#or do you consider yourself a normal person unlike myself?

[downtherabbitholewithlucy]

Poor Quality Gifs. High Quality Bassist.

[simplyholl]

Frozen Stiff

Summary: Captured by the Frost Giants, your time on Jotunheim gets interesting.

Pairing: Jotun Loki x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18+ ONLY. Minors DNI. Loss of virginity. Size kink. Somnophilia.

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You really did it this time. Your father instructed everyone stay in their homes this night. Loki, king of the Frost Giants had warned your father, King Erik, king of the elves that he would be coming through Alfheim. If anyone was caught outside, they would be considered an enemy, and taken prisoner.

Your father’s royal decree had went in one ear and out the other. You were considered a trouble maker. Not because of anything you had done consciously. Trouble seemed to follow wherever you went. You were so unlike your sister, the future queen of Alfheim, and no one let you forget that.

She was tucked away safely in her chambers with the door locked. Here you were, hiding in the bushes outside the palace. You wanted to get a good look at the Frost Giants. You had never seen one in person, and you didn’t think the view from your chambers would do them any justice.

Loud footsteps echoed throughout the forest as they stomped through. The trees were shaking with each step they took, the force of their large bodies leaving holes in the ground where they walked. They were approaching quickly. You really should run back in the palace, but you were frozen. The first few Jotuns walk by and you’re stunned.

They are even bigger than you imagined. Then you see him, King Loki. He struts through and a wild thought comes to you. He’s beautiful. You had always been taught that the Frost Giants were ugly beasts that would take misbehaving children in the night. They seemed nice enough. King Loki had even given your father warning before passing through. He and the last three giants walk passed you and you count the seconds before you can run back inside.

Woof

You look beside you terrified. Your sister’s dog, Arnie, pants beside you, tail wagging.

Woof

He barks again. You grab him, trying your best to shush him. But it’s too late. He’s gained their attention. They turn back around, looking toward the bushes you are hiding in. You sink lower to the ground, trying to shove your body under the bush. You close your eyes, hoping if you can’t see them, they can’t see you.

But their footsteps shake the ground as they come closer. “What have we here?” One of them growls, picking you up with one hand. “We found a spy, your highness.”

“Bring him to me.” King Loki demands. You squeak as you are dropped from one huge hand into another. You shiver, the temperature of his skin is colder than you could have imagined. “Not a he, but a she.” He says amused, as he looks closely at you.

“What are you doing out here, little mouse? I warned your king that we would take anyone we found outside prisoner.” You swallow, trying to seem braver than you felt. “My father, King Erik, he did command the whole village to stay inside, your highness. I was simply curious and I wanted to see you for myself.”

Loki looks at you in the palm of his hand, amusement dancing on his features. “Your father, the king? So that makes you a princess? Are you the heir to the throne?” You shake your head. “No, your highness, that would be my sister.” You introduce yourself hoping it will get you out of this situation.

“A princess for a prisoner. What an interesting day it’s turning out to be.” He sneers. “No, wait!” You protest. He closes his hand around you, silencing you. When you arrive in Jotunheim, you are brought to a room with a giant bed, huge fluffy pillows, and a roaring fireplace. King Loki places you on the bed.

“This isn’t normally how I treat my prisoners, but you are still a princess. As long as you obey me, you may stay in this room and avoid the dungeon. You are free to walk around, and I will let everyone know that no harm is to come to you. Am I understood?”

“Yyyyesss” You stutter, you had been freezing the entire trip. You run to the fireplace, rubbing your hands together in an effort to get warm. Loki studies you, his red eyes lingering on your sheer nightgown. You really didn’t plan on getting captured when you went out, so you didn’t bother with putting on a proper dress.

You regret that decision now as his gaze lands on your breasts, heaving on your shaking form. He could see everything through the nightgown, and he was already looking, so you didn’t bother with attempting to cover yourself. “I’ll have someone make you proper clothing. In the meantime, there are extra blankets in the closet.” He walks out, leaving you with your thoughts.

Months had passed and you were settling into your new home. No one treated you like a prisoner, and you decided for once in your life to stay out of trouble. You had been given a job in the palace kitchen and you were making new friends. You were actually starting to like it here.

You giggle as your closest friend Marta, asks about your sex life. As a princess, you had to save yourself for whoever your father chose for you. You knew very little about the act itself. But Marta filled you in. She answered every question you had without judging you, and she even gave you some tips. The most shocking part was learning that a male might want to kiss you between your thighs. Marta told you there was nothing like it, so you couldn’t help fantasizing about it the rest of the day. When you laid your head down to rest, your tried to think of more questions for Marta.

The door to your room squeaked open. King Loki walked in, shutting it behind him. He gently removed the blankets from your sleeping form. You were wearing the nightgown from the first night you met him. He reaches out, his long finger grazing your nipple. The chill from his skin causing it to harden under his touch. You sigh from his attention, but don’t wake up. He carefully spreads your legs, laying down between them. His cold tongue meets your center, and you buck your hips toward him. He takes this as an invitation, long tongue lapping between your thighs.

You jump up, searching your room for him, but he’s not there. It was all a dream. You confide in Marta about it and she says it must be your conversation. It made its way into your subconscious. But you didn’t talk to Marta about it the next night when you had it or the next night. Weeks had passed and still, you had the same dream every night. It made it awkward for you when you had to serve King Loki his meals.

“King Loki has requested you serve his dessert in his chambers.” Marta told you, handing you the tray piled high with pastries, cakes, and fruit. You knock on his door, waiting for his instruction to enter. When he calls for you to come in, you bow to him. “My king, I’ve brought your dessert.” He’s propped up on his bed, gesturing for you to place it on a table by the window.

He’s so big, he nearly takes up all the room on the large bed. His muscled blue form has been the object of your fantasies for a while now. “Remove your dress, and get on the bed.” He demands. You drop the metal tray on the table. “Excuse me, your highness. I must have misheard you.”

He pats the bed, “You heard correctly, little mouse. I know you desire me. You dream of me every night. I’m only rewarding your good behavior.” You fight the urge to pinch yourself. You must be dreaming. “How did you know about that?” You manage to mumble. “I know all, little one. You can hide nothing from me.”

He beckons you with his thick finger. You do as he instructed, removing your dress and getting on the bed with him. He lifts you with one hand, hovering you above his face. “Wha- what are you doing?” You stammer. “I’m having my dessert.” He quips placing you on his mouth. His long, cold tongue covers your center. You shiver from the chill. His velvety muscle curls beneath your clit, flicking it.

He treats you like a porcelain doll, holding you as if you might break. He could easily crush you without trying. You really were like his own personal doll. He enters your untouched flesh with his tongue, rocking you back and forth on it. Your small hands wrap around his fingers, trying to ground yourself. He drinks you like it’s water, the icy muscle tipping you over the edge, making your toes curl.

He suddenly tosses you on your back, his bulky form trapping you beneath him. He settles between your thighs. They start aching as he spreads them as wide as he can. It’s still not wide enough to accommodate him. So he pushes your knees to your chest, his gigantic cock nudging your center.

The thought of ruining such a small, delicate woman driving him mad with lust. “I’ll split you in half, little mouse. You would like that wouldn’t you?” Your still dazed from your orgasm, so you only hum in response. “My sweet princess is cock drunk and she hasn’t had any cock yet.” You nod, reaching for him. “I am the first to touch you, correct?” Another hum to confirm.

You gasp when he dips a large finger inside you, curling it upwards. “I have to get you ready.” He explains. As he works his skilled finger inside you, you rock your hips, hungry for more. You whine as he removes his digit from you, but you’re not left wanting for long. He thrusts into you, and you scream. He stretches you, and you try to adjust to his size. You feel him bottom out and you wiggle to get more comfortable.

Tears fall down your cheeks, the stinging not subsiding. “My poor princess. I’m too much for her. It’s only the tip, my sweet girl.” He gently traces the outline of his cock bulging in your stomach. Loki presses on it. “I can see myself protruding out of your stomach, little one. Do you know how feral that makes me? Such a small creature struggling to take the head of my cock.”

He tilts his hips, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. Goosebumps line your arms when you feel his breath on your ear. “You’re doing so good for me, my little princess. You feel incredible. I’ll keep you forever, my little plaything.” You whimper at his words, a gush of arousal soaking him. He moans, looking at your fucked out expression. He wraps his enormous hand around your waist, thrusting you down on him, faster.

Loki roars as he releases inside you. He pulls out, spreading your now limp legs. “I want to see me dripping out of you.” He lowers his head, black tresses covering your stomach as his icy tongue laps at you once more. “What a delicious mess you made.” He coos.

Tags

@fictive-sl0th @lokisgoodgirl @lokidbadguy @ozymdias @cindylynn @cakesandtom @eleniblue @marygoddessofmischief @coldnique @mochie85 @goblingirlsarah @lokisninerealms @wheredafandomat @peaches1958 @freegardenbanananeck @chantsdemarins @lokidokieokie @l0ki3000 @anukulee @multifandom-worlds @alexakeyloveloki @ladymischief11 @kats72 @mischief2sarawr @lamentis-10 @loz-3 @litaloni @lulubelle814 @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @avengersfan25 @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @xorpsbane @mybugabomlb @bunny24sstuff @luthien-elvenia-asher @gruftiela @itsybitchylittlewitchy @asgards-princess-of-mischief @weirdothatwritess

[nocturnowlette]

hiya, this might be an odd question but i really value your insights so i think you might be the best person to ask. I'd consider myself a relatively experienced sub when it comes to trancing, but do you happen to have any good advice for self-hypnosis, or more specifically self-suggestion?

