#she said sorry

[dramatic-dolphin]

when we were studying the bible in literature class (so we have the context necessary for later works that reference the bible), i think we were at the book of jonah, and one of my classmates was studying the text very intently, and then looked up and earnestly said "professor, i don't understand the will of god"

the teacher was just like. well sadly i am a literature teacher and not a priest so i can't help you there. but if it helps, many people throughout history had the same problem.

[shin-the-hopeless]

It happened yesterday. I’ll never forget it. She accidentally walked in front of me. Just that—she walked in front of me. Like, the simplest, most insignificant thing you could imagine, but to me, it was everything.

I was standing there in the back, minding my own business—or pretending to, anyway—when she came around the corner. I wasn’t paying attention; I was too busy rearranging some boxes to avoid looking like a total creep. And then it happened.

She stepped right into my path, so close I could smell that faint, subtle vanilla perfume she always wears. My brain short-circuited. I froze like some idiot NPC caught in a glitch, and then she said it: "Oh, sorry."

Just two words. Two. But her voice was soft, like a melody I never knew I needed to hear. And for a split second—just a fraction of a moment—she almost looked into my eyes. Almost. She didn’t fully commit; her gaze hovered somewhere around my nose before darting away like she couldn’t bear to look any longer.

But that split second was enough to send my heart into overdrive. It was like every nerve in my body had been plugged into an electric socket. My chest felt tight, my palms got sweaty, and I swear, for the first time in my miserable existence, I felt alive.

She kept walking, like nothing had happened. Like she didn’t just detonate a bomb inside my chest. I stood there, paralyzed, replaying the moment in my head a thousand times. The way her voice sounded when she said “sorry.” The way her hair swayed with that perfect two side-up style, the little bows bobbing with her steps. The way her boots clacked against the floor as she walked away, leaving me in the ruins of my own sanity.

I wanted to say something back. God, I wanted to say anything. “No problem.” “It’s okay.” Even just a stupid “hi.” But my mouth wouldn’t work. My throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and all I could do was stand there, watching her disappear around the corner.

And now, here I am, still thinking about it. Obsessing over it. That two-second interaction was the closest I’ve ever come to talking to her, and it felt like the universe was giving me a glimpse of what could never be.

Do you know how pathetic that is? That a simple “oh, sorry” from her has me spiraling like this? But I can’t help it. It was the first time she acknowledged my existence—barely, but it still counts. And even though it was nothing to her, it was everything to me.

It’s like my brain keeps replaying the scene in slow motion, trying to savor every detail. The sound of her voice, the way her mask shifted slightly as she spoke, the tiniest glimmer of her eyes before she looked away. I keep wondering what would’ve happened if she’d actually made full eye contact. Would I have burst into flames on the spot? Would I have said something? Or would I have just stood there like the useless loser I am, completely incapable of handling even a shred of attention from her?

Part of me wants to believe it meant something. That maybe—just maybe—she noticed me, even for a second. But I know that’s delusional. She probably forgot about it the moment she walked away. To her, I’m just some guy in the background, barely even a blip on her radar.

But for me, it was a moment. The moment. The closest I’ve ever been to her world, and the closest I’ll probably ever get.

It’s pathetic, isn’t it? How one little accident can consume my thoughts like this? But that’s the reality of my life. I’m so starved for connection, so desperate for even the tiniest scrap of her attention, that I’ll take anything I can get—even if it’s just an apology for walking in front of me.

And now, every time I see her, I can’t stop thinking about it. About how close we were, about how her voice sounded when she spoke to me. It’s like a cruel tease, a reminder of everything I’ll never have.

I know I’m pathetic. I know this is unhealthy. But I can’t help it. I can’t stop myself from hoping, from wishing that maybe, somehow, she’ll see me as more than just some guy she accidentally bumped into. Even though I know she won’t.

She’s perfect, and I’m... me. She deserves someone who’s as beautiful and put-together as she is, not some broke, unwashed loser with no future.

Still, I can’t stop thinking about it. About her. About the moment that almost was, and the life I’ll never have.

[orionfrommars]

Happy Holidays from the sillies!!

