#poor emotional intelligence

[360degreesasthecrowflies]

BEYOND FRUSTRATED today with my mum's attitude (& briefly wondering if it's just her or anyone else has experienced similar)

Recently when I've told my mum about things hard in my life or personal specific difficulties (or challenges in light of my achievements, efforts etc.) she's come back with responses like "things are for sure harder for your generation, I know".

Mum!

I'm not talking to you to represent my generation speaking to yours like some kind of diplomat!

I'm sharing my actual life with you so that a) you're aware and b) maybe you can offer some specific advice or encouragement. Or at least listen to me!

I come out of these conversations feeling like I've just been pushed aside as just another symptom of generation gap.

The point of that generation gap or even general difficulties someone in their 20s or 30s might have nowadays that one 30 or 40 years ago might not have had is that these challenges are coming despite our absolute best efforts to plan for, anticipate, and mitigate them or ride them out. I feel like the sheer scale of what is happening as we lurch from one 'once in a lifetime' crisis to the next is that despite our best efforts those of us who still have the energy to try are never getting out of the storm and are only barely keeping our heads above the water.

Others in our generation have already given up and are just making the most of playing with the fishes while they still can, before they sink completely out of sight. Not because of a lack of confidence which is what I see older people constantly claiming, but because the chances of actually making it work are so low nowadays even for people who've done everything, at every stage - school, work, volunteering, paying for extra courses etc. even when that's a huge sacrifice - to give themselves the best possible chances of success available to those not born into families of extreme wealth. And then as soon as that gets close to paying off, boom! The government moves the goalposts again.

I don't understand how my mum can't recognise that (not my intention to brag) I'm an outlier here and I'm still fucked.

Salary triple what I had 5 years ago. A position of responsibility and influence just into my 30s, that I got through sheer grift with no relevant qualifications while suffering from chronic illnesses. And despite that, despite that I pay near a grand a month for rent, the bank won't lend me more than double my salary to get a mortgage. For which I couldn't even buy the shittiest apartment in a dangerous neighbourhood.

Yeah mum, positive thinking and being sure of myself is really going to help me get out of that one. Really feels some days like its a general failure of some older adults to actually accept the reality that 'things are more difficult nowadays' doesn't mean just a little bit for only the poorest or those who are lazy or chose to fuck about when they were younger, some hypothetical abstract 'those poor people' who aren't 'us'. It means that your adult children who might have gone above and beyond to succeed or even just to get a secure and safe lifestyle when older are also struggling right at the absolute bottom rung through no fault of their own - not because, as is sometimes implied, we WANTED to try and play at being worse off like some kind of sick poverty cosplay safari - and no amount of positive reframing or "but what if" is going to change that. We need systemic change from the top to make any dent in that reality and under this government? No chance.

[miekasa]

mie, do you have any hcs about satoru's kid(s) having to "parent" him more than he should be to them lmao

LMFAO listen, Satoru is a good dad, and his kids look up to him and follow his lead a lot—but the one thing they school him in is confronting and talking about his feelings. They’re not actively trying to council him, of course, the twins are only four afterall, but whether they realize it or not they’re a pretty good influence on him; all the “why” questions they ask lead both them and Satoru to talking about things he didn’t even think he felt or needed to vocalize :(( it’s actually kind of precious :(( even if he’s soundboarding with some kids

Like, they’re watching a movie or something together right, something they’ve seen before which is why when Satoru starts mumbling about two of the characters, the older of the twins turns right in his lap and says, “Daddy you always talk at this part.”

“No I don’t!” he quick to taunt, turning to the other twin at his side for backup, but he agrees with his brother. Satoru pouts, “Maybe, whatever. I don’t like this part.”

“Why?” the one of the left prompts, looking up at his dad. Satoru frowns; those eyes are his own, and they’re staring right into his soul.

“I just don’t,” he hums, hoping to satisfy the curious children. It doesn’t—and it doesn’t help that they’re twins, because Satoru swears they’ve got some kind of telepathic communication going on with the way they look at each other, then back at him and ask again in unison: “Why?”

