Dick doing chest compressions on Damian as he sobs, and begs unintelligibly. Jason’s hand goes for his phone immediately. He calls Barbara as he crashes to his knees beside Damian’s head. He’s covered in blood, and his fingers are broken. They’re bent completely out of shape, though his chest doesn’t seem to be in much better shape. It almost looks caved in, not that the CPR is helping with that. 

“Jason, I’m surprised to hear from you.” 

“We need an extraction, and medical help right now.” 

“In costume, or out?” 

“Out, it can be an ambulance. Just call someone.” 

“Who is it?” Barbara asks, his voice all business. 

“Damian. He’s-” Jason has to pause for a second before continuing. “He’s not breathing. We need an extraction right now.” 

Dick motions towards Damian, and pauses his compressions. He still hasn’t said anything coherent, but Jason understands. He takes over rescue breaths while Dick continues with compressions. Barbara keeps asking questions, but he can’t tell what they are. He drops his phone back onto the ground, and doesn’t give it another thought. He keeps his eyes on his brother even as sirens start wailing in the background. 

How are they already here? It hasn’t been that long, has it? 

He breathes for Damian again before pressing his fingers into Damian’s neck. Dick is looking at him with so much hope in his eyes, but Jason just shakes his head. Paramedics run up, and Jason has to pull Dick away from Damian’s still body. Dick goes completely limp, and Jason pulls him in for a hug. He watches over Dick’s shoulder as they continue trying to reestablish a heartbeat. He keeps Dick tucked against his chest. The air stays trapped in his lungs until he hears them start to load him up. He’s not close enough anymore to hear the EEG over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. The lights are still on when they drive away though, and that’s the only reason Jason even knows that they succeeded. 

“He’s alive,” he whispers, but it’s enough for Dick to hear. 

“He is?” 

Gordon runs over to them. They’re both still collapsed on the ground, Jason’s arms loosely wrapped around Dick. Dick is crying again, but relieved this time. 

“What happened?” Gordon asks, kneeling down beside them. 

Jason lets his hands drop to the dirt on either side of himself. “Damian was kidnapped earlier. He was actively being assaulted when we got here. Someone was practically standing on him,” Jason says, his eyes distant. 

“Is he alright?” 

“No, but maybe he will be. Can you call the old man? Tell him what happened and that Damian is heading his way?” 

Gordon nods, and stands up. He’s still watching Dick, but he calls Bruce. Jason eventually forces Dick to his feet, and drags him to his car. They both get changed, and then head to the hospital. Bruce is waiting for them in the lobby. 

“Hey, what’s the news? On either one of them,” Jason adds. 

“Tim is stable, and in a normal room now. Damian is in surgery now. I don’t know anything else.” 

Dick sniffles, and Bruce wraps his arms around Dick. “Shhh, I’m here. You’ll be alright. We’ll figure everything out. Thank you for helping, Jason.” 

Jason nods. “Yeah, it’s no problem.” 

They end up sitting together for hours waiting to hear about Damian. They don’t talk, all three of them still unsure of what to say. Eventually a doctor comes out, and makes a beeline for Bruce. 

“Mr. Wayne, I’m here to talk to you about your son.” 

Bruce stands up. “We can speak over there. I’ll be right back.” 

Jason puts a hand on Dick’s arm, offering silent support. Dick leans into the touch, both of their eyes still trained on their dad. Bruce talks to the doctor for at least fifteen minutes before walking back over. 

“He’s out of surgery. He has eight broken ribs, four broken fingers, a broken cheekbone, and a fractured collarbone. They’re pretty confident that he’s going to survive though.” 

Jason feels Dick deflate next to him. “Can we see him?” 

Bruce nods, looking twenty years older than he did the last time Jason saw him before tonight. 

“Can you point me to Tim’s room?” Jason asks, standing up. 

Bruce nods again, and gives him directions to Tim’s room along with the room number. 

“I’m heading that way. Let me know if anything changes.” 

He walks to the elevator, and makes his way to Tim’s room. Tim, surprisingly, is awake. 

“Hey, Jason,” he says, sounding sleepy. 

“Hey, buddy. How are you feeling?” 

“Fine, I’m surprised you’re here. I figured you’d be with Damian.” 

“How did you hear about that?” Jason asks, sitting down next to him. 

“I have my ways.” 

“You’re hurt pretty bad. What happened?” 

“Bruce and I got shot at. I don’t really remember anything other than that. How is he?” 

“He’ll live.” 

“That’s not a good answer.” 

“Not really, but that's all I have to say right now. You should get some more rest.” 

“You should get some rest too. You look like shit.” 

