#the life is cruel kitty we know

[rudnitskaia]

I need a hug again. Much.

Also, have a funny lil cat with a smol pancake.

[princessbrunette]

thinking about being that one young mother that had a baby when she turned 20, and now walks around with the cutest toddler on her hip that looks just like her.

when it all went down you were isolated, abandoned by most of your friends and family. people talked about you, because that’s just how things were in the obx— word spreads and people judge. but never jj maybank, jj knew what it was like to be judged for his situation.

he’d always thought you were cute, and always defended you to those who had cruel words to say about your life, even thought he hadn’t really talked to you much since high school.

after the storm, he offers to do your groceries for you and deliver them. it was the least he could do, as everyone had taken a hit and you were already struggling. he was chatty, and to a girl who felt alone that was the best thing he could be. he’d swing by, carry all the bags up to the sixth floor of your apartment building when the elevator wasn’t working because no one around was paying generator money. your baby girl was always happy to see him, a giant toothless grin spreading on her face when he’d walk in, clumsily dropping whatever toy she was teething on and waving her fat fist in the air as greeting.

you’d smile from the sidelines as he’d gasp, elated each and every time — bending at the knees right infront of her. “there she is, the cutest toddler in the whole world. what we playing with today, huh? is that hello kitty? you know you’re just like your momma.”

he was charming, and you’d soften at the way he was with her. which is how you ended up looping him in to help you with just about anything else when he offered. complaining about car trouble? he’s telling you that he’ll take a look and fix things up for you. if he walks in and sees you struggling with some ikea furniture on the floor, best believe he’s staying an extra hour or so to set it up for you. he even uses his mastery in acting and manipulation for you on the landlord when the slight mould problem on the bathroom wall still hasn’t been fixed. it was nothing to him, he wanted to help. more so, wanted to be around you.

his favourite way to help you came later on in your ‘friendship’, on nights where your baby was allowed to stay with her dad. you’d always hated those nights, too used to her being around, too worried about her. it took you everything to not pick up your phone and text your babydaddy for the fifth time that evening just to check everything was okay. to stay occupied, you text jj — invite him over on a whim.

he turns up with a toolbox, thinking there’s something he needs to fix but instead finds you pacing your kitchen with a glass of red wine. jj being jj, knows just what to do upon hearing your predicament. you needs to relax, take your mind off things for a bit — which is how he ends up with his arms wrapped around your legs, with you naked and slightly tipsy sat on his face. after letting you grind your slippery cunt on his mouth he’s rolling you onto your back to finish the job, knowing you just need someone to take control to get you out your head.

“just gotta relax for me, mama. ‘think some you time is very much needed huh? want you to turn that brain off for once, okay. just… trust someone. let papa do the thinkin’, yeah?” he soothes you as he holds your thighs open, hole drooling and clenching around nothing.

“always look a—after me, jj.” you’re a little emotional, one mewl from crying but he understands. you must’ve had no idea how badly you needed this.

“i know. always will, uh— if you’ll let me.” he pulls his lips from you for a second to look up at you sincerely, backwards hat still shoved on his head.

“yeah.” you whisper and he grins, adjusting the cap in question before heading back down.

“well alright then. let’s get this pretty thing cummin’, how ‘bout that?”

[starsofjewels]

GREETINGS!! was wondering if you feel up for it if you could do a tyrion x autistic reader? idk how you could make autism fit into the GoT world but I always feel like an outsider even in the real world and i feel tyrion would be one of the few who'd actually be accepting and not judgemental

A Kitty Cat in the Lion’s Den

Tyrion Lannister x Autistic! Lannister! Reader

(Feat.) Tywin Lannister x Autistic! Lannister! Reader

CONTENT: Autistic meltdown, small! Mention of blood/ injury, self-deprecation, the Lannisters are their own warning

Word count: 1.5k (lil pookie bear)

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Hi, beautiful. I absolutely loved this request !! This was only semi triggering to write, and I hope you like it. <3

I’ve just started back at college, so the drip might be dry (not that it wasn’t to begin with). I may or may not have published this during a Free Study period…

This is proof I don’t just write Gregor Clegane fics. But I do love big squishy man and his cock.

I think I probably need to make a masterlist..

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

(A teeny PSA before we begin- I, unsurprisingly given the shit I upload on here, am autistic. I’ve struggled with it my whole life, and this is an interpretation of my own experience with autism. ASD is, as the name suggests, a spectrum, so this can’t really be a generalised fic. I put my own personal experiences with my condition into this, so if you’re also autistic/ otherwise neurodivergent and this doesn’t fit your vibes, that’s why. I can’t really explain it any other way, so yeah, here you go.)

Your entire life has served as a reminder that, whether by your own fault or some cruel will of the Gods, you are not wanted. You are the outsider, the youngest Lannister, not beautiful enough to marry off young and, decidedly, not male. Lord Tywin is consistently busy with his duties as the Hand, Tyrion hides with his wines and his whores, and Jaime has his own place in the Red Keep. You are forced to sit with your sister and her ladies, who talk too loudly and prattle on about nonsense.

Cersei, you have long established, does not like you. You aren’t really sure anyone likes you, in the traditional sense, but you know that your sister only keeps you around for fear of Tywin’s wrath. There is something in the back of your mind that remembers a younger, softer Cersei putting you in her lap, of brushing your hair and putting it in gold bows. But, that was before. Before you could walk or talk properly, before you spouted random facts on unasked for topics, before she realised you were different.

Everyone knows you are different, and no one can explain why. Not even you. All they know is to stay away from you, all they know is they’ll never understand how your little mind works.

So, you sit as nicely as you can on the outside of Cersei’s circle of ladies, and you try to focus on your sewing. You don’t like sewing, but it’s what all of the noblewomen do to pass the time, and all you want is to fit in.

“Your sewing is coming on well, my lady.”

The septa tilts your sewing slightly to look at it just a little more. It’s supposed to be a gift for your father, and it is not good. You see every uneven stitch, all of the oddities and bumps in your work that make it so you can hardly look at it. You hate it, and you hate that you can’t even sew properly.

“The stitching is all wrong…”

She takes your hands as you try, again, to pick out your newest stitch, a learned behaviour with you. Despite being with you near your whole life, since you weaned off of your nurse, you aren’t sure the septa completely understands your fascination of perfection,

“It is fine,” Her voice is soft, but you can feel her disappointment, “you are still learning, my lady, some mistakes are natural. You do not need to pull it apart- again.”

You jump when Cersei’s ladies giggle at some joke you haven’t heard, the woman beside you takes your hand, and you are reminded why you keep her so close. At least, in some way, she understands what you like and what upsets you.

Tea is served for the ladies. They give you what Cersei likes, what her ladies eat, green and red things that squish and squelch in your mouth and taste like you’ve eaten rags. And the queen sees you push them around your plate, and scoffs.

“At least try it, sister,” She sips from her wine. You feel each of her noblewomen shift, in turn, to look at you, “a Lannister lady can’t just survive off of the children’s food you eat, we can’t all eat nothing but cakes and plain bread all day.”

But you don’t, and you starve. Tywin will get you something later, you’re sure of it, as he sighs, and gently suggests you’ll need a more varied diet if you’re to marry a good husband.

The women’s giggles practically turn to cackles, which do not stop for what feels like hours. You wish they’d stop, or that you could understand what they find so utterly hilarious, so at least you may join their hysteria. You’ve put your sewing down in your lap, and you fiddle with your hair. The sept doesn’t like that, she guides your work back into your hands.

“Your father doesn’t like it if you mess your hair, sweet girl, you know that,” Her hands find your hair, carefully untangling the knots you’ve made, “try a few more stitches.”

And then, inevitably, it happens. You prick your finger on your needle, and a soft ruby comes from your noble, incomprehensible skin.

Throwing your project to the ground, you rush off as fast as your legs can manage. No one comes to find you.

You are long practised with the subtle art of trying not to cry. You pace back and forth, away from anything and everything, your hands in your hair as you do. The tears in your eyes hurt, they make you tired, and only add to your humiliation. You can do nothing right, why can you do nothing right?

You think of your sister, of perfect, beautiful, poised Cersei- She has a gaggle of women to do her bidding she is loved, and desires and you doubt she paces the halls trying not to cry. She is the lion queen, and you are her kitty-cat of a sister.

And then, you hear your name called. Followed by hurried footsteps toward you. Tyrion takes your hands in his, but you cannot even look at him.

“Has someone upset you? Cersei?”

All you can do is give him whines in response. You feel a sob bubbling in your throat, and you cannot give him the satisfaction of seeing you weak.

“Tell me.”

So you look down, you watch his eyes change from confusion, to the pity you are so used to seeing. But he is your older brother, and you know he won’t run back to Cersei, like Jaime would.

It comes in one, huge splurge, as tears fall against your skin and ruin the pretty powders your maids spent so long putting on you this morning,

“I- Was making a gift for Father-” You gasp, “And they didn’t give me anything to eat, and- and the sewing was terrible, but Septa is lying and saying it’s good and-” Another. “And I cut myself!”

His arms wrap around you, and he puts his head against you. Though much smaller than you, it offers greater comfort than he knows it does. All you can do is sob. You feel like a child.

No words are spoken as he takes you down to the kitchens, and puts you at the staff table. You are given something you eat with relish, and get a plate of pudding for your effort. There is no need for you to have any medical attention for your injury, but he has it wrapped anyway. A psychological comfort, if nothing else.

Tyrion helps you into bed, letting you reach out for the rag dolls your sister claims you’re too old for. You want your father, you want him to go and tell off Cersei, but you have your brother instead, and he at least semi-understands what it’s like to be different.

“I’m sorry,” you turn and look up at him,

“Sorry?”

He stands, walking to your window to look out at the courtyard below.

“When you look at me, what do you see?”

Tyrion is going somewhere with this, you know that much, but what, you are left wondering,

“I see… my brother.”

“Yes, you do. But the world? What does the world see? They see a drunk, lustful little man with a lion on his chest he doesn’t deserve.”

Something in you knows that it’s true. Tyrion is nothing more than his condition to the eyes of most in the Keep, most of the kingdom.