“Because, they just leave Tinkerbell behind. That’s not very nice,” Satoru confesses, once again hoping his explanation satiates the twins.

The boy in his lap blinks. Satoru knows he’s in for it. “But they come back for Tinkerbell,” he reminds his father, shuffling around in his lap to rest his head against Satoru’s chest, “That’s nice, daddy.”

“But it’s not nice when they leave her,” Satoru pouts, “It wouldn’t feel good if your brother left you behind, right?”

“Oh,” the other twin gapes, “Does it make you sad?”

“No,” Satoru scoffs, but his tone is too defensive—makes the kids even more curious, and again he’s got two sets of wide eyes staring at him and asking, “Why?”

He sighs, gentler, more honest, “Maybe a little.”

A moment passes where they’re all quiet. Satoru’s not sure of what to say next, worried he might have made the twins upset, when the eldest of the two nuzzles his head against his chest and gently grabs his shirt, “I would be sad like Tinkerbell, I think—I think I’m already sad when you and mommy leave when we go to school.”

“Mommy says it’s okay to have missing feelings,” his brother pipes in.

“Your mother is right,” Satoru chimes in, a nostalgic grin forming on his lips, “We miss you guys, too. Work is not as fun as school.”

The boy by his side frowns, “You work at a school, daddy.”

Satoru chuckles, moves his arm to pat his head, “Yeah, but I work with big kids, not cute little kids like you two.”

The kid giggles under his father’s affection, and for good measure, Satoru squeezes the boy on his lap and little closer to him, too. He smiles too, wiggling around to tuft more of Satoru’s shirt into his small fist.

“Are the big kids nice?”

“Of course!” Satoru grins, “You know that—you’ve met them before. Aren’t Maki and Yuuji and their friends super nice?”

“Oh, yeah,” his son blinks; then smiles, “Yuuji is super nice.”

“Yuuji is the best,” the other twin pipes, “I like Nobara, too—and I like Toge because he gives me piggy back rides.”

“Me, too, I like Toge, too! And, and—and Yuuta because Yuuta does the best pushes on the swings.”

“Does he now?” Satoru questions with a smile.

He gets a nod of confirmation, “Yuuta is really nice. He always gives me more snack, but Yuuji is my favorite.”

“Oh? Yuuji is your favorite? Not me or mommy?” Satoru teases. Both the boys claw at him, talking over each other in exclamations of—“No, you and mommy are the best, too!” and “You’re my favorite favorite!”

He accepts the proclamations with many kisses, genuinely happy to have both his boys in his arms. Satoru kisses both of their heads before they settle back down. They’ve missed a good portion of the movie talking, but neither them seem to mind. Satoru isn’t watching much of it any more himself, busy with thinking about how he’s blessed with such perceptive and intelligent little kids.

“Daddy,” a small voice breaks through his thoughts; Satoru turns to his side, “Are you still sad?”

Satoru purses his lips. He wonders just how much they catch onto—or, perhaps, if he was never that good at hiding it to begin with.

“No,” he answers honestly, “You boys make me very happy.”

His soon looks up at him with a toothy grin. Satoru expects another question, maybe even a—“You make us happy, too, daddy!”—but nothing could have prepared him for what his son says next:

“Hey, daddy, doesn’t Nanamin look like Tinkerbell?”

[ghostinthegallery]

can you do "please hold me" for the prompts please?

Here it is! "Please hold me" from this list of prompts. Featuring Zahndrekh/Obyron and a little post-Severed trauma.

###

Obyron had endured hundreds of feasts. Thousands, maybe tens of thousands by now. Some in the time of flesh, most in the time of metal when there were no dishes nor full goblets save for in his master’s mind. Obyron hated them, but he had never once fled from the unpleasantness. Until now.

Obyron wished he could slam the door behind him. Instead it slid smoothly back into place, doing nothing to release the violent tide of emotions roiling in his flux. His heart should have been racing, his head swimming, his skin dotted with sweat. There was nothing. His living metal was pristine and he was still. If one were to look at him they might assume he was as mindless as his brethren. He wasn’t. Sometimes he cursed that fact.