“Wow, thanks, Tim,” Jason says sarcastically. 

He leans back in his chair, closing his eyes. Tim laughs softly though it sounds painful. 

“Get some sleep,” Jason whispers. 

Tim hums, and Jason allows himself to drift off. Tim is still asleep when Jason wakes up again. His phone is buzzing, and he looks down to see a text from Dick. 

Damian is awake. You should come see him. He’s completely out of it, but I think he’s going to be alright. 

Jason blinks, then looks at the clock. 

“I was asleep for seven hours?” he whispers. 

He glances back at Tim one more time, then heads back to Damian’s room. Damian is awake, but his eyes are glassed over. Dick has a gentle hand on Damian’s leg. Damian turns his attention to Jason as he walks in. 

“Akhi, you’re here. Baba said you were, but I wasn’t sure,” Damian says, his accent coming through more than it normally does. 

Jason blinks, entirely unsure of how to respond. He’s never heard Damian talk like that, especially not to him. “Yeah, I’m here.” He grabs Damian’s small hand in his own. “How you feeling?” 

Damian pauses, thinking about it. “High. I don’t really feel anything else.” 

Jason snickers. “Yeah, that makes sense. You’re probably on a lot of meds.” 

“I don’t think I like it. Can you tell them to stop drugging me?” 

“No, I can’t. We have appearances to keep up, remember?” 

Damian shakes his head. “No, I don’t. You’ll have to keep mine up for me.” 

Jason bites his lip, a smile still sneaking its way onto his face. “I can do that.” 

“May I get some more sleep?” 

“Of course you can.” 

Damian hums, and lets his eyes fall closed again. 

“He’s so cute isn’t he?” Dick coos, his face soft. His voice still holds a tinge of the grief from earlier, but he looks and sounds better. So does Bruce, who is still standing in the corner. 

“I’m going to see Tim,” Bruce says, giving all of them a smile. 

Jason nods before turning back to Damian. 

“I’m so glad that they’re both going to be ok,” Dick says. “Thank you for coming. I don’t think I could have saved him today without you.” 

Jason brushes his thumb over Damian’s knuckles. “Yeah, well, I don’t want the brats dead. We already knew you were useless anyway.” 

Dick smiles, and punches Jason’s shoulder. Jason smirks, but keeps his eyes on Damian.

Trust Issues

Damian watches through half open eyes as his family eats breakfast around him. He keeps his guard up, a feeling of anxiety and immanent threat choking him. He hasn’t slept in days, the smallest noise snapping him back to full awareness. Bruce looks over at him, narrowing his eyes.

“Why aren’t you eating, Damian?”

“I am,” Damian immediately lies.

Bruce looks confused at that, because of how obviously not true it is. Damian puts a singular piece of strawberry from his fruit salad into his mouth. Then he stands up, slipping out of his chair.

“Come on, Damian. We’re doing so good this morning. Tim is even eating.”

“Father, Tim agreed because he’s still asleep. He was eating, then he fell asleep with his bite of eggs half out of his mouth.”

Bruce turns to Tim, who is in fact asleep with his spoon only half in his mouth.

“Tim, dear, you’re going to choke,” Bruce says, taking the spoon out of his mouth.

Tim startles, pulling back.

“What? I didn’t do anything.”

“I didn’t think you did.”

Damian slips out of the room while Bruce is reoccupied with Tim. He heads up to his room to get dressed for school, though that’s the last thing he wants to do right now. He sighs as he walks into his room to grab his uniform. It’s only a few minutes before he’s coming back down the stairs, and heading for the door. Damian can hear Bruce trying to get Tim to fully wake up so he doesn’t fall face first into his eggs.

Damian walks out without letting anyone know that he’s leaving since someone will insist on driving him to school. The walk is quiet, though that’s only because it’s so early that no one with good intentions is out right now. Most kids aren’t allowed to walk, that’s why Damian usually isn’t either. It’s not that they don’t know he can take care of himself, but they have appearances to keep up. They have to look like they’re prissy rich kids, though Damian hates how he has to act every time he leaves the house without being in costume.

A few of the small time muggers eye him as he’s walking past, but his glare is enough to put them off till he gets past them. It’s still quiet as the light manages to get past the clouds, lightening the sky. Damian keeps his hands in his pockets.

The school is empty too since he’s early. The teachers are the only ones there, and they all seem surprised to see him as they pass him in the halls. He heads straight to the cafeteria to wait on everyone else to show up. It’s quiet, so he pulls out his drawing pad and colored pencils.