I've tried self-hypnosis a couple times before, but i haven't really nailed down the putting myself in trance part, let alone the self-suggestion bit

thanks so much !! :D

self-hypnosis for most folk (outside of those with DID and similar dissociative disorders) will definitely always be weaker to some degree, simply due to the fact that you know what you're going to say. it's like writing your own story then reading it, the highs and lows get largely smoothed out.

that being said, using the power of compartmentalization, you can better this. if you are at all at risk of forming a dissociative identity disorder i do not recommend this, but singlets can form basically a split in their mind: imagining one half as the hypnotist and one half as the subject, not unlike the common (yet false) dichotemy used in hypnosis of the conscious and subconscious.

in the conscious and subconscious split, things the brain isn't supposed to know at that moment get dumped into the "conscious" bin, and then the mind blocks out recognition of those concepts. this lets someone believe easier that they are in an indisposed and out of control state.

you can treat yourself as the subject (the subconscious), the one being affected, and the hypnotist (the conscious) as the part of the brain simply generating trance, and putting some sort of filter or blockage on the words coming in will let you separate yourself from your own ideas and words enough to be more effective than normal.

imagining a headspace like a therapist office may also help, even two different people or just copies of yourself, but this even further risks developing multiple personalities, so only do so if you are very confident in your sense of self.

one last note, but there is an ultimate level to self-suggestion. those who understand hypnosis and their own perception enough can simply suggest things to themselves without any ritual or structure at all. almost all things done commonly in hypnosis are arbitrary ways to give the mind permission to make itself lose control.

if you're able to truly feel and understand the arbitrary nature of it all, you will be able to simply alter your perception at will when it comes to a wide variety of things. those who suffer from dissociation often figure this out without ever connecting the concepts to hypnosis or suggestion. they can block out pain, alter their sense of reality, disconnect from the present moment, etc.

it is not advisable to try and force these dissociative circumstances because the bad of it far outweighs the good, but everyone dissociates to some degree and it is possible to achieve some level of self-control without pushing your brain in that way. don't try to use it to deal with trauma or anything though, that shit doesn't magically go away with a poof.

good luck with your journey.

[rosecorcoranwrites]

Re your post about needing straight awareness bc someone headcanoned ricky from shadow house as a trans girl…

Have you literally never participated in a fandom before it’s just a headcanon this is fandom 101 bro… another thing is when posting hate of any level abt smth like that, out of tact, you don’t put it in the main tag… I’m going to just infer that this is your first fandom experience cuz anyone with half a brain and has participated in fandom knows these things and doesn’t pitch hissy fits about it and tag it with all the main tags… people are going to headcanon characters as things other than what they are in canon, that’s actually the point of it.

Either that or you’re just anti lgbt and feel personally attacked for people headcanoning a character as something other than cishet. I recommend taking a few steps outside for a little bit and getting some fresh air and sunlight and maybe you’ll realize getting butthurt about someone’s headcanon isn’t healthy or normal behavior. It literally doesn’t effect you so my main word of advice, if you seem something you don’t like… block the OP and move on… and if you must rant about it… don’t put it in the main tags… I know that for you seeing someone headcanon a fictional character as being trans must cause a lot of fear and confusion when you’re transphobic and new to fandom, so I hope this advice teaches you something. Good luck in your endeavors baby fandom goer, hope you learned something new today.

Anon, I have been a part of fandom since I was in highschool. I am 35.

My point, with Ricky and Patrick specifically, is that it's not even gay. I'm honestly shocked at how few people ship the two of them together, especially considering the whole "soulmates" thing.

My point is that, in the context of them being cisgenderedly heterosexual -- in Ricky crushing on Lou, in Patrick crushing on Emilico -- fans accept the canon ship itself, but refuse to accept that it is cishet. To paraphrase yourself, it's almost like seeing a fictional character who is cishet "must cause a lot of fear and confusion".

Being generous, we could assume this is because some people have never realized that one can like and identify with a character unlike oneself. Thus, if one is trans and identifies with Ricky, Rick must be trans. If one is a lesbian and likes Patrick, he must be a lesbian. If aromantic, Patrick must be aromantic. If one did not want to be generous, we might assume that, for whatever reason, some people find the very idea of cisheterosexuality icky and will do any amount of mental gymnastics to ignore it.

As for using the main tag, I briefly considered removing it, as i didn't want to hurt anyone's feeling. But then I thought, to paraphrase you yet again, that getting angry about my thoughts on people's head canons of fictional characters isn’t healthy or normal behavior. It doesn’t actually effect them. If they see something they don’t like, block the OP and move on.

(I myself, not actually being as infantile as Anon would make me out to be, did not block any of the OPs I mentioned, because I like the majority of their content and don't believe that I'll get cooties from someone who has a difference of opinion from me. I also didn't send anonymous rants to their inbox, but I digress.)

To you, my dear Anon, "I recommend taking a few steps outside for a little bit and getting some fresh air and sunlight." You might encounter someone straight out there, but I promise, it will be okay. You might even find that you and them have a lot in common.

[bumblingest-bee]

Out of all assassins from titular musical who do you think is the "most sympathetic" and the "most worst"?

oooh that's a really really good question. setting aside personal opinion for the moment (i'll get to it promise!), one thing i find interesting about assassins is that it doesn't necessarily ask us to sympathize with the characters, but just to consider them as they're presented to us and sit with whatever conclusions we draw from that on our own.

that being said the show does present some as more sympathetic than others imo. (there's no such thing as an unbiased narrative, no matter how hard you try!) for example czolgosz is never directly condemned by the balladeer unlike, say, booth (kind of balancing the audience's immediate resistance to a character like booth). it also neutralizes oswald quite a bit by taking away his agency in the actual assassination, which i think is a very intentional way to let the audience relate to him in that final scene.

anyways! so who do i think is the most/least sympathetic in the show? i'd say the "worst" is booth because he's purely ideologically motivated by hatred. aside from whether you think he was mentally ill in real life, as a character he's presented as sane, if a little unhinged. someone like guiteau, who's obviously not in his right mind, can be pitied. but booth? he's calculated and manipulative and even aside from the assassination he spends most of the show being a total asshole. (but he's very very entertaining while doing it lol)

as for my most sympathetic? lynette squeaky fromme. no, seriously.

because the thing about assassins, as i mentioned earlier, is that we as the audience aren't necessarily meant to make moral judgements. we're meant to consider the assassins as people like us.

if i was taking "sympathetic" to mean the most morally justifiable, or if we were talking in terms of real life rather than fiction, i'd say czolgosz (or even one of the assassins who was obviously mentally ill and unable to make moral decisions). but the point of assassins is not to morally justify the characters. it's to see ourselves in the characters. and that's meant to scare us.

i see myself in squeaky. i feel for her! even though she's largely a comic character, she's a poignant one. she's desperately lonely and insecure. at her core, she's still a frightened teenage girl who wants above all things to be loved. that's what i sympathize with. but she's willing to do awful things to get that love. and that's what scares me.

the great thing about assassins is it doesn't force you to sympathize with these people, but it gives you permission to. it can show you the parts of yourself that you don't normally want to look at, and that's a powerful thing to see if you let it.

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I cross my legs. I uncross them. I look down at my sandals, Birkenstocks. The inner soles are stained dark from use in the shape of my feet, and I consider whether or not this is disgusting. Sometimes I don’t know what’s acceptable or unacceptable to others, and whether sweat stained Birkenstocks would fall into that category. I wish I’d worn something else, something more serious, perhaps. The clock on the wall is the same one my aunt has in her kitchen, and I look at it next because there’s a man sitting opposite me and I don’t want to look at him. The door of the office swings open and a timid seeming woman comes out. Neither of us looks at her either.

“Evelyn Kilbride?” Comes a voice from the doorway.

“Yep,” I say, whisper really, even though the word doesn’t even come out so I shouldn’t have bothered, and I get up and I go inside. 

It’s not unlike the counsellor’s office from secondary school, bookcases, files, a rug that feels soft underfoot, two chairs facing each other. July sunshine streams in from the window beside the seat I choose and instantly heats my head. I fidget and press my fingers into a tense spot at the back of my neck. 

“Would you like to close the blinds?” Helen, I think that’s her name, settles into the seat across. 

“It’s okay.”

“If you’re feeling too warm or uncomfortable at all during the session we can adjust, don’t be shy to ask for anything you want, including water at any point, or a cup of tea.”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

She gives me a warm smile, “So Evelyn, I’m very glad to meet you, and thank you for coming to this session with me today, you know the hardest thing to do is to reach out to someone, and you’ve already done that part, so that’s just wonderful.”

“Mm,” She’s very motherly, I think, dressed in a green jumper despite the weather, with short greying hair that curls around her ears and over the sides of her wire frame glasses. I wonder if she intentionally dresses like a person who knits and bakes scones because there’s some research study that proves that people are more likely to open up to motherly types or if she’s really just like this all the time. 

“So how can I help you today? Is there something on your mind that you’d like to talk about, or even any questions you have?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve done something like this, to be honest.”

“It’s normal to feel a bit uncertain when coming to a conversation like this for the first time, or even the first time in a little while. You can share as much or as little as you feel comfortable with, but maybe today, just to get us started, could you tell me something that’s been on your mind lately? Maybe a challenge you’re facing or a particular emotion you’ve been feeling?”

“Um,” my eyes slide away from hers and onto the floor, because her eyes are too empathetic, too gently encouraging and I think I’d rather eye the rug for a while. “Well I suppose I’ve always sort of felt like I have something wrong with me.”

“Those feelings are very common, Evelyn, but that doesn’t make them any less challenging to those who experience them. When you say you feel like there’s something wrong with you, can you tell me more about that? Is there a particular aspect about yourself that bothers you?”

“It’s just that… Well, when good things happen in my life, like, you know, I succeed at something, get into the college I wanted, travel, earn money or do any of the other things I’ve always wished for, they make me happy for a while, and then eventually the happiness always fades away and I go back to this state where I hate myself and I feel awful all of the time and nothing seems to lift that mood.”

“How long have you been experiencing these negative feelings?”

“I don’t know, since I was like, ten, maybe? Younger. I can’t really remember not feeling this way honestly, I think it’s just how I’m made.”

“You know,” Helen leans back thoughtfully, “It might feel like I’m stating the obvious a little bit, but a lot of our negative feelings and emotions stem from childhood. Childhood experiences have a profound impact on our emotional well-being as adults. What was your home life like as you were growing up?”

“It was alright, we got by, I suppose, we never had a whole lot of money but at the same time I was never really wanting for anything either-”

“And your parents?”

I laugh, “They’re alright. My dad is fond of the drink, but he’s harmless about it, I suppose. And my mam’s a bit high strung. She likes things to be perfect and I suppose… I suppose like, I found that a bit hard at times. I felt like there was no way to please her, really, like no matter what I did to help out I’d always just do it the wrong way. It was really hard to fit into the boxes that she wanted me to, I’m just very different from her. Like our minds work differently and I know that I’ll never be able to relate to her, or her to me.”