Right now he cursed his weakness most of all.

Casual barbs at his expense from Sautekh lords were a reality of his position. The necron nobility had little to do but battle with their armies and battle with their wits, meager as the latter often were. In reality, they simply insulted each other. Their performance in campaigns, their palaces, their possessions…their soldiers.

“That one had a phalanx, didn’t it, Zahndrekh?” The lord had pointed to Obyron then. “Shame you never taught it proper tactics, otherwise it might have held onto them. Or perhaps your example was too poor.”

At that point, Obyron had faced a choice between leaving the feast or beating the noble to death.

He had managed to make his exit somewhat subtle. Found a lychguard to take his position at Zahndrekh’s side, circled the room as if he were simply patrolling. Then he left. This chamber was the first empty one he had found, scrying through the oculars of some nearby scarabs. The Yama had been built in the time of flesh, back when ships needed room to store provisions, beds, and life support. There were many unused sections to slip into. Perhaps this plain, dull silver room had once held necrontyr soldiers. Perhaps they had spoken here, reminisced, laughed, cried, lived. 

Obyron pressed his hand against his faceplate to try and drive the thoughts from his head. He could not stop the flood of images of the phalanx he had lost. Sabni, Pentesh, Neb. Dead gods, Neb who had asked to die at his side. Well he had gotten his wish, only Obyron had no idea if Neb had realized it in the end. What little existence they’d clung to had been erased on Doahht. Because of Obyron’s orders. So much had happened on that planet he’d barely had time to think about their loss. Part of him had even been relieved that their suffering was over. But still…they had died. And it had been his fault. 

Why? Why had his mind survived when theirs had not? Why was he standing here when they were reduced to nothing? Their bodies not entombed but repurposed to build new chassis for different soldiers? He had been no different from them. Born a soldier, promoted for good service and a stubborn ability to stay alive. Burned away body and soul. What had he done to earn existence while his friends had been condemned to mindless oblivion?

A knock on the door startled him. Damn the dead gods. He had let his circumspection protocols slip in order to fall into this pathetic malaise. 

“Obyron?” asked a cautious voice. “Are you in there, old friend?”

“My lord?” Obyron paused. Zahndrekh? He should have been entertaining his guests. “Has something happened?”

“No, no. That feast was just growing interminably dull. Might I…come in?”

Obyron was not sure how to respond. “It is your ship, lord nemesor.”

After a pause the door slid open, revealing Zahndrekh, whose arms were folded. “I was trying to be polite,” he said as he crossed the threshold. “Now, what ever is the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“You always were a terrible liar, Obyron.” Zahndrekh let the door close, trapping them together in the low, gauss-green light. 

Obyron shifted, grateful that his height let him look over Zahndrekh’s head so their oculars would not meet. “I apologize for leaving. I should not have—”

“None of that.” Zahndrekh held his finger up to what would have been Obyron’s lips. “Please, don’t make me guess. Tell me. What is wrong?”

A flash of despair tinged with anger washed over Obyron’s engrams. Zahndrekh could not possibly understand. He refused to see the horrors of biotransference, so he could not comprehend the weight of what Obyron’s phalanx had lost. Obyron could never tell his lord that they had not simply died. He alone had watched his friends fade into pale imitations of themselves, be dragged across thousands of battles, only to expire. He could not even offer himself that comfort that they were finally at rest because without souls he was not sure if they were.

And then to have that thrown back in his face at a dinner party—

“Obyron!”

Zahndrekh grabbed his hand. Obyron realized he had clenched his fist hard enough to crack his necrodermis. Already it was repairing, but seeing that shook him. He should have had more control. He should not have been this affected.

“I—” he stammered. “I don’t know what—”

”Here, sit with me.”

Gently but firmly, Zahndrekh dragged him down until he was kneeling on the floor. Obyron felt his legs give out from under him, as if the flux had ceased flowing to his motor actuators. Grief and guilt burned his insides like acid. 

“I never mourned them,” Obyron gasped. “I brought them to their deaths, yet I never did anything to remember them.”