[Please do not steal, trace, repost or modify my work]

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

main take aways from Halloween (1978) rewatch:

michael myers is canonically 21??? this bitch should be at the club

*sees tiddies* ***MURDEROUS RAMPAGE NOISES***

that's it that's the movie

outside of the fact that everyone who has sex is murdered by the narrative, this is a surprisingly chill portrayal of female sexuality? these teen girls are horny and actively enjoying Getting It On with their boytoys. no pushy boyfriends sneaking in through their bedroom windows--these ladies are taking the initiative to sneak out and GET SOME. one of them gets laid and then immediately orders her boyfriend to get her a beer. (yes she gets Slashered soon afterward, but so does the boyfriend so honestly, gender equality.) yes the Final Girl is the only one not having sex, but she's not bullied for that, nor are her friends slut shamed except possibly by being murdered by the narrative

actually the only character who is shown being morally condemned on-screen is michael myers. specifically FOR his violent overreaction to other people's sex lives. (people he is spying on). metaphorically, the villain is American Puritanism sticking its judgy nose into other people's business.

aka Michael Myers Is A Republican

but actually the real villain is the doctor. guy's a judgemental, shaming, pathologizing asshole. and he's been in charge of michael's care since he was SIX YEARS OLD? kid never had a chance. i'd go on a killing spree too

also the parents. where are the parents? it's halloween night and all the teenage girls are home babysitting their younger siblings? come to think of it, michael's first victim was his own older sister, whom he killed while she was babysitting him. teen girls are really shouldering a labour burden here. maybe parentification is the true villain

side note: mike commits his first murder wearing a clown costume...which is never referenced again? his 'iconic' costume is a generic mask and wig and jumpsuit, when we coulda had a Killer Clown Michael Myers??? travesty

i like how the Final Girl and her friend casually smoke weed in her car. yeah she's an honor student and her friend is the sheriff's daughter. yeah they smoke weed. so what it's 1978

(to reiterate, mike is 21 and should be at the club. im not saying he shouldn't be rampaging, im saying it's sad that he broke out, tasted freedom for the first time in his life, and immediately snuck back into his childhood home to go rampaging. let's have a remake where he goes to a nightclub and has a few beers. maybe some slutty dancing. then rampage)

oh no he's hot

[inkskinned]

the thing about some men is that they want you to remember, at all times, that you are underneath them. that with one word or look or "joke", you will stay beneath them. that even "exceptions" to the rule are not true exceptions - the commonly cited statistic that one in eight men believe they could win against serena williams.

women's gymnastics is often not seen as real gymnastics. whatever the fuck non-euclidian horrors rhythmic gymnasts are capable of, it's often tamped down as being not a sport. some of the most dominant athletes in the world are women. nobody watches women's soccer. despite years of dancing and being built like a fucking brick, men always assume they're faster and stronger than i am. you wouldn't like what happens when they are incorrect. once while drunk at a guy's house i won a held-plank challenge by a solid minute. the party was over after that - he became exceedingly violent.

what i mean is that you can be perfect, and they still think you're ... lacking, somehow. i hope you understand i'm trying to express a neutral statement when i say: taylor swift was the possibly the most patriarchy-palatable, straight-down-the-line woman we could churn out. she is white, conventionally attractive, usually pretty mild in personality. say what you will about her (and you should, she's a billionaire, she can handle it), but a few things seem to be true about her: 1. she can write a damn catchy song, and 2. the eras tour truly was a massive commercial success and was also genuinely an impressive feat of human athleticism and performance.

i don't know if she deserves the title of "woman of the year," i'm not debating that in this post. what i am saying is that she was named Woman of The Year, and then an untalented man got onstage at the golden globes and made fun of her for attending her boyfriend's football games. what i am saying is that this woman altered local economies - and her dating life is still being made into a "harmless" punchline. the camera panned, greedy, over to her downing a full glass of champagne. congratulations taylor! you are woman of the year! but you are a woman. even her.

fuck, man. write better material.

a guy gets onstage at a college graduation and despite the fact like half the crowd is made up of women, he spends a significant proportion of it warning these people - who spent possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars on their education - that they were lied to. that the "real" meaning of femininity is motherhood. that they shouldn't rest on the laurels of that education-they-paid-for but instead throw it away to kneel at a man's heel. imagine that. sweating in your godawful polyester gown (that you also had to pay for!), fresh out of 4 years of pushing yourself ever-harder: and some guy you've never met - who knows nothing about you - he reminds you this "win" is a pyrrhic one at best. you really shouldn't consider yourself that extraordinary. you're still a woman, even after years of study.

god forbid you are not a pretty woman, but if you are pretty, you must be dumb. god forbid you are not ablebodied or white or cis or straight or good at swallowing. you must be beneath a man, or else they are not a man. the equation for masculinity seems to just be: that which is not a woman or womanly (god forbid). anything "feminine" is thereby anathema. to engage in "feminine" things such as therapy, getting a hug from a friend, or crying - it is giving up ones manhood. therefore women need to be put in their place to ensure that masculinity is protected.

this is something i have struggled to explain to terfs - they are not doing the work of feminism, but rather the patriarchy. by asserting that women and men must be (on some secret level) oppositional and in conflict, they also assume that being a woman is akin to being another species. but bigotry does not stem from observational truths or clarity - that is what makes it bigotry. there was nothing in my childhood that made me fundamentally different from my brother. we are treated differently nonetheless. to assert there is some biological drive that enforces my gender role is to assert that women have a gendered role. men do not see women as equal to them not because of biological reality - but instead because the core tenant of the patriarchy is that women aren't full, realized people.