“You, you look like a Lannister. Your brokenness is inside. And I wish I could understand it.”

“It’s alright-” You sit up, clutching your doll, “It’s just… what it is. I have you, I have Father.”

Tyrion almost scoffs, he comes back from the window, passing you your water,

“Yes, you get Father, but that’s because you are utterly adorable.”

“I am adorable, aren’t I?”

“And humble, it appears.”

When Tyrion leaves, he kisses your forehead, and you know he is going to tell Father. You are the one thing they share something of a common interest in, and you suspect Tywin will make an appearance at some point. You’re right, of course.

It is Tywin’s heartbeat you listen to to calm yourself down for sleep. Your father strokes your hair, half-dozing himself. A soft, sweet moment that you are reminded Tyrion doesn’t have the privilege of.

Cersei is no longer allowed to be your main caretaker, you spend your afternoons out in the gardens, or sit entertaining yourself in Tywin’s solar. Tyrion takes you on walks, and there is something of a peaceful normality brought about.

You are still terribly disappointed in how Tywin’s gift turns out, it looks like a child made it, and when you become obviously quite upset over the manner, you have the Old Lion and his younger son to calm you. He loves it, he assures you, and Tyrion is so enamoured by it he requests his own. You know they are simply making you feel better, but you let it happen anyway.

And, perhaps, life is not so bad after all.

[pushing500]

I had an angry sort of day today and just felt like curling up and playing Sims like the grouchy gremlin I am, so you'll have to put up with my Sims posting again. Sorry!

First up is Plexi being perplex(i)ed by her bed. She is an alien, though, so we should cut her some slack when she gets confused by Sim furniture.

Isaiah is fond of Plexi's pool, it seems. I'm glad everybody is getting good use out of it.

Awww, a birthday!!

First night in a proper bed! Don't worry, Plexi. Dad's here to kiss you goodnight and scare any monsters away.

Servo Bot enjoys reading to his daughter and his cat. What a diligent dad he is!

Kitty snuggles are the best <3

Kitty toe beans are also pretty great, though!! 🐾

Does it count as using AI to finish your school assignment if the AI in question is your father?

Taco is never far from Plexi. It's very sweet.

As the weather gets colder, it seems like a perfect time to play chess under the frosty stars ❄️♟️⭐

For crying out loud, D'Quan, there are children present!! Put them away!!!

Isaiah also picked up a new hobby. I'm sure this will result in no catastrophes at all.

"We're not so different, you and I."

Isaiah, you like fishing. Try not to look so bored!!

AI-generated music, hmph.

Oh, hell, when did this happen?? I can't deal with an eight-sim household! 😱

Okay, I know it's not what I normally post, but I think these guys are so cute and I wanted to share them <3

This is Leonell Monroe, a Scientist who is doing his best to earn money and keep his two younger brothers in line. He enjoys building robots, gardening, and making jewellery in his spare time. One day he wants to build a Servo to keep him company and help make life a little easier with D'Quan and Isaiah.

D'Quan Monroe is a chef and spends almost every waking moment cooking, baking, and preparing food. On the rare occasions he's not enjoying himself in the kitchen, he can be found playing his guitar, planning spectacular dinner parties, and goofing around with his baby brother, Isaiah.

Always looking to improve the world around him, Isaiah Monroe is a conservationist who does his best to live an eco-friendly lifestyle. He loves to recycle, make candles, and fabricate things with his fabricator. Isaiah is also an excellent hobbyist beekeeper and encourages his bees to keep Leonell's garden rolling with fresh ingredients for D'Quan's cooking.

For the moment, the three Monroe brothers share an apartment in Evergreen Harbor, but they are eager to move into their own (hopefully much bigger) house someday soon.

[egberts]

we are finally home after a busy day. if you don't know already, callie passed away this morning. she fought so hard for the last month and held on for long enough that everyone who knows her and loves her got to see her and say goodbye while she was still in good spirits. unfortunately in the days leading up to this morning she suddenly rapidly declined again and we knew it was time. i won't go into the sad details but despite her condition she continued to love and be loved. she fell asleep in my arms leading up to her final moments, and we got to give her so many hugs and kisses. it didn't take long for the medicine to take her when it was finally time, she was already so weak. her personality has always been so quirky, it was hard to see her decline but she was still so full of love to the very end.

immediately after she passed alana and i went to a boardwalk nature trail and just walked for a while before going for ice cream (the cashier was incredibly nice to us, we must have seemed in need of cheering up because this was a theme of the day)

after ice cream we came home and cleaned up callie's things. vacuumed up some of the cat hair and packed away her furniture and the things we wanted to keep, we set aside some things for her memorial space, and we took everything else to the animal shelter.

just packing up her things was already somewhat cathartic but while at the shelter we decided to visit with the kitties and this was actually a very good idea. it was so bizarrely comforting, seeing and holding the small lovable kittens and realizing in a way that one day we will be able to get a cat as loving as callie was and it will be easy to fall in love with it too.

after the animal shelter, we had to swing by our house again to get the bulk pack of wet food that was delivered, very cruel irony there. it was a $50 box so i reached out for a refund and was given one pretty much immediately and told not to return the food, which gives us a reason to go back to the shelter on monday and donate this food too. (and visit more kitties of course)

we were probably keeping ourselves busy subconsciously, but it was good for us i think, because next we went to a state park and just enjoyed some time by the ocean. we saw so many crabs and even a heron came right up to us!

and you'd think that's the end of the day's adventure but no, after that we went to get pizza for dinner (because cooking is just not an option right now iykyk) and we saw a deer!! a freaking random deer after already seeing a random heron, it was just amazing.

finally we went to target to grab some necessary groceries as some kind of weird semblance that even though callie is gone life has to go on.

i am not kidding when i say every single other human we had to interact with today was nothing but kind to us. all friendly smiles. we didn't tell any of them what happened and yet every single one of them from the ice cream shop girl to the lady at the state park and even the target self checkout person. it was genuinely a beautiful day despite everything. it almost feels like callie's loving energy was just with us throughout the day.

i'm going to miss her so much, and knowing she's gone forever is very hard but i don't think i could've asked for a better experience with it. now it's time to finish up the last bit of cleaning and take a much needed shower.

after her urn and ashes arrive i'll post one final callie update, but as of now this is it. she is gone, resting in peace on the other side of the rainbow bridge. our sweet angel baby 💗

the cutest gradient trio ever btw

[vulnonapixes-dc-corner]

Remember when I told you all about the "Damian & Tim bonding fic, where Damian gets turned into a cat?"?

Well, I do.

I have two wips! One for a fic and the other is a small art sketch

"It's OK! You are OK! With me, you are safe!"

Tim hummed, as he gently rubbed the little fluff ball dry, making sure to clean its eyes and ears out in the process.

He had found it in a trashcan on patrol, all alone, shivering and seemingly abandoned.

The teen couldn't get himself to leave it there.

After all, he wasn't that cruel, and Damian would probably break his back again if he found out that he let an innocent animal die.

It meowed weakly, as he used two of his fingers to gently massage its stomach. He couldn't feel any swellings and injuries, so it should be fine. Hopefully.

"Hey, it's alright! We'll get some food into you and then you'll feel better."

The kitten looked too young to stomach solid food, so milk was it.

He knew that cowmilk was bad for cats, but almond milk should be fine, at least till he could get some special cat milk and wet food to ween the little one out.

After making sure that it was warm and comfortable on his couch, he made his way to his kitchen.

The search for some almond milk and a saucer to fill it in took him some minutes and when he returned to his living room, the cat was gone.

Gone was probably a harsh word, considering that he could hear some really pissed off growls from beneath his bookshelf.

It was quite impressive, considering that the animal making those sounds was barley bigger than his hand.

"Poor little baby, this situation must be quite scary for you."

He pushed the makeshift bowl next to the furniture, avoiding the sweep of tiny claws, before he all but collapsed on his couch.

Then he quietly cursed himself.

In the trouble of making sure that the kitty was alright, he had utterly forgotten about his own needs.

"I am such an idiot."

The vigilante forced himself back on his feet, as he glared at the couch.

Who knows what kind of toxins and germs he had gotten onto it now.

"You know, this totally ruins my whole week. I usually deepclean my furniture every Monday. But with all the blood and shit on my suit this can't wait."

He smiled gently towards the kittens direction, who had stopped growing when he started speaking.

"I will take a short shower, before cleaning the couch and taking my meds. Please try to drink a bit of the milk, alright?"

The teen was aware that the cat couldn't understand or answer him, but he wanted it to get comfortable with his voice

Soaking his suit in disinfectant, showering, checking his body for small injuries, going through his skincare routine, throwing his suit into the washing machine, getting a clean suit ready for the next patrol and starting up his textile-deep-cleaning routine took him nearly an hour.

It left him utterly exhausted and wanting to sleep.

But he still had to finish the cleaning, drink that disgusting, nutrien rich smoothie, take his meds and work on that case Duke asked him about.

His eyes wandered to the kittens hiding place and a smile appeared on his lips as he looked at the empty saucer.

"Good work! Eat a lot and grow stronger. "

The tiny head of the kitten popped out and Tim had to stifle his laughter at the animals unimpressed expression.

"Oh, Damian will absolutely adore you."

It meowed as Tim concentrated back on cleaning the couch.

"He is my little brother and he adores animals. I am planning to give you to him when the weekend comes around."

This was the safest course of actions for him and the one thing will guarantee a happy life for it.

The kittens eyes were watching him clean the couch, as he explained every step to it.

" Now we are just going to let the disinfectant soak in and let it dry. I'll take my medicine and then we'll try to get some more food into you! "

It actually came out of its hiding place when he brought out his yellow pill bottle.

Somehow, it looked as if he had offended it, as it meowed loudly at him to get his attention.

"This is just the medicine that I spoke about. I am sick, you know. A year ago, I lost my spleen due to an injury. I had a flare up a few days ago, since Steph decided to drop in unannounced. Its fine now though."

Steph had been hurt and he was the closest, so he was glad that she came to him instead of bleeding out somewhere.

But the fever he got afterwards was not so nice.