“Your phalanx?” Zahndrekh shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Obyron. I should never have let that insult slide. It went too far.”

Obyron wished he could say that he did not care. He had no right to care. But those words had hit too close to the truth. He had not known what to do on Doahht without Zahndrekh. And yet he had not been the one to suffer for his incompetence. 

“I was the one who failed you then,” Zahndrekh said. “I bear more responsibility for their loss than you.”

That was perhaps true in the strictest sense, although it did little to assuage his guilt. The more he dwelt on it, though, the more he realized it was not simply grief that disturbed him now. Because if he was like them, if they had not been so different…

“Why have I been spared all this time?” he whispered, finally acknowledging something he had not wanted to speak aloud for years. Though his living metal form was more advanced than most soldiers’, even elites, he did not have the enhancements of a lord. “What if I share their fate? What if I fade away?”

He looked into Zahndrekh’s oculars at last, afraid he would find confusion or pity. He saw neither. For a moment he thought he saw understanding, although he could not be sure. There was so much about his nemesor he did not comprehend even after all this time.

“My dear vargard,” Zahndrekh said. “I am sorry I did not see your pain. You have been my shield for so long, it is too easy to forget that you are not just steel. That there are parts of you that  need protecting as well.” 

Zahndrekh’s hand moved slowly along Obyron’s amor until it settled over the place where once his heart had been. There was nothing there now but machinery. But Obyron’s chest still ached and his mind still reeled. And his body still reacted to the nemesor’s touch. The shoulder where Zahndrekh rested his hand was the only part of him that felt warm. The only part that didn't feel ready to crumble under the weight of everything.

“What can I do to protect you?” Zahndrekh asked. “How can I ease your pain?”

It went against all propriety and protocol. But they were alone. Who would it hurt if Obyron allowed himself one small comfort.

“I feel lost,” Obyron said. “I just want to…”

”Yes?”

”Please,” he said. “Hold me, my lord. For a moment.”

Before Obyron could think better of it, pull away, beg his lord’s pardon, Zahndrekh’s arms were around him. They struggled to fully wrap around his broad shoulders, so Zahndrekh pulled him close, buried Obyron’s face in the crook of his neck. He imagined the time of flesh, when Obyron would have been able to weep. His tears would have stained Zahndrekh’s robes.

Obyron clung to him. The lord that he did not understand and who did not understand him in turn. But that did not stop Zahndrekh from being Obyron’s anchor. His love, though it terrified him to even think the word. Yet what could he call it but love that kept him at Zahndrekh’s side? If someone offered Obyron an empire in exchange for this moment in Zahndrekh’s arms, he would have laughed in their face. It wasn’t a choice.

Perhaps that was all love really was.

“Would you like to tell me about them?” Zahndrekh asked after a long period of silence. “The comrades you lost?”

It would feel good to remember. To speak their names and their deeds and prove in some small way that they had lived. To finally allow himself to grieve and know that he would be heard.

”Yes,” Obyron said. “I would like that.”

[gareleia]

THE KNITTING SAGA BUT MAKE IT SAD

update: my co-writer friend FINALLY got a tumblr account, so I can tag them now!!

previously: part 1 part 2

next: part 4 part 5

lets talk about relationships, shall we. i'm gonna focus on Athena & Telemachus this time, but Hermes will have his turn later

let's be real, Athena is a hardass. sure, she cares, but she's so emotionally constipated that it really doesn't show that much. especially before she goes through that character development arc after her break up with Odysseus in My Goodbye

(and what a crisis that is)

(because her masterpiece??? failed her??? but she trusted him??? she made him much as in her image as possible??? he was supposed to be perfect???)

(and if he's not perfect, then she failed,,, and she can't fail, she doesn't fail,,, she's a goddess,,, war strategy is her domain, surely there is no way her plan could be flawed,,,)

(what even is the point of her if she's not perfect)

so yeah, she's a hardass. even on baby Telemachus who'd never held a sword before - especially on baby Telemachus, because he's the son of her favored Champion. he may be waaay younger than any of her previous pupils, but she's expecting him to shine just as bright.