we are told from a very young age to excuse misbehavior as a single man's choice - not all men. it is not all men, just that one guy. all women are gold-digging bitches who belong in the kitchen - but if a man is mean, bigoted, or violent to you, it's just that particular guy, and that means nothing about men-as-a-whole. it is only one guy who got mad when you gently rejected him. it is only one guy who warns her this trophy is heavy, are you sure you can hold it? it is only one guy who smashes her face into the cake. it is only one guy talking into a mic about hating our bodily autonomy.

i have just found that they often wait until the moment we actually seem to be upstaging them. you sit in a meeting where you're presenting your own findings and he says get me a coffee? or you run to the end of the marathon and are about to finish first and he pushes your kids out in front of you. you win the chess game and they make some comment akin to well, you're ugly away. we can be the billionaire and get the dream life and finally fucking do it and yet! still! they have this strange, visceral urge to say well actually, if you think you're so great -

it's not one just one guy. it's one in eight.

[feralforbeanix]

He loved her immediately I'm gonna cry

[notbrucewayne48]

"aphobia doesn't exist"

bitch literally not that long ago an aroace youtuber animator was insulted by almost half of its community for being it

[forgettable-au]

FORGETTABLE-AU (page 82-85)

THAT LAZYBONES!!

[BEGINNING] [PREVIOUS] [CONTINUE]

[go-star-sailor]

transfem wirt truthers wya

[liauditore]

do you guys ever think about that time she said her backstory was that she was only partially zombiefied and was fully conscious mentally while she ate and killed her family. and that she was a princess. i do alot.

[mohntilyet]

still i think the one of the more fun differences drawn between illario and lucanis that was lost would be illario's ability to endear himself to others but serious lack of empathy, vs. lucanis' (self perceived) inability to be charming but how much he cares. it's interesting that the game has gone with the "lucanis' ability vs illario's lack thereof" because i think illario being the dellamorte 'best in show dog' vs. lucanis' attack dog would have made me so unwell.

lucanis is... awkward. he's not unlikable, because he is usually very polite, but he doesn't speak much and only seems to care about the other dellamortes. he once sent viago de riva a knife with no note (who knows what he could have meant by this). he does what caterina asks of him, and by his own admission, cannot say no to her. he is a dramatic and prolific killer, and that makes how untouchable he is even worse.

and the crows like illario, sure, AND he's a good assassin! he's even a good crow! he's so good that he can make lucanis smile, and so he is the charming, sociable one. he's the one that stays in treviso and can be relied upon to care, illario's even the one people prefer over caterina and lucanis!

but illario is decoration. he's the prize poodle, and even if poodles were bred to be working dogs, nobody will ever pick him to protect the house over the german shepherd that regularly mauls intruders. anyways the analogy is getting away from me. the point i'm trying to make is that i want illario to have a different kind of jealousy/hatred that's not just over 'being bad at killing' but also an arrogant loathing for everyone around him that is getting harder to hide, because they've forgotten he can bite and is just itching to rip someone's jugular out. illario is very good at hiding his family resemblance to caterina, while lucanis suffers under his grandmother's, and his own, reputation.

[ciderjacks]

despite Laios low self esteem making him think that if he’d been eaten, Chilchuck and Marcille wouldn’t have helped Falin,

theres a small part of me that thinks the reason Chilchuck stayed with the party and went back in the dungeon in the first place was because he didn’t want to leave Laios alone. That Laios was moreso the reason he stayed.

[bugeyedfreaks]

she’s hard to please when it comes to her plans 😭

[inkskinned]

i wrote an interactive poem for my girlfriend in 3 parts. she said you need to read it.

go here: take only the final quiz or take all 3. i don't mind. it's sad, though. this is a poem about choice. about fate and mental illness and how love fits inside of all of it. this is a poem about a long dark hallway. mostly this is a poem about mango sushi rolls.

good luck. i love you. despite it all, i'm hopeful.

[clairesbeauchamp]

BRIDGERTON (2020 -)

1.04 | 3.02

[motherspores]

awooooooooo!!

[Transcript:

Stress: Can I have my ball back please? Jevin: We could kill you. Iskall: No you couldn't. That's funny, but you couldn't.

Xisuma, putting up his shield: I've got a shield, Jev, look. Xisuma, putting it back down: Can't kill a man with a shield. [Jevin hits him.] Xisuma, panicked: OOoOOAAaoOoaaH!!!

[Xisuma flees and takes flight. Everyone else laughs.]

[Xisuma plays a horn that has a clip of him howling like a wolf as he departs.]

end transcript]