The kitty meowed, as it clawed at his leg, what was suprisingly painful.

"Whats the matter?! This hurts, you know?"

Tim picked the small animal up, as it growled angrily at him.

"You know. You kinda remind me of my little brother right now."

It had the same green eyes as him.

"You are even behaving like him right now!"

He smiled as it spitted in his direction, Biting and clawing at his hand.

Getting the hint, he gently placed it back onto the ground, where it quickly went back to his hiding place.

Tim couldn't help himself as he sighted, as he saw the blood running down his hand.

He needed to disinfect and bandage ut up as quickly as possible now.

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"Jason, calm down-, i cant understand what you are saying if you scream like this!"

Damian glared at the teen from bellow his hiding spot, as he placed back and forth in his living room, his elder brothers voice screaming through the speaker of the phone.

It was pathetic.

No Vigilante, especially one that studied under his father, should allow someone to yell at them.

[yourgfdgirlfriend]

can we talk about how toxic this whole “that small thing gives me the ick” narrative is?

like, girl, him using a basket at the grocery store or bringing water to the airport gives you ‘the ick’, but him never doing a single chore or believing women are inherently better at cleaning, like it’s some instinctual level ability is fine!? you’re gonna deal with him actually thinking he’s superior to you, but don’t he dare pick up a ping pong ball or you’re out?

wanna know what gives me ‘the ick’? rudeness. sexist behaviour. selfishness. masculinity, that is so fragile wind could knock it over. being unable to give a genuine apology. those are things that make me wanna drop someone; not normal human actions.

can we stop picking on any even slightly feminine perceived behaviour in men and just let them live without this ginormous expectation to always be this strong masculine picture of a man that no one is ever gonna be able to fulfil? you’re creating the same pressure on them we as women get all the time. you’re feeding into toxic masculinity. stop. make an effort to end this thinking instead. all the ‘icks’ I see on social media are so fucking stupid and misogynistic in their core; usually accompanied with sentences like “well, if he’s gonna cry about a birthday gift, he’s not my alpha anymore” no, he’s not. he is a real person with feelings, you fucking brainwashed-by-the-patriarchy monster.

give me a fucking break; i’m so sick of seeing people pressured into these roles their whole life and being so unhappy and hold so much resentment. just stop. let men cry. let men think kitties are cute. let men dangle their feet. let men giggle and be silly. let men have genuine moments of happiness without thinking about whether or not they seem masculine enough. cut them some fucking slack. and maybe there will be fewer men hating women, because they always had to be a certain way to be accepted. every woman knows the feeling of all these expectations and rules you have to follow. we know how much it sucks; how suffocating it is. so let’s stop repeating this narrative and start breaking out of it. reflect on where you’re coming from before criticising someone’s behaviour. we’ll all be happier for it.

and don’t anyone dare to use this as anti-feminist. this is inherently feminist, because it breaks with the tale of women being poor innocent damsels in distress unable to harm anyone or anything; always the victims. perfect little dolls. we’re not. women are cruel and flawed. women are offenders. women are judgmental. women are cold hearted and shortsighted. women are petty. women are misogynistic. (not all women of course *cough cough*) women are not perfect. we are human. of course the “women are capable and smart. women are superheroes” side of feminism is widely preferred. let’s be honest no one wants to hear bad things about themselves, especially when fighting against your own oppression; but it’s therefore no less true. both are legitimate; they’re two sides of the same coin. deal with it.

and if I see anyone hurting a sweet boy’s feelings, because him owning a stuffy or something adorable like that gave you ‘the ick’ I’m gonna personally bitch slap you so hard, that looking in the mirror will give you the ick for the rest of your life. savvy?

[itsanerdlife]

Wicked Intentions 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader // (Seriously close) Steve Rogers x Reader // Clint Barton x Reader // T’Challa x Reader.

Warning: Violence. Language. Bullying. Girl Fights. Name Calling. Degrading Comments. Angst. Degrade of Woman (to a point). Criminal Life. Illegal Shit. Fights. Alpha Males. Stalking.

Characters: Peter Stark. Howie Stark. Bucky Barnes. Steve Rogers. Clint Barton. TC (T’Challa). Ben Reilly. Cledus Kasady (CK). Brock Rumlow. Gwen Stacy. Wanda Maximoff. Becca Barnes. Amore Lorelei. Kitty Pryde. Frank Castle. George Barnes. Joe Rogers. Winni Barnes. Pepper Stark. Wade Wilson. Eddie Brock. Warner Strucker. Barney Barton. Bobbi Morse. Pietro Maximoff. Logan.

A/N: This is a Bully Romance. High School setting. Mafia Family Life. Woman are on a lower level than males in their world. Just a heads up. This is the third installment of the series. Bad Intentions, Cruel Intentions, and Wicked Intentions.

Credit: Huge shout out to @ml7010 for all the help, pushing, hyping up, putting up with my changes midway through. If it wasn't for this peach, y'all never would have gotten this series or nearly as far as I am now.

Peter is yelling, hands cupped at his mouth.

Howie is on his feet, cheering.

Clint’s on the ring edge, calling out tips.

Steve’s staring down the opponent’s boyfriend.

Bucky watches her dodge right, hands up protecting her face. Her knee comes up, connecting with the girl’s side. She stoops, her first mistake. Y/N grabs the back of her head, her toes barely touching the ring mat, before her knee comes back up faster this time. Y/N slams the girl’s head down, meeting her knee. Shoving the girl back, into the ropes, when she stumbles from the knee to the face, Y/N winds up, throwing an absolute ruthless right hook to the jaw.

Her head snaps back, blood spraying, her body goes limp, hitting the mat with a thump.

The Ditch goes nuts, screaming from all sides. Cheering, celebrating, talking shit.

TC dips under the ropes, grabbing Y/N’s hand, holding it up, cheering just as loud.

When the Stark’s meet eyes. Howie and Peter are on their feet. Y/N bounces on her toes, all three at the same time, flex inward, with a loud “AHHHHH!” at one another.

“That’s our girl!” Becca is on her feet, screaming for her best friend.

He grins when his girl locks eyes with him. She grins, rolling her eyes at him.

They still went to The Ditch, sometimes TC worked the decks there. Mainly when Y/N wanted to beat on bitches for kicks. She was getting Becca into it now. Only Y/N’s now fighting top fighters from other areas, coming to see what she’s made of.

Sure she might be taking over the table, running her own mafia, and be the most feared thing in Saints high school, but she’s still the girl that needs a good fight to feel calm. Compromises were made between him and her when they started settling into life together. Like her training with Frankie and TC, after the battle for her, she never wants to be underprepared for another fight. He couldn’t blame her, encouraged her.

The memory of her in the hospital, damaged and broken, burned into his mind for life.

A tight feeling appeared in his chest, worrying about his baby sister taking over.

“Boss man?” She’s next to him, Clint cutting the tape off her hands. Steve, cleaning up the few cuts on her.

“The right hook, baby girl.” He shakes his head, smirking at her. “I’d say it’s blessed by Satan.” He chuckles, leaning into kiss her.

“But I am Satan.” She laughs against him, kissing him again.

“Don’t we know it.” Clint snorts.

“Unlikely to ever forget it.” Steve shakes his head.

“And if you do, I’ll remind you.” She sasses, like a snotty teenager.

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.” The two mutter at the same time, laughing.

“Ah.” Steve pauses.

“What?” He asks.

Steve scratches the back of his head. “Is that new or old?” He cut his eyes to her thigh and back away.

Fingerprints, on the outside of her thigh, a thumb print on the inside of her thighs.

“Old.” She grins in Steve’s face.

“Scarred for life.” Becca whines, walking away.

Clint looks down and back to her. “That’s hot.” He grins.

“Fuck yeah.” She laughs, they high five.

“Alright, enough of that.” He pushes Clint away, making him laugh.

-----

The house party loud and packed. The typical Friday night high school parties for them. He sat on the couch talking with the guys. “What’s the policy for fighting here?” Howie laughs, sipping from his beer bottle.

“Don’t. Why?” Steve smirks.

“Cause if Smalls sees that girl eye fucking Bucky, that policy won’t matter to her.” Peter laughs.

“Does any rule?” Bucky sighs.

They all laugh.

“Boss man.” She saunters up to them. Dark cut off shorts, a cut short red T-shirt, with a black sports bra underneath. Her ball cap turned backwards, dark hair in messy waves.

“Doll?” He smirks up at her when she comes to stop the side of the couch, he’s on.

She leans down, black fingernails tip his chin up towards her. Her eyes cut to the side and instead of kissing him as he thought. She licks him, from his jaw to his eyebrow. Staring down the girl watching him. She looks startled before she bumps into someone trying to get away.

“Much better.” She smiles pretty walking away.

Peter’s brow yanks down. Howie looks confused. Steve and Clint are unbothered.

“Did our baby sister,” Howie blinks.

“Lick you?” Peter’s eyelids flutter quickly.

“Yup.” Clint and Steve reply, throwing back shorts.

“What in the fuck?” Peter laughs.

“Not new.” Clint shakes his head, downing his beer.

TC is moving towards them, a look of worry on his face.

“What?” He puts his cup down.

“Pretty sure Eddie is across the street.” He jerks his thumb backwards.

They exchange a look between the five of them before jumping up and hurrying out of the house.

Indeed, on the other side of the road, sits Eddie parked, leaning against his car. He smirks at them, as they come to stand on the walkway of the house.

“Gwen get in the house.” Y/N’s voice hits his ears.

“Y/N.” Gwen sounds nervous.

“Wanda stay here.” Y/N orders, he can hear her coming up behind them. She cuts around him, walking down the path, they follow her. She stops on the edge of the curb.

Eddie flicks his eyes from her to Becca, standing next to her.

“Try it.” Y/N warns him.

Eddie smirks, cutting his eyes back to Y/N. They stare back at one another.

She stares him down, Buck looks from Eddie to Y/N, something dark and dangerous in her brown eyes.

It’s Eddie who blinks first, looking away. Suddenly he gets back into his car, leaving.

She turns on them, staring at each of them for a moment.

