#sorry in a moody mood

[the-trans-dragon]

I wish I wasn’t dyed crimson by the Christian culture I was raised in and am still submerged in.

I’ll probably spend my whole life trying to get the stain out.

[willthespy]

despite popular opinions i do not actually want nico to just be all fine and dandy in tsats 2. sure i want to see growth, but both him and will JUST went to tartarus. also growth and healing isnt linear and for him to suddenly be okay would??? not be realistic and would also not make sense knowing any book needs tension (basic literature knowledge i fear)

he literally JUST started acknowledging his trauma guys 😭 same goes for will too. its always “nico comforting will” or “will comforting nico” but i want them to be there for EACH OTHER. let them grow (not linearly) together good gods

[heyclickadee]

I don’t know. “Fix-it-fics are good and valid and it’s wonderful that people can use their creativity to take a story they wanted to like and tailor it to their needs,” and, “OC-inserts and self-inserts are fantastic, a great outlet, and a long-running mainstay of fandom; of course people want to put themselves in their favorite stories,” and, “Sometimes writers screw up and accidentally tell a different story than the one they’re telling,” and, “Characters are ultimately narrative tools used to tell a story and the overemphasis on characters vs everything else in fandom can lead to distorted reads of the story being told,” and, “People can and should be upset when bad things happen to the characters they love,” and, “Contradictory interpretations can be equal valid,” and, “There are some reads that aren’t supported by the text,” and, “Writers have a responsibility to handle rep characters well and to be mindful to avoid harmful tropes,” and, “Sometimes fans can over-identify with a character to the point that they project themselves onto the character and obscure their characterization, and that’s neither good nor bad, it just is, but it can obscure the story, too,” and, “Corporate pressure can lead to good writers telling bad stories or early cancellations, and this has lead to fans refusing to engage in things,” and, “A huge chunk of the audience is completely unwilling to engage in in a story as a story; they just want vibes they can project onto instead,” and, “People absolutely need to see themselves represented in stories, and that’s important,” and, “Part of the purpose of fiction is to take us outside of ourselves,” are all statements that can, should, and do coexist, but good lord if I can articulate how.

[talshiargirlfriend]

Don’t mention it.

Here is an estrangement vignette that literally no one asked for.

Follows an Unnamed Disaster. Could be set between Home and Kir’Shara (or elsewhere per your imagination) Read it on ao3

Commander Tucker steps onto the bridge, the emergency lighting a glaring reminder of how much work remains to get the ship functional again. Travis Mayweather has a knitted cap pulled over his ears and a grim expression on his face as he sits in the center seat. He makes to stand, “Sir-”

Trip waves him off. “Just passing through, Travis. You hold onto the hot seat. So to speak,” he adds wryly.

Travis gives him a look. Damage across multiple systems has made maintaining any sort of climate control outside of Sickbay impossible for the time being. Engineering is hotter than the Forge while the bridge feels like Andorian spring.

“She in there?” Trip jerks his head toward the command centre.

“The Fortress of Solitude,” Travis nods with a show of his usual good humor, and Trip chuckles in appreciation.

T’Pol looks up from the array of damage and casualty reports, star charts, repair projections, and god only knows what else she’s poring over when he enters the room. Two mostly empty mugs lie neglected on one side of the table.

“Commander,” she greets him. The coral velour collar of her catsuit peeks out over the neck of her Starfleet jumpsuit. She also has a silver crew jacket layered over the top. Unlike most of the bridge crew she has chosen to forgo wearing a hat, leaving her flushed ear tips visible. The effect should be comical, but somehow she still looks compelling.

“Hey.”

“How is the captain?”

“Better,” Trip answers slowly. “Awake. And grumpy. I think Phlox might release him to quarters this afternoon just to get a bit of peace.”

They share an amused glance.

“How about you? When’s the last time you actually took a break?” He raises his eyebrows.

Her eyes dart away from his. “Ensign Sato brought me tea,” she deflects softly.

After a pause, T’Pol changes the subject, “It is warmer on this deck this morning.”

“Huh. Maybe a little.”

She looks at him sharply. “I wasn't aware Climate Control was back online.”