Athena, on the first day: let's get down to business! make your father proud! you won't have a weakness! by the time we're done! you're the saddest pupil that I've had! and you haven't got a clue! but I will make a man outta you! Telemachus, a literal toddler, holding a wooden sword as big as himself: ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶

and for years to come she trains him relentlessly. she's honestly trying to be nice about it, too. it's just that Athena doesn't do soft or gentle, her default is a neutral face of displeasure, and her idea of encouragement is saying 'you're not as bad as you used to be', or something along these lines.

Telemachus: *succeeds at something* Athena: *raises an eyebrow in a slightly different manner than usually* Telemachus: *le gasp* could it b-be? am I doing a good job??? Athena: it's… acceptable, for your age.

she never once tells him she is proud of him. because surely he already knows. he doesn't need to hear it. his father didn't, after all (ody so fucking did)

and this goes on until Telemachus reaches double digits. then My Goodbye happens, and Athena has Feelings™. she's having an existential crisis, and has to confront the fact that she had done something wrong while training Odysseus, and she can't understand what. which is terrifying, because what if she makes a mistake like that with Telemachus. will he fail her too?

will she have to leave him too, so she doesn't watch him die horribly in a tragedy that could've been prevented if only she had made him see-

so Athena doubles down and starts demanding more and more from Telemachus. the praise goes from sparse to non-existent, and nothing he does seems to be enough anymore. she goes from tough love to borderline verbal abuse, thinking that it's the only way to keep him safe and prepare him for the future.

and Telemachus endures. he has to, because he doesn't want his mother to worry. doesn't want to appear weak. Odysseus had done it, so it's only fair his son should too. and when his dad comes home, he'll be sooo impressed. he can do it!

except…. not really. it's been a losing battle since the beginning, and deep down he knows it. he can't win with Athena, not on his own.

???: if you want to impress her, you'll need the blessing of a certain god! divine intervention! someone who's not afraid to- telemachus: aeolus, what are doing in my closet?!

so anyway, Aeolus and the winions start helping him via winds and stuff, and Telemachus actually starts exceeding everyone's expectations. it's not that he'd been bad before, but he's soft, and not quite strong enough physically to make up for his gentle constitution

everyone is cheering him on. he's the talk of the palace! his mom is so proud! the suitors start sizing him up with consideration instead of dismissing him outright! (and tele, baby, that's not a good thing! ಠ_ಠ). Athena seems pleased for the first time in ages!! but he knows that it's all a lie, and it's killing him.

cause he's a good, honest boye, and he wants to succeed on his own merit, not because of cheating and lying to everyone he loves. that's vile and dishonorable.

que some very important island-wide competition that everyone is expecting him to join and win. maybe it's even his duty as a prince. like, a right of passage from complete boyhood to adolescence.

and there's,,, a lot of pressure on Telemachus to suceed. everyone and their mother are telling him that of course he's got this, he's a prodigy! def his father's son! nobody doubts his incoming victory! he's got this! he definitely won't disappoint them!

random noble: we'll be cheering you on, young prince! truly, we are blessed by the gods to have such a talented successor to the throne! we'll watch with keen eyes as you triumph over your foes and bring even more honor to your family! b(￣▽￣*) telemachus, eye twitching: y-yeah… thank you… (ㆆ _ ㆆ)

so, the night before the competition Telemachus can barely sleep, he's so wrecked by guilt and nerves. he keeps thinking - what would his father do in this situation? all the stories he'd ever heard of Odysseus always painted him as some kind of invincible, righteous, all-capable genius. so the idea of his dad ever grappling with guilt and feelings of inadequacy is just laughable. (oh, if only he knew)

so, he goes to his mom for advice. because Penelope is awesome. but he can't bring himself to admit that's he's cheating - what if she's ashamed of him? he brought dishonor to his father's name, and if anyone knows - will he get exiled?

so yeah, he basically has a panic attack and cries for like, half an hour straight.