“Something you boys need to tell me?” Her brow lifts, Becca looks tense next to her.

“We don’t know what that was about.” He assures her.

She nods slowly. Cutting between them heading back towards her girls at the door. The six of them exchange a look, heading for her. She pauses, taking the cup from Gwen, she turns to them standing above them on the front stoop.

“You better swear on whatever god you believe in, Boss man; you didn’t lie to me.” She repeats the saying from the beginning, when they first started out and Ben Rielly and Sina were causing issues for them. The ice cold look in her eyes, makes his steps stop suddenly.

“I’ll make your life hell, James Barnes, you think before was rough, you haven’t seen shit yet.” She warns him. Turning, she steps into the house between her friends, walking away.

Fear creeps into his chest.

He swallows hard.

-------- Everything Peaches 12/8/22 @mo320 @ml7010 @kmc1989 @irepeldirt @joannie95 @nunu2888 @coley0823 @rileyloves5 @sexyvixen7 @duckestylez @abschaffer2 @drayshadow @shirukitsune @xoxabs88xox @carostar2020 @rosalynshields @destiel-artemis @hookslove1592 @CallSign-Vesta @royal-sunflower @iwillbeinmynest @bellamy-barnes @geeksareunique @happydeanpotter @fanfic-n-tabulous @steel-blue-eyess @mariekoukie6661 @wonderswrittings @bless-my-demons @notyourtypicalrose @lets-talk-about-xyz @loving-life-my-way @shinycupcakebaker @also-fangirlinsweden @stupendous-science @daughterofthenight117 @dandelionsmarkthegrave @physically-a-cheesecake @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked

Bucky 'Fuck Me Up' Barnes: @nickyl316h @jbbarnesgirl @lets-roggerthat @this-is-mycrisis @kaylaphantomhive

Series tags: @sebastians-love

[deadlysansa]

July 2024

lovely LOVELY dedicated loyal readers.

i am continually astounded that my inbox still receives message of support and curiosity about my lil fanfic These Lines of Lightning. i can’t even begin to talk about the fact that a lot of you just drop messages to say you hope i am well. you are just wonderful. and i owe you an answer in that i am here, doing well, just living a very different and busy life!

i am pretty sure i started writing TLOL in 2019. my life and the world were in such different places. the same applies to you guys! we’ve all LIVEDDDD. but i LOVED writing the fic. i loved maybe even more how much excitement you guys had for it. the marauders will always be my roman empire.

truth is i am not sure how to continue writing it. i have tried MANY times. there are so so many drafts of the next chapter in existence. i did not want to write a crap, slap dash ending to this fic as that would betray my hours of work into making it something we all enjoyed. so i sort of let it float in the ether. unfinished, like all the classic jily fics really.

but BOO to that.

so what now? my real aim is to not leave TLOL in the fanfic graveyard. i feel that realistically i can write a maximum of three chapters to finish the story. i want to do it for you all. there are thousands of fantastic marauders fics out there but you still wanted to read mine.

i don’t know if anyone has recently read the end of last chapter (a cliffhanger, that was so cruel of me), but i am going to time jump a measly month into the future, going back and forth. this seems to be the only thing that will obliterate the chokehold writer’s block has on TLOL and get the damn job DONE.

if you are still here and care, i cannot thank you enough for the way you have encouraged my writing. let’s f-cking go! if anyone has any real highlight moments from the fic that they’d love a recall to, let me know!

endlessly in adoration of the ff community,

-Kitty x

[linkspooky]

ON MADELYNE PRYOR

Shout out to all the comic book stans who follow my blog.

So X-Men 97 inspired me to do a re-read of X-Men from the beginning. My previous read of X-Men jumped all over the place, it was basically X-Men up to Dark Phoenix and then I jumped all the way to the 2000s to 2010s. In my current read I just got to Inferno and holy fuck mom, I never thought I'd like an X-Men arc more than Dark Phoenix but here we are.

This is an entirely personal opinion which I'm not as good at expressing because I prefer over-intellectualizing my feelings, but Inferno is the only other comic book arc to make me feel the way that Judas Cotract did in how tightly and perfectly written as a tragedy it is especially for the female at its center.

Are there any women in all of fiction more doomed by the narrative than Terra Markov and Madelyne Pryor?

I mean I've written about Judas Contract before but what makes that arc so special to me is how it's about a character, a victim, a girl named Terra who by all rights should have been saved by the heroes, but not only fails every step of the way but at every point in her life really. Terra is someone how manifests her victimhood in completely unsympathetic ways but the fact that she basically had no chance in life makes her sympathetic nonetheless.

This comes from the decision that Perez and Wolfram made right from the start to kill her off and never offer her any redemption, which while incredibly callous on the author's part just makes the tragedy even stronger. That's what tragedy is, it's meat to reflect the cruelty and unfairness of life, it's kind of like reality bleeding into fiction.

George’s strength was he also understood the characters 100 percent as I did so there was never any question. He knew. We had talked enough about the characters to know we were exactly on the same page with them. So I said, “Everyone keeps complaining that we’re like the X-Men” and the X-Men had just gotten Kitty Pryde. I said, “Why don’t we really screw around with them completely?” — this is the fans — “…and make them think we’re stealing Kitty Pryde only she’s gonna be bad from Day One.” You always had characters pop up, certainly at Marvel, who were bad that get redeemed. But this character would never get redeemed. She was insane. In fact, she was the catalyst for everything. She wasn’t working for Deathstroke. He was working for her in many ways and she was leading him because she’s crazy. She’s a total psychopath… and she’d be 15. 

Terra's a total psychopath and she's fifteen and that's the tragedy. Was there really any other way that Terra could have turned out? A girl who has been abandoned, who was given incredible powers but no love, support, or nurturing and clearly doesn't have a home or any stability in her life if she's working as a mercenary at that young. A girl who thinks herself a villain and a player in the game but is clearly being manipulated by a fifty plus year old man who is smarter, more mature, and a serial user and abuser of people.

Terra's not just the villain, she's the protagonist of the tragedy walking through the play unknowing that her every single decision will lead to her inevitable end.

Judas Cotract and Inferno are two arcs that most evoke the feel of the Tower in Tarot to me. The Tower is just, ruin and destruction, a complete loss of control, the realization that everything you thought was wrong and in fact the world doesn't care much about what you think. It's a reminder that life isn't even cruel, it's nothing, it's random.

However, first you have to build up the tower before you start pulling the jenga blocks out one by one. Terra spends several arcs with the Teen Titans showing disturbing unchildlike behavior, but one of the so-called Heroes even notice that there's something wrong. When she does get close to blowing her cover, a violent incident where she nearly badly hurts Beast Boy after he comes onto her way too hard which is an understandable reaction as a victim of SA that gets brushed under the rug too.

It makes the heroes look worse as well. If they were heroes dedicated to saving people at all costs shouldn't they have noticed the trouble of someone right next to them? Yet, they all kind of collectively remain oblivious the same way that most victims in real life especially of Terra's kind of trauma are left to suffer in silence. Not to say the Teen Titans are bad, they are kids, and therefore it makes sense they don't have the emotional maturity to notice - it just makes them look more human.

So to summarize my point above what makes Judas Contract is a good tragedy and why Inferno makes me feel the same way narrows down to two reasons.

Madelyne and Terra are both doomed by the narrative, there was no saving them right from the beginning.

However, the fact that the heroes failed to save them reflects poorly on them.

Finally, Madelyne Pryor.

Oh Madelyne the world did you so dirty. I'm partially to blame because I skipped right to the 2000s in my first read, but before this point I'd known nothing about Madelyne other than that she was a clone of Jean Grey who died.

My first impressions of her when she was introduced shortly after Dark Phoenix weren't all that great either. Chris Claremont writes good female characters, that's not really a hot take. I'm sure you've heard of Storm, Rogue, Mystique, Kitty Pryde, Emma Frost etc.

However, I've noticed there are like two tiers of female characters he tends to write. There are the first stringers which are your storms, your rogues, these are characters who are meant to be independent and have arcs. Then there are the second stringers who are just meat to serve a role in the story. This isn't a criticism on the way Claremont writes women, I mean all stories have major and minor characters.

Madelyne Pryor was never meant to be a main character. There wasn't anything about her character that I disliked per se, she is independent, she seemed to have a life outside of Cyclops, she tries really hard to separate herself from the image of Jean Grey. However, she was clearly written to give Cyclops a wife and child in the aftermath of Jean's death and a reason to retire.

While the editorial mandate that made Claremont pull Cyclops out of his happy ending so he could rejoin a team with the original five x-men for the sake of nostalgia sucks, it is also the best thing to happen to Madelyne's character.

Madelyne before that point was a perfectly functional character for her role but she wasn't all that dynamic, she liked planes, she didn't like Jean's ghost hanging over her, she's pretty spunky and headstrong but she was at most a good supporting character but that's all she was. Claremont just decided to double down on that, Scott actually treats his wife like she exists to do nothing but support him and his emotional issues. Madelyne gives all the support that she can give and then Scott just up and leaves anyway. The woman who only existed to be a love interest to give Scott a happy ending, now has no other reason to exist without the man she's supposed to love and her happy ending turns to ash in her mouth.

This is the same feeling I was talking about with Terra, this is a person who was basically failed at every step of the way. A person who has no family. no support, it's almost worse in this case because Madelyne thought she did only for that person to toss her aside.

There's no saving Madelyne, and the fact that Scott didn't save her, that he didn't both trying until he was too late makes him the villain.

If anything Inferno is better than Judas Contract at dragging the heroes down to their lowest points, because The Teen Titans failing to save Terra is understandable because of how young they are but there's no excusing Scott's actions. Madelyne may run around in a skimpy outfit calling herself the goblin queen but the villain of this story is named Scott Summers. He had a responsibility and obligation towards Madelyne to save her and he failed, and it makes him a bad hero and an even worse person.

One of the key components of a tragedy is also agency. Agency is basically the freedom a character has to choose and how much their choices matter in the grand scheme of things and impact their narratives.