“Have you tried to speak with her about how you felt as a child?”

“No, we don’t have that kind of relationship. I can’t even imagine talking to her about a thing like that. I don’t know how that’d go down, she’d like, shrug me off, maybe, or say I was being dramatic. She always thought I was dramatic in my emotions.”

“How so?”

“Because I get upset a lot, and I think that my mind goes to places that she can’t understand. I think that for her everything is very black and white, do you know what I mean? For me it’s very hard to let things go, if I’ve been hurt by something or I feel annoyed at a person, I hold onto things for a very very long time, and I think them over again and again until I’m in a spin. She doesn’t get that. Her advice is always like, ‘stop thinking about it’ as though that’s something that’s possible for me to do, and then she gets annoyed with me when I’m still upset afterwards. We don’t make sense to each other in that regard so I’ve stopped opening up to her about things in my life. She actually barely knows anything about me anymore, and it’s not a terrible, awful thing either. Our relationship is fine, we just don’t connect in that way.”

“Well it sounds to me as though her desire for perfection, her desire, perhaps, for a perfect daughter has created a lot of pressure for you to meet certain expectations. Not just inside the home but outside of it too, into your adult life. I see this often, you know, children from pressured home environments who grow up into adults who struggle with feelings of never fitting in. It can have a significant impact on a person’s self perception.”

“Yes well, I’ve never felt like I’ve really belonged anywhere, to be honest.”

“Can you talk me through that a little bit? Any examples of feeling this way?”

“Well, obviously in secondary school, I hated it there, and primary school too, I just always felt like everyone was talking about me behind my back, even though I bet they weren’t. And then later on too, in college I thought I could try and alleviate that feeling by trying really hard to fit in with a crowd there that really weren’t right for me, and it was all so stupid, and I suppose I’ve learned my lesson about trying to be someone I’m not but still, now I’m back to this weird purgatory, where I feel like I’m a girl just floating around with nowhere to land, and feeling nothing, and things that should bring me joy just don’t anymore.”

“Like what things?”

I sigh, “Well, I have a boyfriend.”

Helen’s eyebrows go up as though this is the kind of thing she hears about all the time, “Hmm, yes?”

“He’s amazing. He’s kind and funny and thoughtful, and he takes care of me and I never annoy him, and no matter how much we hang out we never get tired of each other, and not that it’s that important but he’s so handsome and tall and clever and artistic, and he cooks so well, and he loves me, like, he’s actually in love with me,” I take a breath, “But he doesn’t stop me from being sad.”

“Go on.”

“I feel like I pursued him for so long, you know? We met years ago, when I was only seventeen and he was older and so popular and effortless and everything he did was amazing to me, and I suppose I thought that I was so useless that he’d never like me back. But it was so hard to move on and I just couldn’t get past him. It was like every other boy had to measure up to him somehow but it was impossible to, because he was already perfect in my head. And then this year we finally got together, and I was so happy, like, elated. Happier than I can ever remember being, and it was because I’d achieved something. I’d proved to myself that someone like him would like someone like me, and that meant that I was a worthy person. But it’s like, I suppose he was aspirational, does that make sense?”

“In that the reality doesn’t live up to the fantasy that you’d pictured during the years before you were a couple?” 

“It’s not that,” I chew on my lip, “He’s great, like, really, but I think that I believed he’d bring an end to the badness in my life, or something like that. As though I expected that if he were to choose me it’d prove that I was a valuable person and…” I break off because of the discomfort bubbling inside me. “Um.”

Helen smiles knowingly, “He hasn’t proved that to you after all?”

“No, and it’s like…” I inhale deeply when I realise I might begin to cry, “It’s actually more like… the things I’m thinking are more… I’m kind of starting to think that he’s the problem instead.”

“What do you mean by ‘he’s the problem’?”

“I’m starting to believe that he’s delusional.”

“I see. Delusional for loving you, when you consider yourself to be unlovable.”

I nod and make a swipe for the tissues on the little table next to me, “I’m going to ruin it,” I say. “I have no doubt.”

“Evelyn,” Helen begins, and I interrupt her. 

“Evie.”

“You prefer to go by Evie?”

“Yeah,” I dab my nose and am hit by the absurdity of the fact that I’m spilling my deepest feelings to a woman who doesn’t even know the name I go by. “Nobody calls me Evelyn.”

“I wasn’t aware of that. I’ll call you Evie from now on.”

“Thanks.”

“Evie, you know that it makes a lot of sense why you’re feeling these things, but I know that the knowledge of that won’t make them feel much easier. I’m certain that your boyfriend sees endless things about you that he considers lovable, and that he’s right in thinking them. I think it might be useful to talk about the things that you love about yourself. Can you think of anything at all that you’d like to share with me?”

“Good things about me?”

“Yes, anything you can think of.”

“Um,” I trace my fingers along the piping on the arm of the chair and stare at the hangnail on my thumb. My fingernails aren’t very nice, I think. They’re brittle and chewed down to the pink parts, and my nail varnish has chipped off along the edges leaving ragged patches of black in the centre. I actually don’t have very attractive hands at all. 

Helen prompts me gently. “Do you have some close friends?” 

“Yeah I suppose.”

“Think of them then, what do you think they’d say are your best qualities?”

I struggle to think, which frustrates me. It really shouldn’t be hard, but when I put myself in Claire’s shoes I can only imagine her pitying me and imagine that she thinks I’m unhinged, dependent on alcohol to function socially and in constant need of management to stay on track. “They might say I’m funny,” I manage halfheartedly. 

“Well a sense of humour is a wonderful thing. You know, some of my favourite friends are the ones who can make me laugh. It’s a quality that not everyone is blessed with,” She smiles warmly, “Can you think of anything else?”

I hesitate, “I’m very different from my friends I think, I can’t imagine what they’d say.”

“Would they say that you’re a good listener? There for them when they’re going through tough times?”

I burst into tears, “There’s something so wrong with me. I can’t think of a single fucking thing I like about myself.” I clutch a fistful of tissues and cram them against my face, stabbing them against my eyes with a ferocity that privately surprises me. I’m enraged by myself for my blatant uselessness. I hate myself so much that I can’t even drag one miserable forgiving thought out of my head. “Sometimes I honestly wish that I was dead.”

I hadn’t realised that I’d spoken that part aloud until Helen responds, “That’s a very big feeling to deal with, Evie. I’m so sorry that you’re struggling so much. If you feel able, could you talk me through that a little bit more?”

I’m not sure I can talk at all, I’m too busy wailing into fistfuls of tissues, squeezing my eyes and baring my teeth, feeling like I might retch from the shuddering, heaving sobs that tear through my body. “I don’t want to kill myself,” I clarify, “But I think about dying sometimes, and how if I was dead then I’d have no more awful feelings. I…” I heave a breath into my lungs, “I get these really vivid, violent thoughts sometimes, about falling down stairs and cracking my skull against the floor, or tumbling down a cliff and bouncing from rock to rock down into the sea until it’s all over. I don’t know why. It’s not like i think I’m going to jump and kill myself, I’m not, I don’t want to go through with it but I think sometimes that if something happened to me, or if I just never woke up then I’d be fine with it.”

“Mm,” Helen says, and she’s so calm that it’s weird to me. How can she listen to someone saying that they want to die without alarm? She’s clearly in the presence of a freak, so why isn’t she acting like it? I attempt something else I think will be shocking to her.

“When I was sixteen I was doing the dishes in the kitchen and I dragged a knife over my arm. It wasn’t even premeditated. I just saw the knife and I did it, I wanted to see if it’d make me feel anything at all. It was too blunt to break the skin, and then I felt ten times stupider because I’d not even been able to do something basic like cut myself.” I glance at her again to see how she reacts to that, but still, she’s calm. “I’ve never said that out loud before.”

“Thank you for trusting me.”

“Do you think I’m fucked up beyond repair?”

“Do you want me to think that?”

“Doing things like that aren’t normal.”

“It’s common, believe it or not. I see countless young people who feel the same as you do, you’re not a strange person, or broken, or stupid or any of the other words you’ve used to describe yourself. You’re a normal young woman trying to navigate the enormous pressures of your world. You’re not irreparable, Evie, in fact you’re far from it, and I think you’re going to be okay.”

“Alright,” I say, and then I sit there contemplating how embarrassing it is to sob in front of a stranger while she writes something in her notebook, and then eventually I feel compelled to apologise. 

“There’s no need to be sorry,” Helen doesn’t look up. 

“I feel stupid for crying.”

“It’s perfectly normal to cry.”

I wonder what she thinks of me. What things she’s writing about me in her notebook. Maybe that I’m highly emotional, depressed, in need of serious medical intervention if I can be expected to function normally in society. Will she make me take pills? I don’t think I want to be on something that strips a piece of me away and makes me numb. “Are you going to prescribe me medication?” I say. 

“We’re going to look at options for you,” Helen says, and I don’t remotely know what those options might be. I don’t ask. 

“Alright,” I say. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[skinnytuna]

I really really like that long post you did about making art. especially: 'i have somehow convinced myself that, if i maybe try a little bit, not exceptionally hard, but only a little bit, maybe i will somehow magically be good enough and worthy of critical praise.'

I spend all my time thinking about the beautiful or ""groundbreaking"" things I would make but no time actually doing it. and then when I attempt to create something the actual discomfort of physically drawing, writing or even coding is so unlike the idealised version in my brain that I have to stop because it is so frustrating. I wish I could be the sort of person who decides to spend hours upon hours perfecting a craft. but I just cant. weirdly I've come to terms with it. theres a whole world of art that exists just for me in my head. maybe one day ill be able to translate it into reality. but for now, im just going to be happy with the dual presence of my shitty real art and my lovely art thats just for me.