telemachus, bawling: if I lose tomorrow, will you hate me? will dad hate me? I can't do anything right and I'm a failure and a horrible person and- just- what do I do, mother? penelope, holding him: oh, love. sometimes you're so similar to your father I wonder if the gods haven't returned him to me in spirit through you.

because no matter what everyone else says, Penelope knows the truth - Odysseus always followed his heart. oh, how he may have tried to forget he had one, to only ever use his head. but a heart he did have - does have, they have to believe that - and it's a bright and gentle one. he may have been hardened by years of pain and struggle in a way that Telemachus hadn't been yet (and Penelope's heart breaks from knowledge that her son will be, one day). but deep down, at ther cores, Odysseus and Telemachus are strikingly similar. and she loves them all the more for it.

and so, with his mother's blessing, the young prince does just as she told him to: follows his heart. he thanks Aeolus for their help, and asks them to stop giving it from now on. either he'll suceed on his own merit, or he'll wear his failure as a badge of honor and an incentive to do better.

and he loses. badly.

and the world,,, doesn't end? sure, the suitors sneer and jeer, but there's a surprising lack of disowning and exile going around. and the nobles tone it down significantly with undeserved adoration, which is definitely a plus, as far as he's concerned.

the only thing is. Athena.

oh boy.

because she's not stupid. Telemachus may have gotten away with cheating so far, but now he'll have to answer to her why he had flunked so badly, and she won't buy his go-to excuse of 'I got nervous!'

athena, expression unreadable: so. care to explain yourself, my stupid pupil? telemachus: w-well, you see… ha-ha… it's, uh… a funny story… athena: you threw away your best advantage! you've had a god perfectly willing to assist you and yet you still somehow managed to lose! telemachus: wait, what-

so yeah, Athena knew all along.

athena, mildly insulted: how stupid do you think I am, boy? telemachus: but! but! but!.. you never said anything! didn't even scold me for cheating! athena, even more insulted: child, I am the goddess of war strategy, where did you get the idea that I ever play fair and straightforward? leave that to ares, the simple-minded fool!

to clarify, she's not upset at him for cheating. she's upset that he stopped doing so. so she throws some choice words at him, implying he lacks both talent and intelligence

and Telemachus defends himself by saying that he'd rather fail on his own merit, than abandon his principles and win by lying and dishonoring his family. in response, she calls him naive.

he tries to implore to her connection to his father by saying that he was just trying to do what's right. he was following his heart, just as Odysseus had always strived to. and he's training to fight for his loved ones, not for glory of being known.

it's a one hit K.O., because it reminds Athena of her recent break-up with Odysseus. of everything they spat at each other during My Goodbye. of anger, of hurt, of disappointment, of betrayal, of I loved you and you failed me, of I loved you and I failed you, of good riddance! and y̶͈̔o̴̘̖͆u̶̻̱͆͒'̸̫̩̌̉r̷̼͝e̴̩̒ ̴͎̻̈́̎ȧ̸̦l̵̗͙͌̐o̸͚͕̚n̷̟̯͠e̵̳̩͠

and is their whole line just cursed? is this their way of punishing her for something? why do they both hurt her so? is it her fault?

telemachus: athena? are… are you okay? (‘-’*) athena, coming off MG flashbacks: well, obviously, boy, why would you even ask that (ಥ﹏ಥ)

Telemachus just hugs her, because she obviously needs it. and she melts into it like never before.

because she wasn't made for empathy or kindness. she's been born to be ruthless and cold. she's not supposed to love and be loved care about anything but winning. it doesn't come natural to Athena, until recently she had truly thought herself unable to, and yet-

yet here, right in front of her, is a boy who loves for the both of them. loves the whole world - sincerely, selflessly. a truly kind and caring soul (the nobles even joke that his true father is Polites).

she can't love.

but maybe… maybe he will teach her.

maybe he already did.

or maybe she always could.

she forgets sometimes, that her fingers know not only the roughness of swords and spears, but also the gentle softness of weaved silk. creation goes hand in hand with destruction, and she can bind countless threads together without breaking them.

and what are humans, if not strings, waiting to be cut by the fates?

also, if Telemachus can teach the goddess of cold cynicism and detached cruelty kindness of all things, then she can teach him swordplay.

yes, it's a threat.