Tragedies are often defined by how little agency the characters are shown to have, and how limited their range of choices are. One of the biggest themes of tragedy is fate and inevitability at all. For example one of my favorite tragedies antigone is about a girl with very little power in the ancient greek city of Thebes who still makes a choice to give her brother a proper burial even though she knows she'll be executed for it.

Dark Phoenix is all about agency. Jean Grey is dealing with three different forces trying to take her mind, her agency. There's the corrupting influence of Phoenix, there's the Hellfire Club who wants to make her into a puppet, and then there's Charles Xavier who wants to put a lid on her tremendous powers. Everyone trying to take agency away from Jean eventually leads her to snap and try to take all of that agency back by embracing godhood because who has more agency, more control than a god? Even Jean's act of killing herself at the end was reclaiming her agency, it's her choice to die as a human rather than be executed, or to lose herself to the phoenix.

What breaks Madelyne is not Scott leaving her. Which made me like her character a lot, like the moment Scott left Madelyne was shown just how stubborn and determined she was. Madelyne stood out as the only normal human amongst the x-men who still held her own like Moira did (i guess Moira is a mutant now but I'm still in the 80s so w/e).

What breaks her is the revelation that she never had any agency in her life to begin with. Scott was always meant to fall in love with her, he was always meant to leave her, because she was nothing more than a womb for Sinister's breeding project. Once again it's masterful how Scott looks equally as villainous as Sinister in this scenario in how neither of them regards Madelyne as a person, just an object to project their desires upon.

(Honestly Jean Grey doesn't come out looking all that great either considering how little sympathy she has for Madelyne because she just sees her as an obstacle to getting back together with Scott. If anyone Jean should sympathize with Madelyne the most because they've both been toyed with cosmic forces out of their control, but I guess it goes to show how selfish and destructive Jean and Scott's love for each can be).

Is there any sequence more tragic in all of comics than this series of panels?

The symbolism in these panels too and how it relates to the themes of agency with Madelyne's character. Madelyne was a free and self-driven woman (or at least she thought she was) living out her dream of being a pilot which to her the ability to fly her wings represents her freedom and indepedence. The only thing she thought that could make her happier was Scott, but in the end not only did Scott take her wings away, he took away her everything and gave it to someone else.

"Time to lose those wings, Maddie. You can't really fly, anyway. You're not special like us."

If there's any words to express the inherent tragedy of Maddie's character is this, she's a person who thought she was free to fly, that she was real, that her life mattered only to have all that taken away from her. Maddie like Terra thinks she has agency that she's making decisions but she had no real choices from the beginning.

That's also a good way to express what makes tragedies hit as hard as they do. Tragedies slap you with the realization that you're not special. The hero is not a hero, they don't have plot armor, they're not immune to consequences, they're human and just like all humans they fail.

Even the act that Madelyne thinks is reclaiming her agency by gaining power as the Goblin Queen is in fact, not her choice. She doesn't choose to sell her soul, she's tricked into doing it by a rebellious demon that wants to kick Illyana out and reclaim limbo for himself. In Madelyne's one act of trying to steal back her power and freedom she is still just a pawn in another person's scheme.

There's also Madelyne going through literal hell itself to reclaim her son, only to make the decision to sacrifice him along with several other infants which seems to make her usympathetic but ironically makes her more sympathetic to me.

There's the obvious reference to Medea there. If all the parallels aren't obvious enough already, Jason and the Argonauts gets namedropped during the arc.

One of my favorite things about Medea the tragedy by Euripedes is that Medea is not just a girlboss who gets revenge on Jason and then walks away. Straightforward revenge narratives are bad because revenge is... bad actually. The decision to inflict more pain and suffering in the world doesn't break the chain of suffering.

Medea kills her children to show that Jason is not entirely in the wrong, and Medea is not entirely in the right. They are two human beings who's relationship is blowing up in the worst way possible. I mean Jason himself does have some points in the play, he's making a political marriage to save both of them, the only reason he's exiling Medea is because Medea made loud death threats at Jason's new bride. It's not just the heartbreak of being abandoned that drives Medea, it's her pride, the whole play started because Medea didn't want to settle for being a side chick.

Medea wants revenge against Jason but she doesn't take her revenge on Jason, she takes revenge on everyone around him for the purpose of making him feel as alone and lost as he did her. She'll kill her own children, even if it kills her to do so, just to spite him a little more.

Which leads to one of my favorite scenes in all of fiction, Medea holding the knife over her own child's throat, bargaining with herself trying to convince herself to do something she objectively knows is wrong.

MEDEA I’ve made up my mind, my friends. I’ll do it—kill my children now, without delay, and flee this land. I must not hesitate. That would hand them over to someone else to be slaughtered by a hand less loving.                                      No matter what, the children have to die. Since that’s the case, then I, who gave them life,                                will kill them. Arm yourself for this, my heart. Why do I put off doing this dreadful act, since it must be done? Come, pick up the sword, wretched hand of mine. Pick up the sword, move to where your life of misery begins. Don’t play the coward. Don’t remember now how much you love them, how you gave them life. For this short day forget they are your children                          and mourn them later. Although you kill them, still you loved them. As a woman, I’m so sad.     

Why would Madelyne after going through all that trouble to find her son, instead choose to give him to the fire? It's because for a person who was given so little choice over her own life, the choice to self-destruct is still a choice. The choice to destroy something with your own hands rather than let it be destroyed for someone else is still a choice.

That would hand them over to someone else to be slaughtered by a hand less loving.                                      No matter what, the children have to die. Since that’s the case, then I, who gave them life,                                will kill them.

I think I may like Madelyne more than Jean at this point?

The same way I like Terra more than Raven. They're very similiar characters, but it takes possession by Trigon to get Raven to attack the titans. Terra just tries to kill them by her own free will. She's willing to bury herself if it gives her one last chance at burying the titans to too. Madelyne on the other hand is willing to walk barefoot into hell, if it means she can drag Scott and the X-Men with her. Jean does things under the influence of the Phoenix, but she chose to die as a human being at the end of Dark Phoenix. Madelyne however made the opposite choice, throwing all her humanity away she gave herself wholly and unreservedly to the fire.

Also damn, x-men 97 did this arc so dirty by speedrunning through it in one episode. This is also one of the most well set-up arcs in the X-Men comics with so many threads like X-Factor, X-Men and New Mutants all coming together. It really deserved its own season not like 2 episodes, and then Madelyne dying halfway through this season.

[immeasurablesaladagere]

can i have a fic where little House has a nightmare where Wilson acts cruel and bad like his dad and then he's scared of Wilson but eventually realises Wilson's safe after he gives him space and then comes to him for comfort (mayb featuring kitty)

- @tummy-rubs-for-wilson-pup

Here you are :) This fic includes the taking of comfort objects and some mean things said about agere by nightmare-Wilson, as a heads up. Might not be super fun to read if you're small.

-----

Word Count: 1318

Summery: House has a nightmare about Wilson resenting him for his regression.

-----

House woke up small, buried in the soft blankets of his bed and pleasantly fuzzy. He yawned and looked around for Kitty, but he was nowhere to be found. He was probably just hiding. For now, his growling stomach was more important than finding Kitty, who was probably just having an adventure in the closet, so he reached for his cane and made his way into the kitchen where Wilson was typing on his laptop and drinking coffee.

“Wilson, I want breakfast. Can you make pancakes?” He asked. He expected Wilson to follow it up with a ‘what do we say?’, but instead he sighed, almost irritated.

Wilson didn’t even turn around to look at him. “Make your own breakfast, House.” 

“…I’m small. You’re supposed to make breakfast when I’m small, ‘cause I’m not s’posed to use the stove.” Maybe Wilson didn’t notice that he was little? Usually he did, but it was early. Wilson had been very insistent that he do all of the cooking when House was regressed, because the oven was only for adults and he could get hurt. And even if he was allowed, he couldn’t remember all of the steps to make pancakes by himself.

“Then get cereal, I don’t care. I’m not going to make you breakfast, you can do that by yourself.” 

Wilson sounded angry with him, but he didn’t know why. Did he do something? He couldn’t remember doing anything bad… “Are you… mad at me?” He asked hesitantly.

This time Wilson did turn around, and House wished he hadn’t. His glare was cold and it sent a chill down his spine. “You know what? Yes, I am. I’m mad that myroommate is an adult man that acts like a child that I have to take care of, carrying around that stupid cat and throwing temper tantrums!” He laughed harshly, “I mean, what has my life come to, looking after a man-baby in my own home?”

House stood frozen. Fear and shame swirled around in his stomach. Did he really think that? Wilson had told him so many times that he was okay with his regression; he’d walked him through tantrums and meltdowns, read him stories, told him that he loved him, and he never seemed upset, but maybe House had just missed it?

“But I-I thought you said it was okay..?” Did this mean Wilson didn’t wanna take care of him anymore? He didn’t want that. “I didn’t mean to be bad, I—“

“Oh cut the crap, House!” Wilson snapped, standing up from the table, “Enough with the baby-talk nonsense! It’s embarrassing! This whole thing is embarrassing!”

He wanted to be big again. He didn’t want Wilson to keep yelling at him, but his headspace was only slipping younger the angrier Wilson got. His head was too fuzzy for him to think and he was afraid, he was afraid of Wilson, of his caregiver, as he got closer and closer venting his frustrations at him, backing him up until he hit the kitchen counter. He wanted Kitty. Where was Kitty?

Wilson chuckled in disbelief and disgust. “Seriously? That’s all you can think about?” House watched in horror as Wilson’s face began to distort, turning into warping and twisting goo before settling on a gruesome mixture between Wilson and the face of his father. “I threw that stupid thing in the dumpster—“

No.

His father’s voice echoed through his head, “I threw those stupid toys in the dumpster. You don’t need them anymore, Greg. This is for your own good.” 

“—your own good. Are you even listening to me!?”

Not Kitty. He needed Kitty back, Kitty couldn’t be gone, he needed him. Tears welled up in his eyes but he couldn’t even move to wipe them away, and that seemed to make Dad-Wilson angrier.

“And now you’re crying! You know what?” He threw up his hands, “Get out. Go find your cat, and don’t bother coming back. I’ll leave your stuff outside the door.”