Trip laughs darkly, “Oh, it’s not… but I needed to vent some heat from the plasma relays on B Deck and gave it a little redirect. No sense in you freezing your ass- asses off up here. Win-win.”

T‘Pol stiffens, “I am perfectly capable of enduring–”

“I know that! I know. But it really was useful, and…” he sighs and runs a hand over his face. “Whatever we are - or aren't, I’m still gonna care about you. Maybe you shouldn't always have to endure things just because you can.”

She looks at him with those big sad eyes, and suddenly Trip is grateful for the space between them and the solid obstacle of the table to prevent him from doing something they might both regret. Or, possibly worse, might not regret.

He swallows and tries for a light tone, “Maybe it’s a human thing, but sometimes the best way to work out how to solve a problem is to think about something else for a while.”

T’Pol glances at the stacks of PADDS in front of her, then closes her eyes and nods, “I believe I understand.”

“Speaking of solving problems,” he says as he steps behind her to activate the wall screen. “I believe I've worked out how to get propulsion and sensors both back online ASAP.”

Trip talks her through his plan, having already anticipated most of her questions and objections. Arguing through all the details is second nature to them, the rhythm safe and familiar.

When she flicks back to a previous schematic, their fingers brush together.

Oxygen makes itself scarce.

Neither of them moves for a few heartbeats.

T’Pol recovers first and withdraws her hand to grasp its mate behind her back.

“Commander, this is incredibly impressive work.”

“‘Incredibly impressive’ eh? Careful, T’Pol, or people will start to think you like me,” Trip overshoots his teasing mark wildly, and it tastes like boot leather.

T’Pol wrings her hands - a gesture she has picked up from her human crewmates.

“Commander - Trip, everyone in this room already knows how I feel about you.” Her voice is as low as a whisper, weighed down by all she can’t say.

He clears his throat, but his voice still sounds hoarse, “Yeah.”

“I, uh - I should go get things moving.”

“Agreed.”

T’Pol removes her jacket and places it carefully on the back of her chair. “Trip … thank you.”

“Don't mention it.”

They don’t.

[torchickentacos]

[yandere-sins]

No matter what strength it’ll cost me, I’ll stop making the prison posts so damn long. I actually dislike all three of them, even if they brought my ideas across but they were awful to correct and I ended them all in ways I hated. It’s hard to stop when the words just keep flowing but I don’t feel good about them, so I’m saying this in case I post the next one and you guys notice and conclude that just because it’s a lesser seen character I don’t put as much work in it. No, I just really hate the length the previous ones have and how bad it made them. Quality over quantity.

Also please stop sending in requests twice just because I haven’t immediately put it on the request list, thank you.

[unrelatabledude]

sorry if i seem incredibly reclusive and not very talkative im trying to be a bigger and louder fan of things i enjoy and not feel like my only worth is in the stuff i make

[catboldbot]

There is something in my head that hates me.

I don't know who put it there. I don't know why they put it there. I think it must have been a long time ago.

I've tried to remove it.

I tried to give it what it seemed to want, beating myself into shape as best I could, making something more useful, more desirable, more tolerable. I tried also to talk it down, to show it the people who love me and why they love me and why I should love me too. I tried to starve it too, to simply refuse to feed it, to let it wither and die.

There is something in my head that hates me.

It's rarely violent about it, at least not anymore. Not as loud. But it's no less ferocious now -- just slower, calmer. Not like it is weaker, I think. More like it knows I'll never quite be rid of it, and it has all the time in the world to make me suffer.

I outrun it by action, pouring myself into work or play. I ward it off with altered states and distractions, whatever I can do to keep it from a chance to think. But there is an end to every day, and as I wind down it wraps around me like a weight. As I lie down it lays beside me like it owns these vulnerable hours. And it speaks softly, calmly in my head.

It mocks me for my misery, for my fears, for my loneliness. It almost sounds amused at how worthless my attempts have been, at how distant I feel even when I have all that I do -- more than I've ever deserved. It thinks it laughable that I still cling to hope when its so hard for me to succeed and so easy for the sword to fall. It ridicules me for my reliance on drugs, it belittles me for being so scared to speak, it reminds me of how much effort I've put in and still it is there and still I'm scared and still I can feel so alone so unwanted so pointless. Even after all my progress.