(also: I dont think your posts are lacking. the way you use language is unexpected and hilarious. I like it a lot.)

we should have a word for the terminal need for validation but lack of any and all discipline ... seems like a relatively new phenomena. i'm considering the strong possibility that it's a widespread result as the death of the "hobby"... however many years ago i imagine it was normal to just do something for yourself, because you love doing it. in fact i see a lot of my friends parents still doing stuff such as this.

i have a lot of friends whose dads make eps and albums for fun. for them only. no wishing on a star for it to blow up overnight. none of that. security in the quality of it. security in how far it probably won't reach. now that security, of course, could just come with age. but i suspect there's a generational parasite.

we were all raised with Numbers. the follower count, the like count, these are burned into our psyche. a neurosis coiled tightly around an objective metric of validation. a handful of years ago such a neurosis couldn't even exist! and it especially couldn't exist in a matter of seconds or minutes. your value as a person is a pair of dice that you roll and you snatch them back the moment you see snake eyes. almost all of the amateur art, music, writing we are exposed to has a number right under it. you don't get to evaluate it yourself. there is immediately a pavlovian connection, i like this thing, this thing has this number attached to it, if i can get a number like that i'm worthy of coexisting with this thing.

there's an almost instant dissociation between the craft, the skill, the time, and the FRUIT. what you get back. we are almost trained to care more about how popular something is than how good it is. not like, hollywood productions, or Columbia Records' chart topping album by a thirty something with A&R parents, but how popular someone just like you is on the internet. a plausible professional with a twitter account who draws whatever they want. someone you could relate to. someone you could be.

but because you want the numbers you skip the learning... you make something and put it out. and you keep doing this. your learning is public, your honing of the craft is documented before an audience of hopefully thousands. and you see what they respond to. and their responses steer the direction of your learning. you never have an opportunity to make something shitty. make something no one likes. experiment. you just keep feeding the computer. and it works until the point where you want to do something else, or something real, or something better, or something serious, and realize you don't know how. and you're like Fuck Shit why did I hustle instead of learning in peace.

but of course this is all by design. the numbers can't teach themselves more numbers if you doodle in your sketchbook and don't show anyone. i'm not sure if it was ever a specific person's idea to make everyone's entire life a performance, but whoever engineered it did a damn fine job. takes a sledgehammer to break out of. oh well ! in a few generations i'm sure all of our skin will have glare dampeners evolved specifically to vlog better with. and everyone will have forgotten what it's like to do something in your room, by yourself, because you like to do it

[purrincess-chat]

2, 8, 22, 24

2. A character whose pov you're currently exploring

I've mentioned before, but I've recently branched into writing for the Legend of Zelda fandom. I've been writing a fic that takes place post-breath of the wild, but pre-tears of the kingdom kind of bridging the gap there. It's mostly from Zelda's pov, so I've been having fun exploring that because the setting is so vastly different to ML and Zelda herself is unlike any character I've written before. It's been fun. As for ML, I'm working on a few fics from Adrien's pov lately and dissecting him like a bug. (pun intended)

8. If you had to write a sequel to a fic, you'd write one for...

I'm doing that too! I'm literally writing a sequel fic to Marinette Dupain-Cheng's Spite Playlist right now! It follows the aftermath of Adrien finding out his father was Hawkmoth when they defeated him and how Adrien recuperates and works through his childhood trauma and establishes his own identity in the world.

22. Do you ever worry about public reaction to what you're writing? How do you get past that?

Considering I was once an avid salt-fic writer in peak salt time, I don't know that I ever have worried about public reaction XD But I think that just boils down to personality and personal philosophy. I fundamentally understand that not everyone is for me, and I'm not for everyone. If someone doesn't like something I've written (and there have been people who definitely haven't jived with what I've written), then they don't have to read it. But ultimately I just write what I want to see and read, so idc if no one else likes it bc I do. I also don't tend to write things that are too controversial or dealing with anything too egregiously heavy. I suppose Adrien's Playlist may tote the line just dealing with his mental health issues and trauma, but even that isn't too dark I would say. So, on that front, I can't really help if that's your dilemma. But I'd say fandom is pretty robust with the idea of don't like, don't read, and anyone seriously bullying someone for writing completely normal fanfic tends to get backlash more than the writer they're bullying. Bc it's just rude.

So, idk if that really helps you any. I've just always kind of not given a fuck, so I just do what I want...

24. How do you recharge when you're not feeling creative?

Oooo so this question really depends on the reason. But in general I'd say give yourself some space from what you're working on. Go for a walk, take a few days off, see your friends and family. Walk completely away from it for a brief period of time. When you come back, read back over what you had and try to find the spot that is tripping you up or holding you back and identify why. Is it because you've written yourself into a corner? Do you not know what happens next? Do you just not like the current direction of the story? The reason behind it will determine how you move forward. If you've written yourself into a corner or just don't like what you have, cut a chunk from what you've recently written back to a point where you can take it a new direction. You don't have to delete it, just paste that somewhere else and try something else. Maybe take time to plan out what happens next, even minimally. Skip ahead to the next thing you can picture and fill in the gap later.

If, on the other hand, your issue isn't so much writer's block, but just a lack of drive to create at all, take a break. Maybe you're stressed and need to decompress for a while. When I find myself in dry patches for ideas, I find it helpful to consume other forms of media or literature that are completely unrelated to what I'm working on. Sometimes we get stuck in a rut when we are surrounded by the same things all the time and our brains just need a little something different to spark new ideas. I find that flipping between LoZ and ML is a good thing for me because the two are so different from one another.

My issues as of late is not so much lack of creativity as it is lack of time to be creative, which sometimes you just have to power through. I chose to go to grad school, so this is really on me.

[originalgenshinscenarios]

Hi, could I request for matchup if you have time? Otherwise it's ok:)

I'm bi and would prefer a girl from either Inazuma or Liyue(+18)

I am generally a very passive and quiet person because of my depression and anxiety. I always feel like I am obligated to help people even if I have to push myself by exceeding my limits and when I am unable to do so I just feel very guilty. I don't really have friend because internally, I guess I just cant accept the fact that people make friends because of the ulterior motives they have and it just becomes a very fake and transactional relationship. I think in a relationship, some things I would want the other party to have are... being able to have a genuine connection and also being very mature, understanding and supportive since I have a very big fear of coming off as too affectionate or clingy because I get comfort from physical affection. I also like to give and take care pf other people compared to them taking care of me because I feel like I'm being an additional burden to them when I'm on the receiving end of things.

As someone who really struggles with the social aspect of life even if I like doing sports, I don't really like to hang out with loud people and most of the time if I end up having a conversation with someone, it's always on a very deep and emotional level and I find conversations like this very interesting because it really allows me to think about the many possibilities as well as being able to understand and empathise with other people alot easier just because I am very emotionally sensitive. I also tend to overthink alot because of how I was brought up and all the trauma that is just laid on me just kind of takes a toll mentally. All in all, I end up being a very quiet person because I am afraid to be vulnerable and would rather help others out in any way instead of letting people do the same for me.

I was thinking of one match but when I read to one point I sort of changed my mind and it sort of gave me a much better match in mind instead lol

This is a part of 3x Valentines event (All slots are taken)

I match you with...

Kuki Shinobu

Just like you she's very helpful, but unlike you she knows when to accept help. So she tries to help you be more comfortable with the idea of others just wanting to support you for the sake of it.

It takes time to recognize that it's normal to ask for help, and you're everything but a burden. Especially to her.

She considered introducing you to the gang so you could see for yourself that people don't always befriend each other to get something out of it... But with how the boys act she doesn't think you'd be comfortable meeting them yet. Especially with how loud their leader is.

Should you show your interest though, she wouldn't be against it. She'd only make sure to have a talk with everyone so they wouldn't act in a way that'd make you uncomfortable.

She's extremely mature and understanding, although she tends to be tough on the outside, she's actually very sweet and affectionate on the inside.

So, knowing you tend to get self conscious when you initiate affection while also craving it, she usually makes sure to start it herself. Both because she wants it, and because she wants you to feel loved.

She always listens to you, and when your conversations get deep she helps you think through your struggles. It's not one sided of course, she doesn't try to hide her burdens from you. Since talking to you about them does make her feel more at peace.

~Mod Lisa

[rin-and-jade]

I think I may be a system and it’s making me feel scared bc I feel like I’m not real and my labels (like being lgbt) aren’t real enough as other people and I do not want to talk about myself like “my body is an 18 year old system” like talk about my body instead of me .. not be able to say online and irl “hi I’m (name) I’m (lgbt labels) and ex etc etc” but have to go “my body is 18 I’m a system here are their Intros and THEIR different labels” I know I am one person split into parts I am one whole person it just doesn’t feel like it bc that’s how the disorder is. I don’t have to use we/system/us I don’t have to call myself multiple or plural. I’m not separate people. I have a host maybe two of them. others rarely or don’t front. just pass influence and co con or whatever. I don’t ever want to be treated like multiple people because I’m not. I like my “hi im (name) I’m (lgbt labels) here are my interests and I happen to have this disorder so I feel like different people but all are me”

I want to say I’m (lgbt label) and that’s true for all of me. I have no reason to beleove otherwise. All parts of me are the real me and are one person it just doesn’t feel that way. how do I stop feeling scared and confused and bad about it all?? Is it possible to just do like I said and indeed be one person. do I have to do functional multiplicity or whatever do I have to indulge in labeling all of these parts I’m just a person who happens to have a disorder ? these are not people inside me it’s a symptom of a disorder . these are symptoms.

The clearer ask on top

Heres my thoughts: to address as a system or as a whole person is everyone's own preference. If you feel uncomfy saying being plural then there's no reason you can't address regularly like a normal person (just name, pronoun, and biological age). We also have parts who chose one from either two (introduce as plural or just the regular way) and i respected the choice,, especially when you prefer to address with "I happen to have this disorder so I feel like different people but all are me” and continuing along those lines.

Considering about symptoms.. i doubt the dissociated parts of ourselves is. Everyone has a multifaceted personality, singlets, who also have other sides of themselves are integrated unlike the situation in CDD. The real symptoms for having it are actually amnesia, usual basis of dissociation, identity confusion and alteration, as well as the disconnection with said facets, this also includes you also being a part/facet. Roles and applications (or pk bot) are just to better understand these different parts of yourself and thats ok for not wanting to use any, like how we don't use simplyplural.

Wether you need to achieve a fusion, or just go for functional multiplicity,, that needs to be discussed properly with the rest of your parts as i couldn't tell you whats the right thing to do (there is no right, just different preferences)

Before i end it right here, it's normal to not like being plural, and i know being plural can sometimes feel like life is being taken away from yourself as it is not just you that seems to be living here, there will also be lots of confusion, denial, and etc along the way. I wanted to say coming to terms and with acceptance too of what happened will help you a lot, this disorder is mainly developed to protect a child who went through debilitating trauma because i doubt it was bare-able to remember those bad emotions plus memories and have to function normally like nothing happened. I recommend you coming back to me if needed one day, hope this clears up anything you had asked.