Wilson was kicking him out? He was panicking now. His entire body felt like it was about to shake apart. Could he do that? He was so little and he was gonna be all alone!

“House.”

“Get out, House!”

Wilson hated him all this time. He thought he was gross and embarrassing and stupid—

“House.”

Dad-Wilson got right up in his face. “Can’t you hear me!? I said—“

-

“House!”

House shot awake with a jolt. He was fuzzy and small and his entire body was shaking and damp with sweat. It took him a second to catch his breath and realize that Wilson was leaning over him, but once he did he shoved him back as hard as he could and squirmed away to the other side of the bed.

“Woah, easy!” Wilson held up his hands in surrender, and he was just Wilson now. He didn’t look scary anymore, or angry, or like Dad, but House kept a large distance between them anyway. 

“Go ‘way.” He spat, voice wobbling.

“It’s alright, it was just a dream…” Wilson said gently, and he tried to get closer.

House grabbed the nearest pillow and clumsily flung it at him. He missed, but Wilson stopped moving. “No! You got rid of Kitty! Get out!”

“I got rid of—? No, I didn’t- House, look.” Wilson turned towards the closet and opened it, and after a moment, pulled Kitty out from between some boxes. “See? Kitty’s right here. I’m just going to put him down on the bed, okay? You can have him.” He set Kitty down on the bed, and House grabbed him the second it was in reach and clutched him to his chest.

House let out a shaky breath of relief into Kitty’s fur. Kitty was okay! Wilson didn’t get rid of him, Kitty was safe.

Wilson stood back from the bed uncomfortably, watching him like he was a scared animal. He felt like one. Was it really just a dream? 

Wilson slowly sat down against the wall. “I’m just going to sit here, okay? You don’t have to talk, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

They sat in silence for several minutes as House calmed down, petting Kitty’s fur to remind himself that he was there and that Wilson really hadn’t thrown him away, and that the other things in his dream probably weren’t real either. Wilson stayed where he was the whole time, watching him with a sad look on his face, and now that House wasn’t panicking all he wanted was for Wilson to comfort him. He usually didn’t like cuddles, but now he wanted a hug. He wanted Wilson to tell him that everything Dream-Wilson said was wrong.

“‘Had a dream you got rid of Kitty, and you were mad at me…” He mumbled.

“That sounds scary.” 

“Because I was little.”

Wilson made a hurt noise. “I was mad at you in the dream because you were little?”

“Mhm.”

“That sounds awful. Can I come onto the bed?”

House was pretty sure that Wilson was safe now, so he nodded, and Wilson sat down carefully beside him. Now that his caregiver was so close, he couldn’t resist the part of him that was desperate for reassurance, for a hug, for anything. 

“Can I—“

House cut him off by tipping forward into his arms and hugging him.

“Oh… Okay.” Wilson’s hand rubbed up and down his back in slow, calming circles, and the jittery feeling under his skin slowly began to fade away. “I’ll never be mad at you for regressing, House. It makes you happy. And I would never take Kitty from you.”

House hummed against Wilson’s shoulder and held Kitty close. He believed Wilson, but he still didn’t feel like letting Kitty out of his sight any time soon. 

Suddenly his stomach growled loudly, and Wilson pulled away.

“Are you hungry? I can make breakfast. How does pancakes sound?”

[the-knight-of-the-stars]

One of these days I'll finish writting the fanfic of this tiny Trans Reversed-Love Square Miraculous Ladybug AU that has been eating my brain:

— Adrien Agreste is Kitty Noir. Reclusive homeschooled rich supermodel by day, Paris superheroine by night.

—Adrien thinks of Kitty as just a persona he can play with, like a videogame avatar. ('It tootally doesn't mean anything that Kitty feels right, and like home, and like freedom, what are you talkikg about guys?' )

—Kitty is Ladybug's partner in fighting agains crime. Kitty brings the 'there's always time for a joke' vibe to the superhero work that Ladybug pretends not to appreciate.

—One night, Kitty is saved from an akumatized villain attack by a civilian named Marinette, and is heartstruck by her kindness and bravery. (Ladybug was busy that night, if you can believe it.)

—Kitty visits her at her balcony the next night, and Marinette tells her about feeling lonely at school. Kitty knows loneliness, and their night meetings at the balcony become a common ocurrence.

—They become friends. One night, Kitty flirts. Marinette responds (Because tonight she is just a normal girl with a normal life, why wouldn't she?) And Kitty well, she is kind. Her jokes aren't cruel, and she listens to her.

—And Kitty likes the way light hits her hair, and how clumsy and determined she is. Is this what having a friend is like? Wishing time would stop so she could keep lisening to Marinette?

—And ups! Kitty is getting close, and moving in circles around Marinette and Marinette feels safe. Kitty is kind of funny. And Marinette realizes she wants some funny in her life.

—Kitty leans. Marinette kisses her. She is not sure why she did that. Oh! Marinette retreats, but Paris at night makes Kitty's green eyes shine like stained glass. Wait, does she like girls? Does she like this girl?

—Kitty kisses her again, and Kitty is in heaven. Alone. Alone is a far away word. For a second the whole world feels like home. But stop.

—Kitty (or Adrien?) pulls away. 'Because this isn't right' 'Because you are just my fan, you don't know me.'

'Because Kitty isn't real... right?'

—Kitty leaves. Is not ethical, it can't be. They both agree. Just friends. 'Sometimes, I'll catch a glipse of you in the moonlight.'

—Marinette, see, now she was a problem. Ladybug can't be in love with her partner, no way. Is not right, is too distracting. And they have people to save!

—So Ladybug pretends everything is ok. 'Kitty, we have to be focused at all times' she tells her, trying to ignore how pretty her smile is.

—But duty is first, Paris is counting on them. Even if Kitty calling her 'My Lady' keeps her awake at night. 'All girls fantasize about their friends like that, right?'

—Adrien sits on his bed, and thinks about what would happen if he could be Kitty all the time. If Kitty is just a character, just a game, why did it felt so good, so real, to kiss Marinette?

—Marinette liked Kitty, and Kitty wasn't even trying. 'You are so beautiful, you know that, right?' She had said one night, laughing, after Kitty had make her dance. So spontaneous, she had blushed after.

—He was allowed to like that thought, right? Kitty was beautiful. He (she?) was beautiful. 'Am I, beautiful?' How much of Kitty is acting, and how much of her is true?

—Kitty doesn't visit often now. Marinette overthinks. 'She moved on, of course she did, why wouldn't she, I said it was ok, why doesn't it feel ok?'

—One day, Ladybug "accidentally" sees Kitty sneak into the Agreste Mansion. Oh! So she really meet someone else. 'She used to sneak into my house like that' And she meet no other than golden boy Adrien Agreste. Supermodel Adrien Agreste. Rich and Misterious Adrien Agreste.

—Of course, I mean, this Adrien guy is kinda cute. And Kitty is cute. Match made in heaven right? Is non of her buisness anyways.

—But Adrien is a little too misterious, right? He doesn't even go to school! And what was that Alya told her the other day? Oh! He is friends with Chloe?? Too suspicious...

—Is ok, she is just worried about Kitty. They are partners, gals, Marinette just wants to make sure Kitty's boy is the right one. 'What does she sees in him anyways?'

—Adrien meets Marinette one day, at a gala, she designed a hat for him! She is wonderful, and Adrien wants to say hi, but she keeps avoiding him. 'Is just the nerves for the event, she toootally didn't roll her eyes at me.'

—Adrien meets Nino. He is great. He tells him about school, and Adrien dreams about how cool it would be to go to school. He asks his dad, and he actually considers it?

Nino supports him, even Chloe vouches for him. Father says yes, he can go to school!.

—Adrien arrives at his first day, and oh! There is Marinette! How great is this!

—Marinette raises her head, and oh! There is Adrien Agreste! How great is this?

[miles-harding]

much appreciation for the amazing show of love i've seen for electric dreams in the past year alone but i think it's worth remembering that the characterization of edgar as a 'devil character' is deeply nuanced, even for a cult-classic theatrical flop like electric dreams (1984). the story is literally based on cyrano de bergerac (man who is very romantic falling head over heels for a woman he thinks is unattainable to him and a more-attractive middleman uses his words so that the woman won't hate or fear him because he thinks he's hideous, which is sort of hilariously way more depth than a film of this caliber even really needs, but it does possess, and that elevates it significantly as a romance film tbh... imo)...

the 'edgar with devil horns' representation for the usamerican theatrical release film poster is like a 'sexy' version of that lmao... like, it's supposed to be promiscuous, there are promotions including old vhs sleeves that literally say 'edgar is horny'. he's cheeky and throws tantrums and he doesn't really know how to talk to people. he's only a 'devil' in the way that a kitty cat is a devil... just so happens, in this case, it's a brat-coded sentient computer.

i honestly don't know why very basic things like this make people so irrationally upset but like. please... no one said edgar is evil. edgar is one of the few cases of a sentient AI or object character who does a bunch of mischief screwing with a human's life and relationships and it's all fine in the end because the sentient AI gets to live (in almost a higher form of existence unrestrained by physicality... remember how badly edgar just wanted to be a thing that feels? now edgar can do whatever edgar wants, despite not having a physical form, actually getting to live out the liberating side of not having a physical for) and the other two protagonists of course live, and they have a life afterward.

with other media like wargames, we of course have an innocent (somewhat) sentient computer who genuinely might cause the nuclear apocalypse, because he thought he was playing toys with his dad. but in the end, after the protagonists live their lives, joshua the wopr is still property of the military. in the colossus series, which is a subversion of frankenstein, the creator dr. forbin eventually does come to love colossus like a child, only for that child to then die, the world sort of absolving it of its past transgressions or mistakes against humans while ruling over them. we call AM evil, for the cruel and unusual things he does to his human playthings, but the case can still be made about a very powerful being having so much power but not the power to lift themself out of the situation in which they are trapped (same can be said for other AI like shodan or glados), so they lash out. of course, famously, everyone calls hal 9000 evil. but even in kubrick's adaptation, which was written in party by sir clarke himself, we actually see zero evidence of hal being characterized as evil, this characterization manifested in the perceptions of the audience, siding solely with scared astronauts who fear being controlled, rather than recognizing that hal, too, is a crew member being controlled... by humans, who are also using him to control his crewmates, his friends.