There is something in my head that hates me.

I try to push it away with certainty that I've been working to build under myself, a foundation of value and deserving. I am loved and I am wanted. But it's got more voices than just mine. It uses the voices and guise of those same loves to push right back. I'm selfish, I'm not around enough, I'm not worth enough, I'm too much effort, I'm never what I need to be...

It's too much, remembering all the bad I've done, all the ways I've failed people, all the ways I come up short. There's nothing to do for it but sleep, and hope tomorrow will be brighter, kinder. But I'm not sure I can shake that awareness now, not for very long.

There is something in my head that hates me.

[skyward-floored]

Following other anon’s HW’s question, wouldn’t it be guilt-ridden for Zelda to marry a prince from another kingdom or a noble in order to restore the kingdom’s financial loses after the war?

Link has no money, so why Mr. Scarf man?

Don’t bother poking holes in my fic that started as a silly joke post, the whole thing is just ridiculous if you think about it too hard lol

That being said, you’re right that Zelda would probably feel guilty marrying someone without a lot of money, but think of the morale. The beloved princess of Hyrule marrying the Hero of the war? I know there’s traitors and things, but it seems to me like the majority of the people like Warriors. And why mr. scarf man? Isn’t love reason enough?

They might not have a lot of money, but they’ll get by. And if they really need a hand, I’m sure the Gorons would be willing to help bail them out a little. They seem to be allies from what I can tell.

[athousandtenderemotions]

my dogs face is more symmetrical than mine 👍🏼 cool bro

[blackwaxidol]

Feels like my legs were twisted out of place, back to my roadkill era.

[the-trans-dragon]

I get stuck doing tasks because [idk Adhd or ocd or ptsd or something lol idk, I just get stuck and watch myself do the task and wish I could stop but can’t]

One thing I’ve learned is… The Earth is kinda capable of task-switching for me. Because the sun sets. And I stop because I can’t see anymore. I’ll literally do things until the sun is set and the last grey light is leaking from the sky and go “oh, shit, ive been doing this for like 6 hours lol. Oops. I should go eat and get something to drink.”

I feel stupid for saying it, but I want to know how I’d function in a world without technology. Yeah, I know, “you’d be dead,” okay, but just as a curiosity, would I so keenly experience my brain’s quirks?

Like. A person that starts a task and then can’t stop until sundown? Who likes to do menial repetitive labor? Who does tasks kinda slowly, slightly different every time to find new methods and new results? Who really just wants to play in a garden all day forever?

Maybe I’d be valuable in that world. Maybe they’d cherish me. Maybe I’d contribute in a significant way. I wonder how big of a garden I could handle on my own, if I had the time to learn the best ways to do everything. How many people could I provide food for? Could I prove that I am good? Could I justify my existence? Would they love me even though I don’t act like a girl? Would they learn to hate me, if all I ever did was grow plants and love worms and find joy in rotting wood?

Sorry, this went from “I like that the sun sets, it gives me a schedule” to “capitalism contorts me into a cog when I am supposed to be a flower” to “working 40 hours a week in a pointless job prevents me from making my own decisions, to the point where my moral stance is unknown and I no one knows if I am kind or cruel because I cannot genuinely express either in customer service.”

[sailorofcosmos]

Today I'm very tired.

It's raining today and usually I love the rain

I'm not sure how today is going to end up. I just got to take things one step at a time do my routine and go from there

[lakeeffectsnow]

everything must disappear

[dreamwatch]

Steve Harrington doesn’t live in Loch Nora. He and Jonathan are practically neighbours.

Eddie’s first name is Edward.

Fucking ABBA.

[heyclickadee]

Eeeehhhhhhrrgghhhh now I’m thinking I should maybe delete that reblog about different kinds of emotional engagement, because rereading it again there are parts I don’t quite agree with but other parts I really do, and I don’t know I just generally *indecipherable noises of uncertainty*