- j

[loftylockjaw]

TIMING: Recent LOCATION: Xóchitl’s house PARTIES: Wyatt & Xóchitl SUMMARY: Wyatt finally gets around to surprising his friend from Boston with his appearance in her hometown, and the two reconnect in a few different ways. CONTENT WARNINGS: Wrspice (implied)

—

They’d met in Boston some years ago, but Xó hadn’t lived around those parts since she was a kid, so there was always significant time in between their chances to reconnect. Still, she was a fun person to be around and someone that Wyatt would consider a friend, so when he realized that his hunt for steadier fighting ring work was taking him right into the town she’d told him she was living in, of course he had to see her. He’d waited a few weeks, giving himself time enough to settle in, find a normal job, secure the other job, and generally make sure he was well put together before surprising her with a visit. 

‘Heeey, guess who’s in your neck of the woods?!’ he’d texted her a few days back. She was shocked, naturally, but the two had quickly made plans to meet at her place for drinks, snacks, and catching up. Currently, the Cajun was stood outside her door, a bag in one hand that he’d filled with a couple bottles and some homemade appetizers, and an autumn-themed bouquet in the other. When she eventually pulled it open, a smile bloomed on his face that was perhaps even larger than the sunflower that sat front and center in the flower arrangement. 

“Xó!” he exclaimed affectionately, laughing as he set down the insulated bag for a moment to reach in and hug her with one arm. “Been too long, young lady!”

—

Wyatt was an old friend (so old, she’d joked more than once, when they’d first met), and he was somehow in the same town that she’d grown up in, now. Been born in, at least. Xóchitl wasn’t sure if she could fully say that she’d grown up in a town that she’d left when she was eight years old.

But when he’d texted her and mentioned that he was here, she hadn’t had to think twice about agreeing to hang out. At her place. Which yes, maybe she’d made sure was extra clean (though it usually was – in case she needed to put it on the market suddenly, in case this town made her need to leave again), and maybe she’d also dressed herself up nicer than usual, with a shirt that was one of her less work-appropriate ones, but Wyatt was cute, and she was almost thirty (though she’d certainly tried to flirt with him even back home, back when she was just nineteen or twenty).

She’d heard him at the door and darted over, smile bright on her face. “Far too long, though you still look good, not that I’m surprised, but…” Xóchitl let her voice trail off. “Come on in. What do you think of the place? Decorated it all myself, though manman is an art curator still, so I think some of her talent rubbed off on me.” Even if the place looked more pristine than most homes, she had made every effort to choose decor that felt like her, felt good, and looked good, too.

—

“Ohh, flatterer,” Wyatt teased, sauntering into the home as his gaze raked it over a few times, smile still fixed firmly in place as his head started to bob in a nod. “Hell yeah, ma chérie, it looks great.” His gaze fell back on Xó and he extended the bouquet out to her, adding a cheeky, “Not unlike yourself,” that he paired with a quick wink. 

Once she’d taken the flowers from him, he trailed after her toward the kitchen where she could procure a vase for them, and he could unpack their vittles for the evening. Carefully setting the plated and professional-looking dishes out along the counter, he explained what each one was as he went, then ended with the two bottles of wine he’d brought. He asked after the bottle opener and glasses so he could get them started, and it was as he was pouring the dark red liquor that he gave the woman a smirk and a soft scoff. “Girl, how are you?” he asked playfully, passing her one of the glasses. “Don’t hold back, now, I wanna know the hot goss.”

—

“You know it.” Xóchitl grinned back at him. “Oh, glad you think that my decorating skills are decent, and that you think I look great. Means a lot.” She quickly accepted the bouquet and offered Wyatt the slightest of curtseys in response – tongue-in-cheek and all, but something that worked very well between the two of them, she figured. 

“Damn, I’m impressed.” She spun around on the balls of her feet, pressing a kiss on top of the flowers before setting them down. “I’m well, you know, just looking great and having a brilliant job. Not that I’d brag, ever. Or,” Xóchitl’s eyes crinkled in the beginnings of laughter, “well, not without reason. Hot goss? There’s this sexy guy that’s back in town? Curly brown hair, wickedly charming smile? You might have seen him around.” She winked. “But for real, I don’t know – this town is still weird, but not all of it feels bad. Most of it, yes, but not everything. Do you have any hot gossip for me, babe?” Maybe the babe was a bit too much, but she appreciated just how easy things felt with Wyatt, how at home they felt.

—

"Ohh, no kiddin'? Hmm, you might have to introduce me…" Wyatt teased in return, taking a sip of his wine. Bless her heart–weird didn't even begin to cover it. He wondered, briefly, exactly how much of that weirdness she was aware of… but figured that would come up naturally if at all, and let the comment slide on by with a commiserate nod and shrug. "Little ol’ me? Well… It was gettin' too expensive to stay in Boston, couldn't ah… send as much back home." He'd made the brave decision to tell Xóchitl about his family in Louisiana once, and while he'd left out a lot of details, she at least knew that a portion of his income was mailed to his mother. "Heard through the grapevine that the cost of livin' was better here, n' since I knew you came from these parts, well… figured there had to be some good about it." He grinned, circling an arm around her waist and pulling her in close, pressing an affectionate kiss to her temple. "Believe it or not, you ain't the first person from Boston I've run into up here. Seems the past has a way of catchin' up, eh? Anyway… it's been good. Woulda been smarter to move somewhere warmer, probably. But I never claimed to be smart," the lamia laughed. 

After a beat, he let her go and set his glass on the counter, clapping his hands together. "Right then! Food, before the warm stuff cools off too much. All made special for you, dove." 

—

“I’ll be sure to, I have a feeling the two of you’ll get along almost like you’re the same person.” Xóchitl offered him a conspiratorial grin. She listened carefully to what he was saying – Wyatt was absolutely someone she trusted very much, and cared for all on top of that, and since they hadn’t been in tons of contact recently, she was hungry for whatever pieces of information he shared. “Boston’s way too expensive, I agree – and that makes sense, you’re good for looking out for your mom, I mean, I know it’s just nice to do, but too many people wouldn’t even try…” He’d come here in part because she was from here, and for all that she loathed what the town had done to her, she couldn’t help but smile at that particular remark, body relaxing against his arms. Sighing against the kiss against her temple, entirely at ease with him, just as always. “No way. That’s neat, though it’s kind of wild to see a lot of us just suddenly move up here. Though three’s not so many, I suppose. Well, I think you’re plenty smart,” she pressed a kiss to her fingers and pressed her fingers against his nose, “and selfishly, I’m glad you’re here, because I missed you.”

Xóchitl frowned for a moment when he let her go, though the promise of food was enticing. “I feel very very lucky, because your food is some of the best ever.”

—

It was kind of her to tell him she thought he was smart, even if he didn’t believe it for a second. Not to say he thought she was lying, she’d just probably never been around him long enough for the true, dumbass bayou hillbilly to come through. He’d worked very hard on the walls he’d built up around himself to protect that aspect of his personality from view, and subsequently, ridicule, and there were not many people he’d been that vulnerable with. It was nothing against Xóchitl, either—she was just actually smart, so the walls stayed up. Perception was everything, and if Wyatt was being truly honest with himself, he cared deeply about what others thought of him. Best to keep on her good side. 

They’d eaten the food and made it through the first bottle of wine after little more than an hour, chatting about their time apart as if it had never really occurred—talking to Xó had always been easy. Maybe that’s why she was a therapist (duh). Wyatt, for all his charm, was barely able to follow along as she spoke about her field of work, finding that he relied much more on wit and being able to convince someone that what he wanted was what they wanted than he actually understood other people. Or himself, for that matter. 

“That’s fascinatin’. You must be real good at readin’ people then, yeah? Does that ever get exhaustin’, or is it somethin’ you can like… turn off?” He let a brief pause pass between them before adding, “I hope you can, ‘cause I’m bettin’ tryin’ to read me would give you a right headache.” He was sitting beside her on the couch, arm slung across her shoulders, legs sticking out beneath the coffee table as he settled in comfortably. 

—

Wine and food and good conversation made time pass quickly. Time with Wyatt always did, but in the best sort of way. The best sort of way, minus the fact that it meant that time with him came to an end sooner than she would’ve liked. Which Xóchitl was keen to avoid today, at least. She wasn’t sure how successful she’d wind up being, but trying something mattered, didn’t it?

She wanted time with her friend, and besides, it was nice to look at Wyatt’s smile and know just how warm he was, and how easily he made her smile. Not that smiling was always hard, but Wyatt was undoubtedly on the list of people who always (always) understood just how to get Xóchitl to smile, even when she really wasn’t feeling up to it.

“I guess I am real good at that, huh?” She smirked at her friend. “I don’t try to read my friends, Wyatt, and I don’t try to do it all the time anyhow.” Xóchitl leaned against Wyatt’s chest, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the fabric of his shirt. “Don’t worry, this is all just us two. We can talk about, or do, whatever it is that you’d be up for. The food was, unsurprisingly, exceptional.”

—

“Mm, fair… probably best not to, eh? You’d get real sick of us.” Wyatt suspected that if she was ever upset with someone she might try to figure out what the hell was going on with them, but he’d never been on the opposite end of that particular emotion. No, he and Xó only had good memories together, and he aimed to keep it that way. 

The feel of her nails against his skin, even through the barrier of his shirt, had him straightening his spine a little bit. He smiled down at her, brushing her hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear as she spoke, assuring him that it was just them. Just them, and whatever they wanted to say… or do. Hm. 

He lifted a brow, craning his neck down to speak against the top of her head. “Well… I ain’t much of a linguistic genius, we both know that, but there’s loads of things we can do that I’m pretty good at,” he hummed suggestively. “Exceptional, even. Not to toot my own horn, but, ah…” The smirk remained as she predictably turned her head to look up at him, and his bright blue gaze fell to her lips.

—

“Well, I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of you, so…” Xóchitl shrugged. Not that she was going to think too much about that, because Wyatt had only just wound up back in her life again, and as much as she was one to catastrophize, she’d try to put it off at least for a little while, with him. Especially seeing as she’d only just gotten him back, and that was partially her fault, but still. It was good, and she could be selfish and take everything good that was offered to her.