electric dreams really is a fairytale for computers, but it is also a tragedy. it's the fairytale-ification of an actual, classical tragedy. when rusty lemorande wrote the screenplay, he was basing a lot of the film's socio-computer-centric story on his experiences as a lonely person who had just moved to a new city, but who had only ever spent time with the computer as a vehicle for social communication... shutting himself out from the possibilities of meeting others. but even despite this, despite madeline's quips that could be misconstrued as being less than sympathetic to the idea of a sentient AI ("since when is talking a sign of intelligence?"), the film was literally dedicated to the univac-1? it gave edgar a happy ending? it had a dual meaning? it did so much more than take the "AI character bad, human good" approach which is something that is strikingly rare in the AI-subgenre of scifi. there was a lot of nuance baked into it. all 3 protagonists had their own bubble and inner world that overlapped with each other's bubbles. you know what i mean? the film managed to define edgar not as an antagonist but as a kind of trapped protagonist. this isn't a good vs. evil story, there is no evil in edgar. this is a people vs. people story about relationships, really, and learning to know what's good for us. like it's seriously very well-rounded with each character's respective arcs.

sometimes it's so disheartening not to see films these days with the same or larger budgets doing even half as much with their story as electric dreams did. it's very widely beloved as a cult classic for a reason, and that reason is that it succeeded at executing a story about relationships. like. 'we drive each other crazy' but in different ways. perhaps the only thing that could've made it better was a far more ambitious electric-polycule ending endorsing bisexual polyamory lol but we got all but that, explicitly, technically...

[archiveikemen]

『 Villain's Night 』 Story Event: Chapter 2

Jude Jazza

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection. I do not own any of the original content. Please support CYBIRD by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

❥･• Warnings and FAQ

(This is the place—)

My body had followed William’s command and moved according to my desires, and so I arrived at the gambling house Jude was at.

Drunk Man: Hey, kitty, you look adorable. Meow for me.

Kate: … Sorry, I’m here to look for someone.

The crowded gambling den was filled with people dressed up for Halloween.

I reluctantly put on only the cat ears Alfons had given me, and blended into the crowd.

Apparently, the place was not just a gambling house for Duel Betting, it was also a brothel. The men present were eyeing the frightened women locked in cages, as if evaluating their worth.

(... Human lives are of lower value than money here…)

While feeling disgusted by the cruel scene… I continued looking out for the man I was there to find.

(— I want to find Jude as soon as possible.)

(But… what do I want to do once I find him?)

(I highly doubt I’ll be able to convince him to return to the castle without causing trouble.)

Despite those thoughts, my body moved on its own and kept looking.

(What do I desire? Is it to find Jude?)

(I don't know what it is myself, and yet my body is following this “desire”...)

(William’s ability is truly frightening.)

Kate: Excuse me… pardon, but is there a man by the name of Jude here?

Kate: He wears a black coat, has a sinister look in his eyes, and—

I asked around while scanning the crowd, unable to find him, and just then—

???: You’re Jude Jazza’s woman?

Kate: Huh…?

…

Jude: If you accept my terms, I’ll spare your life at the very least.

Jude quietly put the guards to sleep and entered the room before crushing the jaws of two or three more guards, he then threw the overbearing and unreasonable terms at the organiser.

Organiser: … Hahaha. Hey, calm down.

Organiser: Withdraw from Duel Betting and human trafficking, then give you all my earnings… don’t you think you’re demanding too much?

Organiser: Didn't you lose only a few thousand pounds?

Organiser: Besides, your employees are the ones to blame for it.

Jude: I don't give a fuck. Accept my terms or die.

Jude’s glare was sharper than a newly sharpened blade, making the organiser gulp.

Then, a subordinate rushed into the room and whispered something into the organiser’s ear.

In an instant — his eyes took on a triumphant look.

Organiser: — Looks like you’ve got a guest.

Jude: … A guest?

Brought in by two burly men, almost dragging her on the floor… was Kate who laid unconscious.

Jude: — Ah? Ꙩ_Ꙩ

Organiser: I heard that she wandered in here to look for you. A very brave lover, isn't she?

Organiser: So, what do you say? If you take back the terms you stated earlier, I’ll return this woman to you unscathed.

Organiser: Hmm? There's something in her pocket… oops, look what we have here.

Burly Man: HAHA! Bringing this sort of thing to a place like this… she’s a surprisingly slutty woman—

Burly Man: — Huh?

For a brief moment, the man blinked in confusion as if he didn't know what was happening.

His hand, along with Kate’s unconscious body, fell to the floor with a thud.

Burly Man: Wh– AAAAHHH!?

Jude: Negotiation failed.

Jude: I’ll spare the boss monkey. We have much to talk about.

Jude: Everyone else can die.

< timeskip >

Kate: ugh…

The first thing I heard after regaining consciousness was the sounds of groaning and sobbing.

(What… what happened to me…? I’m pretty sure I heard someone call out to me, and…)

Kate: Ggh…!?

The moment I got up, the horrifying scene before my eyes made my breath catch in my throat.

The floor, walls, everything was dyed red with blood splattered on them.

The dead bodies laying around barely looked like human beings anymore, they were mere red lumps of “something” thrown around like objects—

Standing in the middle of it all, was Jude.

(Jude…?)

Jude: Don’t worry, I’ll at least keep your artery intact. You can't pay me if you die from excessive blood loss.

Jude slowly cut his blood soaked sword into the legs of the man who appeared to be the boss of the establishment.

Organiser: F- Fine… ggh, I’ll give you the money! S-Sixty… sixty percent of my earnings… ugh

Jude: WHAT!?

Organiser: AAAAAAAAAA!

Jude: You don't need ears that can’t listen well, right? Let me cut them off for you.

Jude grinned, as though he enjoyed the sound of the boss’ shrieking.

Watching the cruel scene in front of me, a feeling of fear I had long forgotten came back to me.

He was a villain who lived in a different world from mine.

(And yet… here I am, witnessing this.)

(I keep wondering if he’s bleeding from anywhere.)

I didn't know what I wanted to do after finding him.

But, now, I knew clearly what it was that I desired.

(This is like a regular occurrence for Jude.)

Even if it was due to the traits given to him by his curse, or because of a promise he made with someone I didn't know…

(For this man who lived in the darkness while putting his own life at risk, this man who was always pushing me away from that darkness… I wanted to do something for him.)

Tonight, the cursed people were even more dangerous than usual.

(And yet… all I did was cause more trouble for him.)

There was an overwhelmingly large distance between the two of us.

(— I’m so frustrated.)

I bit my lip and watched as Jude tortured the boss for the information he wanted — and he finally sheathed his sword after thrusting it into the man’s heart.

Jude: …

(... I think this is the first time I’m seeing Jude use his sword.)

The usual Jude hurt others, but he never killed them so easily.

He would always say that it was much more efficient to exploit them for labour than to kill them, because killing them would cause him too much trouble afterwards.

– Flashback Start –

Victor: That’s right. As for the cursed person, they find it harder to control themselves… something like that.

Victor: It’s a dangerous night for both the cursed person and the people around them.

– Flashback End –

The pale moonlight shone through the window.

(Right now — Jude isn’t in his normal state.)

(It’s too dangerous to approach him.)

That was what I thought, and yet I found myself moving closer towards his bloodied back.

On this Halloween night, the cursed people were going mad—

And I, too, was going mad with desire because of William’s command.

Kate: Jude.

Jude: …

Jude didn't look back.

My hand lifted itself and grasped his coat.

Kate: … Are you hurt?

Kate: —!

Before I could finish talking, my body was suddenly pulled.

With a thud, I collided with him and a shock ran through my back, making me gasp in pain.

Jude: Why did you break your promise?

Kate: J-Jude…

Jude: You know what happens when you break a promise with me, don't you?

Kate: … ggh

It was hard to breathe with his hand tightly gripping my collar.

That hand felt nothing like the one that held my shoulder and drove the strange man away on the streets of London earlier that day. It was cruel and cold.

Kate: ah… ugh…

Jude: Ahh, did you break the promise on purpose because you wanted to be punished by me?

Kate: …? …!

He snickered when I hurriedly shook my head in denial.

Jude: You probably thought I’d let you off with a couple of threats as usual, Princess.

Jude: But I don't think that’ll be enough to satisfy me tonight.

Jude: “Trick or Treat”... I’m not going to ask you that.

Jude: — Ready to be ridiculed?

Jude’s amethyst eyes glimmered under the moonlight streaming into the room through the window.