A feeling of apprehension creeps up on him even though he’s alone, almost as if something is going to jump out of the shadows. After a few minutes, Damian jumps to his feet. He looks around wildly, but doesn’t see anything. He darts out of the exit attached to the cafeteria, leaving his bag, and not even sure where he’s going.

His vision starts going in and out, his hearing cutting out completely. He redirects himself to head back home, but doesn’t even get a few feet before passing out. When he wakes up, he can’t recognize where he is. It looks like a booth of some sort. People are talking right outside.

“Man, it sure took a long time for that toxin to kick in. We had to follow him for almost eight days,” one complains.

“He was in his house for a lot of that time, shut up,” another replies, sounding annoyed.

“Still, you’d think it wouldn’t be that useless. That’s a long time.”

Damian blinks, looking down. He’s zip tied to a chair, rope wrapped around his wrists and fingers on top of the zip ties.

Someone kidnapped me? They gassed me with some sort of toxin? That must be why I was feeling the way that I was.

He pulls one hand out of the ropes with a smug grin.

Now, time to get out of here discreetly so as not to ruin my secret identity. I need to call in backup.

He pulls the other one out, then begins taking the zip ties off of his wrists.

As long as I don’t get caught, I should have no issue with this. Even if they think I escaped somehow, I could still come back in costume with my family. However, there’s only one door.

Damian walks over to the door, feeling much heavier than he normally does. He cracks the door open soundlessly. It’s dark outside, but it’s not hard for him to tell that they’re in an abandoned amusement park. The Ferris Wheel is looming over the buildings, stalls, and shut down attractions.

The guards are less than a foot away from the door, still distracted with their conversation. Damian slips out of the doorway, making a beeline for the next attraction. He makes it there without incident, giving him time to look for his emergency beacon. Luckily it’s there, still tucked into the heel of his shoe.

He clicks it before straightening back up. Then someone grabs him by the collar. A large man shakes Damian. He almost punches the man in the throat, but remembers why he can’t in just enough time to pull back. The man punches him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He feels the man throw him towards the two guards that were watching him originally.

One of them kicks him in the face immediately. This goes on for a while as they take turns hitting him while he just has to lie there and take it. Eventually he tastes blood coming up his throat, and at this point, he’s not even sure where it’s coming from. Though it doesn’t really matter if he’s throwing it up or coughing it up, either one is pretty bad.

I wonder what they wanted. They sure did do a lot to just kill me.

Someone stomps down on his fingers, breaking them. He doesn’t let out a single noise.

That’s probably why they’re still going. I haven’t screamed or cried like this is a big deal. I wonder if they’re going to figure out how badly I’m already hurt.

It’s only a minute later when exactly that happens.

“Hey, I think you’re going too far. He has to be alive to use him for ransom,” the second man calls, sounding worried. He also sounds far away, and Damian doesn’t feel like listening anymore.

A few more sounds bring him back from the edge, even if just a little bit. It sounds like a scuffle of some sort. Then someone grabs his head, startling him. He cracks his eyes open, seeing Dick above him. He’s in costume, his mask covering his eyes.

“Hey, Baby Bird. Just hold on, we’re going to get you to a hospital. You’ll be ok.”

“You came,” Damian whispers, blinking his heavy eyes.

“What do you mean? Of course we did. Don’t you trust us?”

Damian doesn’t respond, letting his eyes drop closed.

“No, Damian, open your eyes!”

Dick shakes his shoulders, but everything continues to fade. He doesn’t feel it as Dick keeps shaking him, and eventually stops hearing him too. Then nothing.

[d-joana-a-shippadora]

Charles Doyle || Major International Academy Book Series || @majorinternationalacademy

"Sem cultura é o país de onde você veio, que não consegue nem ao menos reconhecer um autêntico cavalheiro. Eu só vou dizer uma vez, então trate de lembrar. Meu nome é Charles Doyle, mas, para você, é Sir Charles James Cameron Stuart Doyle."

“Cultureless is the country you came from, who can’t even recognize a true gentleman. I’ll say this only once so try and remember it. My name is Charles Doyle, but to you, it’s Sir Charles James Cameron Stuart Doyle.”

[so-very-small]

the worst part of being a g/t fan is when you really get into a piece of Media, like a book or show or whatever. but all your friends who like The Media arent into g/t. and all your g/t mutuals have never heard of The Media before. so you’re just alone going nuts with sizey concepts no one you know could comprehend

[bisexualalistairtheirin]

One really annoying argument ppl keep bringing up when someone complains about lore in Veilguard not making sense considering the other games is "Lol that game (da:o, most often) came out 15 years ago, it's fine if they want to change stuff!" but like... girlies, I don't think it's Origin's fault that Veilguard took 10 years to make and decided not to use what was already established.