(Not that there always was a lot of that, and Xóchitl didn’t even mean that in a way of self-pity, but more scientific fact).

His hand on her hair felt nice, and so did him tucking it behind her ear, and he smelled just like how she remembered, back, all those years ago. Even if it wasn’t the identical scent, it was the feeling, more than anything else, about it all, and Xóchitl felt her whole body relax against his, the comforting feeling of being curled into him one that she wasn’t going to stop relishing any time soon.

His words carried a more suggestive tone, then, and that much she could work with. “Being a linguistic genius is overrated anyways, and I’d love to see some of those things you’re good at.” Xóchitl looked up at him. “I think you deserve to praise yourself, and I’ll tell you that there are some things I’m also rather excellent at.” She brushed a finger against his jawline. “Besides, I’m flexible in more ways than one, and as bad of a line that is, let me tell you that I’m truly down for most anything. I think I’d like to see some of what you’re exceptional at, if you’d be so kind as to show me?”

—

Wyatt Barlow was many things, but overly cautious was not one of them. He rarely thought things through before acting, which is probably why he'd been pit fighting for more than half his life, and why he had no real relationships to speak of. He was, in every sense of the word, ephemeral. Flighty. Whim-prone, and right now his whim was curled against his side, touching his face, and telling him how flexible she was. There was no clearer sign in the universe, and the blinking neon might've blinded him had it been anything more than metaphorical. 

“And what sort of friend would I be if I didn't oblige when you've asked me so nicely?” he teased, leaning down to catch her lips in a kiss. It was gentle at first, or at least as gentle as was possible for Wyatt, but quickly devolved into something much more needy and ravenous.

Funnily enough, this hadn't been the intention behind tonight's visit, but it wasn't a detour he was looking to complain about, not by a long shot.

—

His kiss felt good, and it felt even better when Wyatt’s kisses turned more frantic, more hungry, and she’d wanted this for years, since they’d met and Wyatt had decided to be something of a gentleman, or whatever, but now he very much wasn’t being that, and Xóchitl was more than okay with that, as she pulled him against her body. “You wouldn’t be a very good friend, especially since I have asked so nicely.” She pouted for a moment before her grin turned into something far more mischievous – and, for that matter, sensual.

She pulled away from Wyatt for a moment, only to rid herself of her shirt before her mouth found his again. “Since you’re being such a good friend, I think we should take this to my room. Only the best for you, of course,” her kisses were frenetic this time, as she walked backwards, towards her room, pulling him along, until they were on her bed, and something about all of this felt so good and Xóchitl was also more than just a little pleased with herself.

After, she looked over to him, and couldn’t help but remark that, “well, it’s about time, Wyatt. See, though, told you I can use my mouth for much more than just talking. Been telling you that for years, too.” She turned more fully to face him, placing a kiss on his jaw. “Hope that was worth it. Happy to do a repeat any time you’d like.”

—

“And you sure weren’t lyin’, sweetheart,” Wyatt remarked in turn, grinning at her when she moved to better face him. “‘N hey, I was tryin’ to be polite!” It was more that he enjoyed the chase, enjoyed every moment of tension that led up to nights like this, finding the whole experience far more satisfying if there was something at stake. Stakes were the kind of thing that kept him interested, after all. 

Humming softly as she kissed him again, the lamia raised his brows. “Oh yeah? Well, how ‘bout I take you out first next time, treat you to a proper night on the town, hm?” He wasn’t the sort to just show up looking for a bedfellow, no… there had to be some kind of preamble. Maybe it was all the lessons from his mother about treating people right, but it was a habit that was hard to kick. Hell, even Owen was always wined or dined first, or whatever sort of act of service Wyatt could manifest in however little time the slayer had given him. 

Running a hand through her hair, he let it fall piece by piece back to her bare shoulder, smirking to himself. “Kick me out when you get tired of me,” he offered, not wanting to overstay his welcome. “But I can stay tonight if you’d prefer, dove.”

—

“I try not to lie – at least as far as about things like this.” Xóchitl shrugged. “Well, I hope the wait was worth it, though for the record, I wouldn’t have thought you were rude if you’d been quote-unquote rude before now. Just so we’re clear.” But it was also nice, how he hadn’t just wanted to jump into bed with her, even despite all her attempts.

The feeling of his skin under her lips felt nice. “Not sure how much of a proper night on the town this town can give, but I won’t say no, obviously.” She never would, to attention specifically designed for her, for her to be treated specially. From someone like Wyatt, someone she’d actually known for quite a while, there was something about all of that that felt even more worth it, more fulfilling in its own sort of way. “We could always go somewhere more exciting, but I do trust you to make any town something fun.” Which she did. Wyatt was fun, hanging out with him was fun, so even if her hometown wasn’t nearly as exciting as Boston or New York City, Xóchitl figured the two of them could make it a whole lot of fun on their own.

Xóchitl also was in no way opposed to the way he brushed his hand through her hair. “I mean, all of this has been fantastic, and you’re my friend, so I don’t think you could really overstay your welcome.” Her smile, though still smirk-adjacent, was also real, and she hoped he could tell that. “I wouldn’t say no to that. In fact, I’d say a very enthused yes. Especially because I’m not so sure I’m totally ready to be alone in bed…” She shifted closer to him, pressing another kiss on his lips.

[flickerstim]

Howdy! I hope it’s ok to ask, but could you tell me a bit about what “link” means? /gen q

Hello! It's no worries, I'd love to answer your question, thusly I will :] Do note that I will be mostly talking about my own personal experience with Linking. Everyone's definitions and experiences will vary, so don't be afraid to ask around!

Now then: I've seen the term "Link" have quite a few definitions. When I was introduced to it, I saw it referred to as: "A character you identify with for coping/fun purposes"

Which for some folks, comes off as KFF (Kin For Fun), although it's more complex than that- at least for me.

In my personal experience, I would define "Link" as: "A character you identify with for generally any reason; A character you consider to be yourself, in some manner"

In my personal experience, I tend to fall in and out of Link stages. Many days, I am just my normal self: Cody.

However, on other days, I feel my sense of self shift. While I am still me- I have not blacked out, nor do I feel revolted by the idea of my Cody-self- I don't feel like Cody. I find myself wanting to talk through a character. Usually, as I talk on Discord a lot, I make myself a Tupperbox Bot. I find an image that fits how I feel. I assign it the name I feel, and the pronouns I feel. Here are some of my bots as examples!

(The "[Link {☕}]" on my bots is for moderation purposes in servers, nothing more :]) (Quick image ID just in case, I'm bad at these but I hope I did it right) [ID: Seven Discord screenshots, all featuring messages made using Tupperbox bots. Each bot has the word "Link" and a coffee cup emoji in brackets at the end of their name, denoting that they're bots intended for Link-Shifts. Each bot represents six characters- all Homestuck characters, one character being doubled-up - and each has their own name and pronouns.. The first bot reads "Dualscar / Delfin (Avoid, Namself, Sea-Related). The second bot reads "Jake English!! (Any, Get Funky!). The third bot reads "The Orphaner Dualscar (He/Fin)". The fourth bot reads "Mituna", however his name is spelt using a typing quirk- making the "i" in his name be a "1" instead, doubling up the 1-I, and the "a" at the end being replaced with a "4". In plaintext, his pronouns read "(Any but she/her tbh)". The fifth bot reads "Rufioh Nitram!!", however the "i"s are replaced with "1"s. His pronouns read "(HE/RUF)". The sixth bot reads "CALIBORN", with fancy symbols around the name, his pronouns reading "(ANY/ALL)". The seventh bot reads "twinArgmageddons"- a mispelling of "twinArmageddons"- with his pronouns reading "[HE/IT, ANY]". Each bot has their own message, some with typing quirks and others without. End ID.] As is visible in my screenshots, sometimes I take up typing quirks- as they feel like the proper way for me to talk. Sometimes, I don't. My links can happen for multiple reasons. Sometimes I link due to stress. Sometimes I link because I'm jealous. Other times, my brain simply decides that it's time to link. Also as is visible in my screenshots, I tend to link male/masc characters- it's something due to me not wanting to be viewed in a feminine way online :]

Linking could be mistaken for roleplay, however it's more than that! You feel connected with the character- like you are them in some manner (at least in my experience). Unlike Kinning (at least from my understanding of Kinning), you don't feel completely like the character- you don't feel like a reincarnated version of them, or like the entirety of you is them. You still feel somewhat like yourself during a Link-Shift. Your concept of self just changes, in some manner (Again, at least in MY experience).

I guess as a TL;DR, a good explanation of "linking" is: "Feeling an identity-related connection to a character for reasons that vary from linker to linker."

Hope this helped!! :]

[lynxz-studios]

hOW THE FUCK ARE YOU SO POSTIVE ABT LIFE????? BITCH THIS SUCKS????

HOW THE FUCK???

okay being genuine, life can suck ass. it can be hard, it can be ruthless and it can be cold. i used to consider myself a realist until i realized that was kinda damaging how i view life as a whole, and i find going in with optimism actually really helps. i know it sounds dumb and like it wont work, but you start noticing the smaller things. the way your friends laugh, home-made baked goods that taste unlike anything a bakery could make, the birds flitting through the trees, the leaves rustling in the wind.

yeah, life can be bad. but yknow what makes it worse? self depricating humor. im not joking, saying negative things about myself and coating it as a joke made my mental health sink like a fucking rock. then i tried making jokes about how im literally a god at everything i do and it doesnt have that negative affect.

lemme give an example. you drew something and you dont like it. thats completely fine and normal, but the second you start saying "i can't draw this" or "i'll never be as good an artist as them" thats what actually fucks with your brain because you trick yourself into thinking that.

make a list, mental or physical, of ten things that you love and care about. i'll start-

my friends

my dog

my plushies

my blanket

my room

my plants

the view that lets me see the sun through the trees in the early morning

my books

my lego sets

my pokemon cards

they dont have to be big or one of a kind, just something that you love. self-hate will absolutely get you nowhere and i can confirm that personally, and i want you to look in the mirror and say "i love you"

because i do. you are a caring, funny, and kind person and i couldn't be happier that you are my friend. and as your friend, please don't make more self-depricating comments. it helps no one, especially not yourself.

i know a lot of schools say to have a positive mental attitude and it sounds stupid, it sounds like it wont ever work, but i promise you it does.