[redrapscalian]

Batfam's "I am too emotionally stunted to know how to react to bad news" responses:

Bruce: [aggressively avoiding eye contact] That's unfortunate...

Jason: Yikes.

Dick: [looking the person dead in the eyes] L

Tim: Sucks to suck :/ [shrug]

Damien: Oof

[arolesbianism]

Finally drew the messed up guy of all time <3

[gavipedris]

the gavi recovery documentary was so much better than the new gen one damn 😭😭

[four-raccoons-in-a-trenchcoat]

five favourite characters poll :D

got tagged by both @britishsquidward and @madhippiekisser for this thing lol (affectionate) (friends^^!!) (thanks for tagging me :D !!)

the rules i’m pretty sure are to put five of your favourite characters and have your friends choose among them

@femprincesstoyourbutchknight @box-the-box @raindrop-righteous and @ whoever is available and wants to try :D !! (sorry not sure if the others i’d planned on tagging would be alr with it ;u;) (dw no pressure to do^^)

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

I’m a huge fan of platonic Misto and Tugger. They’re best friends, joined at the hip. And while most Jellicles look at Misto and think “look at that weirdo (affectionate)” and look at Tugger and go “wow look at that guy, he’s so cool, can you even imagine being that cool?” Tugger and Misto flip the script. Misto looks at Tugger like “look at that weirdo (affectionate)” while Tugger looks at Misto like “wow look at that guy, he’s so cool, can you even imagine being that cool?”

And a familial headcanon: Munkustrap and Old Deuteronomy both have so so so much respect for each other but aren’t the best at communicating with each other in practical terms, which has led to YEARS of Jellicle Balls where Munkustrap is like “the retelling of the Rumpus Cat story is SO stressful to organize and act out. But I know it’s Dad’s favorite part of the ball so I’ll keep doing it for him <3 ” and in the meantime Old Deuteronomy is going “The retelling of the Rumpus Cat story is by FAR the most boring part of the ball every year, but I know it’s Munkustrap’s favorite part, so I’ll keep sitting through it without saying anything <3”

I love me some platonic Tugger and Misto, and bless Deuteronomy and Munk for being equally bleeding hearts, but also absolutely terrible at actual practical communication. They're...sort of trying.

[ahtal-ka]

(bayonetta title screen voice) Meowynetta....

[mmmatchasims]

Cerise: I told you at the start I just wanted something casual over the summer, and then you made me catch feelings for your dumb ass! And now you’re telling me you changed your mind, just like that?

Hibiscus: I’m sorry, Ceri-

[enbygunderson]

2000-2500 is too high for most modern people with desk jobs. And yes, there IS evidence to support CICO. People who have ever tracked completely and honestly for any length of time can tell you that it fucking works. You may need to adjust your fire a bit from the general starting numbers, but if you actually ever tried you would see the cause-effect for yourself. Y'all honestly sound like flat earthers when you start talking about this stuff lol. You don't return to a "set weight" because you're programmed that way or something, you return to a "set weight" because you eventually go back to eating the way that got you fat in the first place.

The mental gymnastics y'all do to deny any accountability for this shit is honestly mind-blowing to me; y'all try to argue that you're so confident in yourselves/your body, but you'd rather try to make some stupid strawman about sawdust having calories than just admit that you like food? JFC. I'm currently obese and it's 110% because of how much I eat.

Just found out that the dietary calorie is still measured by burning food in a "bomb calorimeter" and then measuring the heat produced. There's no solid evidence that this method is at all equivalent to how our bodies process food (an entirely different chemical process from combustion), the accuracy of this system has been disputed for as long as it's existed, and there are no available alternatives

There are 4800 calories in a kilogram of dry sawdust even though wood is completely indigestible to humans, because calories don't measure nutritional value, just how well something burns

Nutritional "science" is pure bullshit

[kingcenred]

“You and me. Always.” / aelin

@ircnwrought

Rumours that Morgause was once again within Essetir's borders had spread: it happened occasionally, a soldier or scout mistaking an innocent blonde woman for the traitor who had almost killed the king. This time, however, there seemed to be an inkling of truth to the reports and Cenred, true to form, had taken the news very badly.