[foxfeast]

some of y’all are about to be real mad at me, but it must be said…….. mxtx is overhyped

[repotting]

people who don't normally read sci fi have such bad taste in sci fi 😭

[ablednt]

Granted I have the overall geographical and cultural knowledge of a 4th grader but from what I can tell the nuclear family model really does seem to be a white colonial invention

Different cultures have different approaches but I mainly hear about either large family units where multiple generations support each other and raise their children and grandchildren together or an "it takes a village" approach where children are raised somewhat communally

And I can't really speak on it much or claim that these families were free of abuse or that children aren't often an oppressed group basically everywhere I know of but the way ownership of your children is so engrained into white society is so bizarre

Like once you notice it you can't unnotice it even the most loving well meaning parents don't know what to do about it because everyone is so isolated from their own families and their own communities so you wind up with 1-2 parents who have full legal ownership of their child and are raised in a culture where you don't have personhood until you're 18 and all attempts at self actualization before them are seen as clueless rebellion. Like our culture is so divorced from the concept that a parent is someone who is helping mentor and care for their child so they can thrive as a fellow human being and it's actually so alarming

And ik this problem isn't unique to white and colonized people but it's honestly really soothing to hear about how other cultures approach and view parenting and community as a whole and to internalize it doesn't have to be this way

[mazojo]

I was just trying to read a book, not have the course of my life change in irreparable ways

[mmxxviii]

I'm literally so excited to see that you're reading the between earth and sky trilogy, the lack of fandom for this series is CRIMINAL. Please tell me every single thought you have about the books 😂 (/hj)

this is so funny because YOU are getting into lockwood and co which does have a fandom but i’ve been so excited to see you post about it and to see what you think of the books compared to the show!

but yeah i’m rereading between earth and sky right now!! actually thank you for that bc i think you posted about the last book being out and i immediately scrambled to go and put it on hold bc i am. terrible about keeping up with those things. and i’m rereading the other two first bc i know i don’t remember enough, especially of the second book. it’s such a good series and there’s so much depth to the characters and so much care in the worldbuilding and i love it so much. everything is so vivid and fleshed out. and the multiple perspectives and the way you watch the characters come together and see their shifting relationships !! so good.

actually now that i���ve started fevered star again i forgot just *how* good it is. like i remembered black sun and i knew i loved that one but fevered star kind of got sucked into the black hole of my memory and goddamn everything about it is compelling. especially with it being book two, having established the base relationships and pov characters in book one and then moving around and having xiala lose serapio and meet iktan, who naranpa lost and then also learning more about serapio’s backstory and his tutors from outside his perspective through balam and powageh is SO good. sometimes later books in a series don’t keep their momentum as well as the first but fevered star takes everything in black sun and just keeps building so smoothly. i’m so excited to read mirrored heavens now (not that i wasn’t before, i just remember how incredible the first two are now!)

[tracle0]

Bvvvvvv

[princess-of-purple-prose]

hi, if you don't mind me asking (since i saw you reblog a post about the orv webtoon): how far into the novel is the webtoon, approximately, now that it's starting the dark palace (?) arc? is there still a long way to go, would you say? sincerely, a huge webtoon orv fan who is trying to muster up the strength to pick up the novel

Hi, anon!! I'm so excited you asked this, because I myself picked up the webnovel right around the dark castle arc! So, um... yeah, chapter 172 of the webtoon is chapter 151 and a good portion of chapter 152 of the webnovel, and there are 551 chapters of the webnovel total. (To be even more precise, with the formatting I have on my phone, chapter 172 covers up to 2290 pages out of 8807 pages-- just over a quarter of the way through the story both ways.) There is, uh, QUITE a ways to go

That said!!!! I literally cannot recommend the webnovel enough, and this is from someone who started with the webtoon as well and then transferred straight to the webnovel where it left off at the time! The webnovel is such a different experience, since there are so many small characterization details that the webtoon doesn't adapt, and I actually bitterly regret not starting the webnovel from the start (I'm in the process of backreading, and I find new things to scream about every day!). There's no rush at all to read the webnovel all at once when the webtoon will take so long to finish, but at the same time, the pacing is so addicting that you'll probably speed through it till you're caught up or even beyond regardless! In case you'd like it, here's some info on accessing the epub file :) Happy reading!!!!

[fingertipsmp3]

So me and my friend unpacked that night terror I had the other night & basically I am now on a self-imposed horror ban because I genuinely think if I keep consuming horror with my current mental state I will have a full-blown psychotic break 😔✌🏻