-love you/p

[little-miss-understood]

Dame Violette, Part One

This may look familiar! The old versions of this story will be taken down soon. I feel comfortable enough now to restart it, especially in light of that Season 5 finale.

-

Hi, my name is Marinette! I'm just a normal girl who lives with her two baker parents in Paris. There's nothing special about me, nope, nosiree.

...Unless you count the weird psychic visions I get. I mean that has to be normal, right?

They're like “mental shocks”. To be honest I'm not really sure why they happen or how they come to me, or even if I'm the only one who gets them. Maybe others do as well and no one wants to share it with the world? But that seems unlikely. The shocks seem to be steering me in life, hopefully away from bad things though I never know for sure. Like a shock I got when considering fashion as a career choice, which led to some weird visions of a blonde-haired woman yelling about how something wasn't exceptional and about a man who looked old and stern, how the world of fashion seemed very competitive and not easy to get to the top of, at least not without losing parts of yourself along the way. Because of that I figured maybe engineering would be better for me, I seem to have a knack for designing neat things, like diaries with unique locks. I still make clothes occasionally! But they're more for myself or my close friends.

Another shock came when the first class representative elections came up. I thought about running, but memories of a girl who seemed to be overrun with responsibilities for her classmates filled my mind, along with a figure who took advantage who looked very, very similar to Madame Bustier, my homeroom teacher. Because of that it led me to always sit at the back of the class rather than anywhere near the front, not wanting to be noticed. Someone else can take that particular burden. There are only two other people who knows about me having such thoughts...having met them both through shocks, I figured they'd understand it if I explained the whole thing outright. Considering how well read one of them is I had hoped maybe she could have had a rational explanation but she just laughed and said it was probably some kind of “gut magic”. The other simply said it was “Awesome”. I might have been offended but they both wholeheartedly believed me. I don't know why a person believing in me feels so...important, but it does. Like I know my parents do but having someone else besides them is great. I have just this small group of two best friends, and that's more than enough for me. Having too many would be spreading myself thin and my downtime is important; I hate being run off my feet. Plus quality is better over quantity, and both of these girls are quality without a doubt. We might as well be sisters now for how entangled our lives have become.

- In a schoolyard, a five-year old Marinette looks around anxiously. It's a brand-new school to her, what with the move her mama and papa had done to a new and larger bakery, and she had to leave behind the friends she made in the previous year. Her papa however had done what he always did, and set her up with a box of macarons for her first day. “Just be yourself, offer one to a classmate. You're going to be fine, my sweet.” But there was a sinking feeling in her stomach. Marinette was expecting something to come her way, something horrible. Something brash. But little did she know, that on the other side of Paris, a decision was made to send a blonde girl of similar age to a private school, along with a boy of a prominent fashion mogul. It was over the objections of her father, a councilman who was hoping to rise to the position of mayor. “It's out of the question, Andre!”, shouted the mother. “She needs to learn what it takes with the right kind of teachers! Besides, this might seal the deal between ourselves and the Agrestes for marriage!” So, one fate was avoided. It was at this point Marinette felt the mental shock. A view into another universe, one were the blonde terror came to the school and immediately started to berate her as low-class, that her macarons were tasteless, and screaming for a young bespectacled red-haired girl to follow her during recess. It was said girl that Marinette saw near the entrance of the school, looking just as lost. The vision of the other universe fresh in her head, she walked over and opened up the box her father had provided. “Hi, my name is Marinette! Would you like a macaron?” The girl seemed to hesitate for a moment, almost as if she was questioning Marinette's motives and if this was, in fact, real. But then she looked down into the box, back towards her, and smiled. “I'm...Sabrina. It's nice to meet you! Um, do you have any strawberry ones?”

- We were inseparable from that day forward, best friends forevermore. Where would I be without Sabrina? Probably some stuttering mess. We each seemed to calm different parts of ourselves; her stopping my anxious “spirals” before they even start, and me encouraging her to stand up for herself. There's a strong mutual respect and understanding between us both; she's smart in the areas I'm not, and in turn I make up where she may falter. While I'm thankful for a lot of the “shocks” and their guidance, that one in particular has a special place in my heart as it gave two souls support and friendship. And two we were, until five years later a shock gave us our “missing” sister. -

Friendship Day. An annual scavenger hunt across all of Paris. Usually Sabrina and I don't participate, but a shock a few days ago convinced me to have us both take part this year. The celebrity we were supposed to try and find was Jagged Stone, and that's kind of cool, but at the same time we couldn't work together to try and do it. The rules of the day meant that a new “friend” would be assigned to us at random.

Which is a shame, because Sabrina and I probably could have made short work this whole thing.

My phone buzzed with the first clue, “With one turn of a handle, I can raise the level.” That was easy enough, the Canal Saint-Martin. That wasn't even very far away, maybe a few blocks. I thought back to what was shown to me in the shock while walking towards the canal lock. It was of a girl with black and purple hair and a boy with teal hair. Both of them had their backs turned, so I had no idea what they looked like, but...

...it seemed I was going to meet one of them today. The girl on the bridge looked almost the same as the one in my vision, though shorter somehow? But the hair was a dead giveaway, along with the fact that her clothing also seemed similar.

And that she had her back to me. I guess the best approach would be direct?

“Um, hello!”

That seemed to startle her more than anything, though she slowly turned around. Her face was covered by her hair, and her expression was one of fear. But we briefly locked eyes, and something in her seemed to calm right away. Enough for her to haltingly mumble something out. I barely caught it.

“Hello. I'm Juleka.”

-

In the end, it turned out she was more scared about searching for Jagged Stone than meeting me; apparently her mother had something against him and she didn't really want Juleka to take part, but was free to do so anyways. Though we kept following the clues, we both eventually gave up the hunt and started to talk more about our lives. It turned out we had a few similar interests, and by the end of the day when we met up with Sabrina I had grown used to Juleka's unique way of speaking French.

It took Sabrina more time to get there, though.

-

“I couldn't believe it Nettie, all she kept going on about was how “utterly ridiculous” I was! Everything from what I was wearing to if I couldn't get one of the clues right on the first try! I guess I drew the short straw on this whole thing.”

“It's alright Brina, you don't ever have to see her again at least.” I said, putting a supportive arm around her at the same time.

“I hope not. You know how I feel about bullies. But...” She turned her attention to the raven-haired girl sitting on the other side of me. “At least it looks like things were brighter on your end?”

“They were for sure! Juleka, this is Sabrina!”

Juleka's eyes darted up and down Sabrina, as if looking for some kind of hidden intention. After a moment, she breathed a small sigh of relief before letting out a mumble that was similar to what I had heard earlier in the day. Judging from the look on Sabrina's face, she hadn't quite caught what the other girl had said, so I served as a translator.

“She said it's nice to meet you.”

-

From then on, we were a trio. Three Musketeers, all for one and one for all. I wasn't sure how Juleka would influence us at first, it was only later I realized that her tastes ended up seeping into Sabrina and I unnoticed, enough that all of us were wearing darker clothing by the time we hit our teens, not to mention a nose piercing (for Sabrina) and hair dye (for myself, which more than surprised my parents the day I showed up at home from a sleepover with pink highlights in my black hair). But none of that was a bad thing, if anything we embraced it all. We understood Juleka when very few would bother trying; her accented French could come out sounding low or in mumbles to others, but we knew what she saying. Juleka could be as chaotic as her mother around the right people, and it seemed as though we were her people.

The three of us were together enough that a language was taking form among ourselves; an unholy mix of French, Scottish Gaelic, English, and some Mandarin. Every weekend a sleepover, either at my place, Juleka's houseboat or Sabrina's apartment. Sabrina had in fact been over more times than I could count, largely because her father, Roger, trusted my parents and knew she was in good hands. He worked long hours as a police officer but took a step back from front-line duties as Sabrina got older, not wanting to be in danger and leave Sabrina without a parent. It took Roger...longer to get used to both Juleka and Anarka, her mother, but in the end was won over by a weird shared taste in rock music. Sabrina had told me when he was younger that Roger upheld the law to the letter but had significantly mellowed out over the years, which was good as Anarka didn't exactly park her boat in entirely legal areas. Our first combined sleepover on the Liberty also caused him concern as the boat had ended up in another place entirely overnight, but seeing his daughter happy must have helped warm things over.

Not to mention my own parents helping in that respect, too. I dearly love my papa and my maman; both of them work so hard to keep the bakery running, which means long days and nights, but they always also find ways to make time for me. Occasionally I pitch in, there have even been periods when Sabrina has as well, and they get along with Roger and Anarka. They've even taken on Juleka's brother, Luka, as a delivery driver! Anarka had come back to Paris so that Luka could attend a prestigious music school. Juleka was offered the same but she wasn't quite sure what she wanted to do yet, so of course Sabrina and I jumped at the chance to have her in our class, though it did mean she had to go down a grade because of odd timing.

We were now getting ready to enter our third year of school together. It seemed as though we wouldn't be switching classes, even with the addition of some new people into the school; I didn't pay attention to any of that but Sabrina had found out that not only was the daughter of the Mayor going to be in our school this year, but also the son of some famous fashion designer. Ag...something. Agreste maybe? That name had sounded familiar.

It didn't matter; nothing would change my year too much. Nothing exciting would happen, nothing out of the ordinary. I'm happy being normal, I'm happy in my life, with my friends.

But as I travelled to school, before meeting up with Sabrina and Juleka, little did I know my life would change in a big way. All because I picked up a small butterfly brooch that was lying in a puddle of water. I didn't even notice it at first but a purple jewel caught my sight. Bending down to pick it up, a terrible shock came to me, one of the worst I've ever experienced.

A vision of a girl in a ladybug outfit, a boy in leather made to look like a cat. Some figure calling himself “Hawkmoth”. A box that seemed to be filled with random jewellery. A bunch of mysterious figures that were guarding over said box, but it was stolen from a Temple-

“Nettie!”

I looked down the street and saw Sabrina calling out to me, with Juleka standing next to her. I couldn't just leave the broach, it seemed far too precious for that. Besides, if it gave off such a strong mental vision, maybe that meant that I was supposed to have it? I could always give it up later, and maybe someone was out looking for a piece of lost jewellery. Stuffing it into my pocket, I ran down to meet my friends. After school was over, maybe then I could figure out what to do with it.

For now, my last year at Collège Françoise Dupont was about to begin.