Roaring orders to his men, storming down to the stables to join the patrols himself, and yelling at any of his advisors who dared to question his actions was all bluster to stop himself from acknowledging the true emotion that just the whisper of his ex-lover's name provoked: fear. And now, it was not just his life that was in danger. If Morgause laid a hand on his wife...

But Kings did not feel fear: Kings were never afraid. So deep had that indoctrination been that he found himself unknowingly avoiding his wife; one moment alone with her, and he knew that Aelin would see through the anger to what was truly troubling him. And then what? What Queen wanted a scared, weak man as their husband?

But, of course, his evasion lasted only a matter of hours before Aelin captured him. All it would take was one look for her to see the tension running through every inch of his body...and yet, the words that left her mouth was most certainly not what he had been expecting.

"You and me. Always."

He reached for her, pulling her tightly against his chest and hiding his head in her hair for a long moment - breathing in her soft scent. "Yes," he simply said, "yes."

[donotdestroy]

"Several studies have shown that wealth may be at odds with empathy and compassion. Research published in the journal Psychological Science found that people of lower economic status were better at reading others’ facial expressions—an important marker of empathy—than wealthier people. 'A lot of what we see is a baseline orientation for the lower class to be more empathetic and the upper class to be less [so],' study co-author Michael Kraus told Time. 'Lower-class environments are much different from upper-class environments. Lower-class individuals have to respond chronically to a number of vulnerabilities and social threats. You really need to depend on others so they will tell you if a social threat or opportunity is coming, and that makes you more perceptive of emotions.' While a lack of resources fosters greater emotional intelligence, having more resources can cause bad behavior in its own right. UC Berkeley research found that even fake money could make people behave with less regard for others. Researchers observed that when two students played Monopoly, one having been given a great deal more Monopoly money than the other, the wealthier player expressed initial discomfort, but then went on to act aggressively, taking up more space and moving his pieces more loudly, and even taunting the player with less money."

[ohbutwheresyourheart]

I watched north and south years and years ago; I don't remember exactly when but I'm pretty sure I was in my teens

I loved it then, but there's an extra appreciation to finally reading the book as an adult who grew up in the north, lived for a few years in the south, and now lives in Manchester

[gricean-sphinx]

Thunsheer 25th, Syngorn

A friend of Ira’s asking if we can rescue an intern from a pocket dimension? No trouble! The fact that it could have collapsed in on itself at any point in time? Alright, so, Velora could’ve been more forthcoming from the get-go.

The money was good, and we thought we could be in and out, just don’t mess with the time dilation… Minutes into the weird crystal city and we’d already gotten kidnapped by crystal constructs and thrown into a comfy jail cell with anti-magic chokers around our necks.

It feels like a fever dream. The kind where you’re trying to walk up a slope that gets steeper until you’re sliding down into some pit and you can’t even keep upright. That’s what we get for getting cocky and greedy, I guess.

Thank the gods for Ra’i. And I hope they drag Otto Scarborough to hell. And that hell is fashioned after his hellish crystal city bureaucracy. At least we got the intern out so we got paid.

Even that whole ordeal feels more straightforward that Barley’s whole deal. We tracked him down (because the took Ira with him, the dumbass) to his mother’s home. She lives in Syngorn, apparently, and I am starting to understand why he was so apprehensive about being in this city. She didn’t even invite him into the house.

I never had a family that I didn’t choose or that didn’t choose me. It was gut-wrenching to watch Barley beg his mother to visit his dying father—to tell her that his brother, Colton, is dead and that it’s the old man’s dying wish to see her once more, that it would mean the world—to watch her refuse, saying only that it’s complicated.

In the aftermath, he becomes part of our little misfit crew, I guess. You don’t watch someone go through that without your heart going out to them a little. Fuck this city. Let’s go back to the wilds.