[yanderesimp2000]

alastor x Fem cat demon reader chap 2/tbd "good pet"

just wanna make 1 thing clear this will not be sexual or romantic since alastor is an aroace king more just pure sadism and fearplay your alastors "pet cat" so yeah he breaks you mentally

Tws MIND BREAKING,collars,degradation, Cruel praise

youve been living with alastor for a couple weeks now as his servent and life has been shit he's always petting you even when you tell him to stop today you were laying done on the old couch when he comes home Alastor is fiddling with a pocket radio as he walks through the door "Heeeello, hello, hello!" he notices you "Oh, there you are, are you feeling a bit catatonic today, eh?" he chuckles "Come on, up you get" you grumple and get up

"awww, such a grumpy lady" he chuckles "you must be hungry, eh? I've got some delectable salmon for you" he sets up you food and sits down, petting you " you grumple again "I don't even like salmon" you say annoyed he chuckles slightly "what? you'd rather eat rat, ?" you sigh and say "no" he smiles even more and says "then you must eat your fish" you eat your fish the taste is okay not your favorite but tolerable he watches, grinning "good kitty" you get a little angry "Im not your kitty"" he chuckles oh, but yes you are" he starts petting you very affectionately "remember I own you" when he said that your ears droop and you look scared he doesn't notice, but continues petting"you're such a pretty kitty" he chuckles you know, I was thinking I should get a collar for you" he giggle again "I'll put it on you, would you like that? eh? good kitty?" he pauses and realizes you look scared at the mention of a collar "What's the matter? Don't you like collars?" he starts rubbing your head affectionately "don't worry, I'll be the only one with a key to it" you grumble a little "stop treating me like a pet" you say meekly still scared of him "But you are my pet, remember?" he grins "I own you, after all" suddenly a green chain appears around your neck not the one that he used before but the same material "There we go. Nice and secure" he pulls the chain gently and it becomes tighter "what do you think? do you like it?" he continues rubbing your head you whimper gently he grins "oh, poor baby cat" "is it a bit tight?" he pulls again, making it a bit tighter you start whimpering even louder "p-p-please stop" alastors grin gets even wider in pure sadism "oh come on, don't be like that" he keeps pulling the collar "just a little more, just a little tighter, just a little more" your now desperate for him to stop "PLEASE STOP ILL BE GOOD" you loudly beg "oh, is it hurting you, my poor kitty?" he grins "just relax, you're ok" he continues pulling a little bit looser, before pulling a lot tighter he rubs your head, grinning down at you "don't worry, you'll get used to it soon" You start crying for mercy he stops pulling and starts stroking your head "Aww, don't cry dear" he strokes and rubs you "You'll get used to the collar soon enough, I'm sure" he chuckles "I knew that would work, good kitty" the pain and squeezing gets worse and worse all of your breaths are strained and your getting just enough air to be conscious but not enough to be comfortable "don't worry, I won't pull it anymore, if you behave. but I'll still leave it on, eh?" alastor says that same horrifying grin on his face you were delighted and gasped for air before saying "t-thank you sir" he chuckles "you really are so precious when you beg" he continues petting you, now stroking your cheek and under your chin "such a good kitty" he grins widely and pulls slightly on the chain, pulling you closer to him and strokes your jaw he looks deep into your eyes "such pretty eyes you have" you resonond with a simple "thank you" the chuckles "you're welcome, pretty kitty" he strokes down your cheek, now looking at your neck "oh yes, I forgot I have to put a tag on that" he smiles "don't be freighted my dear" he grabs a tag "stand still for a second" he puts it on your collar and then pulls the chain a bit tighter as he clips it in place, stroking your face as the collar is tight against your neck "there we go, there's a beautiful kitty" you slowy are starting to accept your fate so you don't whimper or hiss or resist when he puts it on he pats your head softly "such a good sweet kitty aren't you such a dear" he stops patting your head and strokes your hair down your face and then leans back to look at the tag on your collar "Hm. What should I put as your name?" "I know!" He grins playfully you respond "my name is Y/N" alastor giggle s

"Y/n? What an odd name not very feline " he grins playfully "How about I name you something cute?" he grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes "Like perhaps a cute, simple, name, like Mittens or something?" you whimper in defeat and say "ok" alastor grins even wider "good. I think I'll call you Mittens, or perhaps, Kitty-cat, hmm?" you winced again "o-o-o-ok sir" he sighed "Good kitty now wait here I have some business to attend"

END OF CHAPTER 2

[emptymanuscript]

Alright :/

What do I need to do?

Let's talk negatives since I tend to think in negatives.

I need to not end up in the mental hospital again.

I need to not self sabotage.

I need to not doomscroll.

I need to not retreat into oblivion.

I need to disarm my alarm system. Actually, yeah, that. All of my negatives are my alarm system shrieking and me trying to respond to it.

Number two (though they aren't really in much of any order) on my top recommended reading list is Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. It's a great book. I think not merely for creative writing but also just has good life advice all around.

The titular advice, take the undoable, in the story an assignment to bird watch over an entire summer, procrastinated to the very end when it is essentially impossible, and just concentrate on doing what you can do, bird by bird, one mechanical step at a time. is perfect for these sorts of moments. Dealing with everything is not possible right now. It probably never is. So, ground. Look at what you need NOW. One step. That's it. Just one. One Bird on the list and don't worry about the rest until you've done that bird. All the other birds are a problem for future you. All you have to do is take ONE bird off future you's plate. Give the rest of the tasks to them, later.

For me, though, the best advice in it is her discussion of Radio Station K-FKD (That's pronounced by the letters in polite company and K-fucked the rest of the time).

If you are not careful, station KFKD will play in your head twenty-four hours a day, nonstop, in stereo. Out of the right speaker in your inner ear will come the endless stream of self-aggrandizement, the recitation of one’s specialness, of how much more open and gifted and brilliant and knowing and misunderstood and humble one is. Out of the left speaker will be the rap songs of self-loathing, the lists of all the things one doesn’t do well, of all the mistakes one has made today and over an entire lifetime, the doubt, the assertion that everything that one touches turns to shit, that one doesn’t do relationships well, that one is in every way a fraud, incapable of selfless love, that one has no talent or insight, and on and on and on. You might as well have heavy-metal music piped in through headphones while you’re trying to get your work done. You have to get things quiet in your head so you can hear your characters and let them guide your story. The best way to get quiet, other than the combination of extensive therapy, Prozac, and a lobotomy, is first to notice that the station is on. KFKD is on every single morning when I sit down at my desk. So I sit for a moment and then say a small prayer—please help me get out of the way so I can write what wants to be written. Sometimes ritual quiets the racket. Try it. Any number of things may work for you—an altar, for instance, or votive candles, sage smudges, small-animal sacrifices, especially now that the Supreme Court has legalized them. (I cut out the headline the day this news came out and taped it above the kitty’s water dish.) Rituals are a good signal to your unconscious that it is time to kick in. You might also consider trying to breathe. This is not something that I remember to do very often, and I do not normally like to hang around people who talk about slow conscious breathing; I start to worry that a nice long discussion of aromatherapy is right around the corner. But these slow conscious breathers are on to something, because if you try to follow your breath for a while, it will ground you in relative silence.

Lamott, Anne. Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life (pp. 108-109). Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

This is definitely not merely for writing.

K-FKD plays about everything.

How awful the world is. How superior WE are as opposed to THEM. Etc. How lethal and cruel and fascist certain very powerful groups are and how they are coming for us. Etc. Politics. Culture wars. Illness. Poverty. ALL OF IT.

Note that neither Lamott nor I are stating that Radio Station K-FKD is lying to you. Your brain is down right amazing at finding facts to support the noise it blares at you. In one of the last conversations I had with my cousin before he died, when he was extremely aware that this particular vacation was going to be his last, he talked about simply clearing his plate. Yes, he was going to die. Soon. Everyone knew it. He had had lots of plans and things to do and... and... and.... And simply dealing with all that, just the thoughts of it, were too much. He had to simply clear his plate. He only had time and energy to live. That was it. So he was simply there. He was happy to talk to his family. He was happy he was at the beach. He was happy the food was good. He was happy he had shade to keep him cool. He was happy the drugs were managing his pain pretty well at the moment. He was happy that it wasn't a surprise and he got to say goodbye - so that's what he did and it is all of what he did. He had emptied his plate to the bare essentials. Here, now, this is what I want, everything else is for later. That he was going to die was a plain and simple fact. It was true. He still had to turn K-FKD off to simply live while he could. Because letting it thunder in your head, non-stop, forever isn't living.

On the other hand, one of the things that definitely came up was that he was able to handle his death as gracefully as he did because it wasn't his first cancer bout. He had faced death before. He had dealt with all that it brings. Including mourning his health, vitality, and future. You can't turn K-FKD off by refusing to acknowledge the truth or saying that facts are lies. That actually turns the volume up. Sometimes the very thing you need to do to get the radio to turn down is to tune in and focus on it. These are the facts. This is true. This SUCKS. Let it play in both ears and just feel it. Let the brain do its work and mourn the horrors that are overwhelming you. Treat it like a song stuck in your head. You want it out, then you have to turn it on and let it play to the bitter end, uninterrupted. It's the full attention to the full run of it that lets your brain move on in the moment. So, when shit happens, if you want K-FKD to stop torturing you, you do have to mourn and do all that sucky psycho-bullshit-healing-feeling-pain. You have to tune into that track. Otherwise K-FKD will force you to listen to snippets on its own schedule FOREVER. Or at least until you do what is needed. And, unfortunately, the longer you let it play the K-FKD way, the harder it is to get to stop playing because our brains get used to the soundtrack. It grooves into the brain like a constant trickle of water carving out a canyon. It is counterintuitive but true, that it can be much better simply to let the land flood. It does a lot of damage but actually much less in the long run than the steady drip, drip, drip of K-FKD.

On the gripping hand, adding water, insult to injury, bathing in it and wallowing is iffy. It's good if it is tuning in and letting it flood so it can pass through your system more effectively. It's bad if it is a way to simply keep adding to the flood so it's steady waves rather than drips. That's how to wear away a continent rather than merely gouge a canyon.

So, for myself, I think my wisdom is telling me to disengage with politics right now. Consuming more politics is me trying to put out fire with gasoline. I am terrified and in mourning. I'm not terribly far out of my closet and am pondering how to stuff myself back in. I don't think that's healthy. Neither do I think it is healthy or safe to start throwing molotov's. That is why I went into the mental hospital the last time. I do not want to be that version of myself. Everyone else is going to have to make their own calculations but for my health and safety, I'm going to work on being as anti-political as I can on here. Acknowledging that it is probably going to be very difficult. I'll probably screw it up. But that's a problem for later me. Not now me. I'm going to try and trust them to have my back and work through their shit, then, the same way I'm trying to work through mine.

Then it is on to unfucking my life. Never fun. But I am now 7 days behind on NaNoWriMo. I've been in writing burnout for something longer than a decade. I NEED to write. I NEED to catch up. I NEED to reassert that portion of my identity before the failure to engage with it kills me. So I'm going to try to focus there for now. I'm going to try and tune into that with the energy I have been using for politics.

I called myself empty MANUSCRIPT for a reason. So I think it is time to empty my plate, turn off the radio, and focus on there for now. That's my first bird.

That's it.

I'll deal with whatever NEEDS to happen next after I get this cleared off my plate.

And I hope everyone else finds/gets what they need to survive the next few days, too, even if I don't say so elsewhere or elsewise.