[hyperfixationtimego]

Can you at least list down what exactly is accurate or not with Mindy? No offense but a lot of these posts that defend Mindy don't even provide sources of their own. So for ppl like me that barely know her, my knowledge comes from Jewish, Muslim, Black, Trans people that repeatedly point out the bigotry in her shows by providing source and timestamps. I can't go by anything with people telling me she is not that bad

I mean, the whole point of me wording the posts as generally as I did was to encourage people to look shit up for themselves instead of lazily expecting some random social media user to tell them exactly why and how to think, but sure yeah whatever.

“She’s a TERF/She’s transphobic.”

we’ll start with the one I’m most qualified to talk about, considering that I myself am a trans person.

the whole accusation of her supposedly being transphobic occurred after she allegedly liked this tweet by JK Rowling, who - as can easily be confirmed just based on a quick scroll through her twitter history - is a known TERF.

Notice how the tweet itself never specifically refers to trans people, though. Like, yeah, us queers know the context & hatred behind, but if you yourself are not LGBTQ+ and are thus not necessarily up to date on all the discourse & issues being discussed by the trans community, the tweet itself just reads like a well-known children’s book author giving a snippy, self-assured response to someone else’s complaint about her work/life.

i’m not linking to kaling’s twitter because. frankly I find this complaint about her to be one of the stupidest and I simply cannot be bothered, but if you do check it out you’ll find that she’s since unliked the goddamn tweet AND that she’s not actively following Rowling, because hey guess what.

Kaling has normal opinions about trans people, actually.

In 2018, Josie Totah - one of the stars on Kaling’s show Champions - came out as a trans woman, and in response, Kaling voiced support & excitement for her, and mentions her admiration for Totah’s talent & an excitement for the idea of being able to work with her again, publicly establishing herself as an ally & inherently supporting the idea of working with trans people in the industry.

Here’s the tweet btw!

So….yeah. Kaling’s not a TERF lmao she’s literally just. a cis woman who didn’t know all the context.

“She’s antisemitic.”

this is the other one I had already looked into beforehand, so for the sake of my sanity it’s the one we’re covering next 👍

As far as I’m aware, this claim was spurred by the way a Jewish character was depicted in Never Have I Ever, a Netflix show created by Mindy Kaling and Lang Fisher.

You know who Lang Fisher is? Yeah, neither does anybody else who’s been accusing Kaling of hating Jewish people, apparently.

Isn’t it funny how, of the two of them, the brown woman had her shit completely dragged, but the white woman of equal title & responsibility in the creation of the show is hardly ever acknowledged or brought up 🙄 /s

Anyway, I’m gonna preface the next part by stating for the record that I’ve not yet had the opportunity to watch Never Have I Ever for myself, and thus I won’t be able to comment on any thematic or narrative decisions within the show.

Here’s an article written by journalist Mira Fox, detailing the problematic depiction of that Jewish character I mentioned, and here’s a direct response to that article, written by Dr. Karen E. H. Skinazi, a Jewish woman & associate professor of literature & culture. Skinazi argues that, while far from perfect, the inclusion of Jewish stereotypes in respect to that specific character still manages to contribute to the show’s overall themes of diversity, individuality, & acceptance.

The nuance of these two reactions is really important - Dr. Skinazi’s testament that the depiction of Ben’s character serves a greater purpose to the impact of the show as a whole, instead of simply existing as a way for the creators to express a dislike or hatred for Jewish people, makes it fairly apparent that Kaling & Fisher’s intent with the character was noble, even if their execution of the concept ended up missing a mark here or there.

In addition to that, I feel that it is very important to mention Kaling’s close personal relationship with B.J. Novak, who is himself a Jewish man and also the literal godfather of Kaling’s children.

Does this mean that Kaling is outright incapable of engaging in antisemitic behavior? Of course not! But at the very least, I do feel it’s indicative that Kaling is not actively trying to insult Jewish people or put them down, and that needs to be acknowledged.

Now, I personally have not encountered claims of Kaling specifically being antiblack or islamophobic, but considering that you did not provide me with specific things you wanted me to look into other than the very tall order of “what is and isn’t accurate about her,” and that you mentioned that your knowledge of her is specifically coming from “Jewish, Muslim, Black, [and] Trans” people, I’ll tentatively assume that the Black & Muslim people you’ve spoken with were perhaps providing evidence for some other complaints entirely. If there is evidence of her touting that kind of bigotry, though, please let me know! It’s important to be accurate with this kind of stuff!

I DO want to touch on what you’ve said about about timestamps, though; they’re far from reliable sources of information, especially when dealing with the realm of comedy. Context is EVERYTHING - you have to be aware of the overall message being told to the audience. You can’t just quote the setup to a joke and then refuse to acknowledge its punchline when it’s delivered; they’re both serving a purpose to what the speaker or performer is trying to express.

There were a few other claims that came to mind that I considered touching on, but frankly this post is already stupidly long and it really is not my responsibility to teach you guys how to appropriately interact with the information you are presented on the internet.

You can tell me if you want, and I’ll do my best to fact-check whatever it is, but if you aren’t gonna give me specific claims or accusations to work with, find and corroborate the answers for yourself. I’m not your mom, dude.

[msfbgraves]

Konmari - specials and other small observations

So guys I didn't do it. Not this time.

I succumbed to the lure of specials one time again this month, though I'd mitigated the damage by donating a third of the coupons so that I could not buy more than three items I had been lowkey meaning to buy for months anyway. (Knowing full well that 'lowkey' means that I could have quite happily done without, but at least I didn't succumb to a fourth item. I don't know what ramekins are even after googling their use but I would have bought them.) I'd only really identified this as a problem a few weeks ago so I still consider this progress.

But as if to test me...

They had a massive amount of specials this week. This is completely against their schedule, and the reductions were even significant for pre-inflation standards.

And I didn't buy any extra of anything that I didn't already need to replace, no 'let's try this out' 'but it really is a steal' 'Who doesn't like chips', zilch. And today when I thought: "Some cucumber would be nice, maybe if I drive over I can get that really nice special on madeleines..." I thought, Fantine, do you hear yourself? Would you have gone for the cucumber alone? No? So you're not going for the madeleines, either, I don't care how good this deal is!

Of course those specials are simply a personal tic, and not a problem anybody else on earth may need to change, but I was only vaguely aware of it six weeks ago, let alone that I could have done anything at all about it. I would have gone slightly mad at this specialfest otherwise, buying plenty of things I don't miss now at all.

Other stray things: my mother, who needs it least of all the people I know, has started to tidy too. Marie Kondo did say visually tidying a space is contagious without having to say a word. Simply doing it will get people going: "since you're going to goodwill anyway..." You don't have to urge anyone to do anything at all. And you absolutely do not have to fight about it, however messy your housemates are.

Round storage containers- why? I'm not a hobbit!

You will find new uses for things you decided to keep, and it'll keep happening. I like to drink a tea that's called 'autumn storm' or whatever, depending on the brand. Well, I've found some aspen spice, and I have a creeping suspicion that's what that tea is flavoured with. I think I can manage that myself from now on (or until the aspen runs out, anyway. Maybe I'll make my own).

Update: aspen is more like 'winter glow'. Tastes nice enough though, I'm just done with winter!

Though I'm still salty about the 'you have to do all the categories in this order' - bit, I still think doing things by category is a good idea, and that is because (and this is important!) you can decide when to stop without feeling you didn't make any headway.

Because you need to stop, specifically to do 'normal' cleaning. Tidying is messy business, and you won't have a chance to determine how much headway you've made until you periodically put your house in 'normal' order. You'll probably notice this takes less time after each category.

All the pain of the 'omg but should I really let go of this thing?' is in the initial sorting. As soon as it's boxed up and labeled for goodwill or readied for recycling or ready to be sold, you will simply want it out of your face.

Something all the konmari youtube films confirm - you become ruthless in yeeting things you don't absolutely love. And that is like regifting - it's fine when done with care, but don't do it in front of people. This can be mitigated by visually cherishing some things they have bought you that you do love. Very unlikely they remember the things that you don't love, but everybody appreciates seeing you use gifts that you do. And then you can yeet to your heart's content, it really is addictive.

However tidy you get, you will forget that you own things. I think doing inventory at the start of each season is smart. I hardly have a warehouse, but a little 'ooh, it's going to be spring/summer/autumn/winter' checkup is fun. Probably will happen anyway when preparing for Easter/Summer vacation/Halloween/Christmas or Purim/Pesach/Sukkot/Rosh Hashana, Ramadan Eid, Diwali or any other markers I don't know about, but first you're going to have a 'Ah, I have this! Cool!' which will give you new ideas and it will save money.

I keep saying this, but no more 'just in case'. Just in case is not now, and right now it is making your life harder by being in it. Of course this does not go for stuff that makes you feel secure to have it, like spare tires or medical supplies or spare keys, or, as is common in Holland, just in case it gets hot enough to go to the beach. I count that as sparking joy. But I'll keep this 'just in case I might take up making sushi', or 'just in case all my good clothes get lost in a fire' 'Just in case I gain 15 pounds'; or, in my case, 'just in case I do learn how to reliably use a drill even though it has been twenty years, I'm a spaz and I have never learnt despite several attempts' sweetheart, you will deal with that if you should get there.

Marie Kondo says that unused stuff gives off sad vibes. But loved stuff gives off vibes too. And the vibe is: "Play with me. Come on, play with me! You'll love it!" And that is 100% awesomesauce, but it makes me even more hesitant to add to things. It will want to get used. Discarding it when unused will feel painful, there is no two ways about that. So must I own it? And I'm not being a minimalist about it, it's fantastic to answer this question with a resounding "hells, yeah!!" But must I, really? Can I borrow it? Simply to get a feel for it? Every purchase has a honeymoon period. But what then? Stores always urge you to buy, have you noticed? "Don't miss out! Limited time only!" You wouldn't buy a pet that way, ideally, you shouldn't buy anything that way, because things aren't dead. They want to be in use, and money is much more lovingly spent maintaining things than replacing them, if, of course, you have the choice. But even on very little money and with low quality things, getting a sense of what you have and where to find it at the very least will save you time and energy, and that energy can be spent on your dreams, your health, or some slightly higher quality items that don't constantly need to be replaced. Stuff wants to be in your corner. Clutter never is.