#the only reason i post it is bc. i don't know actually

[unknown-cold]

In this interview Amanda said something that caught my attention. Do you think that in ep 8 Caitlyn will talk about what Jinx did to her when she kidnapped her? Bc Amanda said that in ep8 there's a Caitlyn line that will make us say "Oh so that's why"

Amanda means this line that Cait is going to say will let us know why she was so mad at Jinx in ep 3 and how Caitlyn went completely blind when she saw Jinx in her target and bc of her anger and also her fear and terror of Jinx, Cait has completely lost control of herself in this moment. (there is someone who made a post on this topic @loycos and talked about what happened to Cait in ep3 and how Cait didn't see Vi or Isha in front of her bc of her anger and her deeply terrified of Jinx) I mean look at her eyes and the expression on her face, yes she looks angry but she is also terrified.

This is a natural reaction. I mean for example, imagine that you see something that scares you so much. There are two reactions, either flight or fight, and these reactions always come without a person thinking. At this moment the person is only thinking about getting rid of the thing that scares him, and he does not focus on what is around him bc these strong feelings control him.

Anyway, what makes me sure that this scene might happen in ep 8 (Caitlyn talking about what happened to her when Jinx kidnapped her) is Reed Shannon (Ekko VA) comment when he saw the drawing and said "I thought this was a leak" Reed might be joking as usually, but why this particular drawing and why he chose this word "leak".

But honestly if this scene actually happened and we knew what happened to Caitlyn, it would make us understand more why she was so angry and scared of Jinx when she saw her in front of her and it would also explain why she literally went blind and didn't see anything around her at that moment, neither the child nor Vi, all Cait saw was Jinx, she just wants to bring down Jinx. I mean look at these pictures she is so terrified of her

Again Caitlyn's insistence on killing Jinx in the scene in ep 3 was not only motivated by revenge on Jinx, but also out of fear and terror of her.

And not like those idiots who say that Caitlyn wanted to kill the child on purpose to get to Jinx or even say that she wanted to kill Vi too, or bc she's a cop and the cops kill children and blah blah... That's really ridiculous and annoying!! Bc if we focus a little bit on the period that Caitlyn went through we will see that Cait didn't have time to process all these things that happened to her, from the torture that happened to her when Jinx kidnapped her, then the killing of her mother, then the attack on the memorial ceremony. (I know that Jinx is not the reason, but from Caitlyn's perspective she thinks that Jinx and the Silco followers are the reason)

And in the end I hope that no one comes who doesn't like the post bc I am defending Caitlyn's character. If you don't like this character I don't care, there is no need for you to write a stupid comments. Please don't tire your little fingers if you don't like my post block me this is better for you and me. I will not waste my time responding to you, I will delete your comment and block you immediately.

I am a student at the Faculty of Psychology, and when I talk about trauma and the interpretation of human behavior and reactions, I know well what I am talking about. Bc most of the characters' reactions in this show are very realistic and need to explanation, writers do not want to explain everything in the show, they want viewers to occupy their mind and explain the events themselves (And I still repeat the point that the show focuses on the development and complexity of the characters more than anything else, and does not focus on solving political issues, the show is not about politics, okay)

And btw some people ask me about my opinion of Jinx's character, I have no problem with her character at all, I like her and I understand her condition, when I criticize her actions, it doesn't mean I hate her.

One day I may do a post about her character development and her condition, but I see that there are many posts about her and her actions, and I feel like I won't say anything new about her. Unlike the rest of the characters like Vi and Caitlyn, there are not many people talking about them. And maybe I will make a Viktor post bc I really like the development of his character. When the show ends, maybe I will.

[girlcrushart]

Its actually very surprising that I've never posted Olivia Munn, because I find her really really hot. She's one of those girls I think I've posted many times but then it turns out I haven't, for incomprehensible reasons, so I'm fixing that issue today. I only recently learned that Olivia is married to John Mulaney, who I personally don't find funny at all. Olivia is very funny. He isn't. I actually find him hella creepy. Anyways, I'm sure a lot of you will be surprised I didn't know that, but also I don't really keep tabs on who hot girls are married to bc it's legitimately something I could care less about lol. And I'm learning that when I find out who hot girls have chosen to have babies with, it can lead to disappointment and sadness, so maybe I've built up a wall about it? Let's call it a Logan Paul Wall. I'm not comparing John Mulaney to Logan Paul... like... pretty sure I'd choose John over Logan if I absolutely had to—at least John has a bunch of friends I'd probably like. But, if you've been following my Nina Agdal sprees on both my accounts you'll know that in some cases I'd honestly rather not know who these girls choose as their life partners, because their questionable choices can create moral quandaries in my poster subject selections, and it's not an area of my life where I honestly want to have to think about moral quandaries. All in all, I still think Olivia Munn is hot as fuck, questionable life partner choices aside, and that is why she is today's girlcrushart guardian.

[gunpowder-gemini]

Hi I have many many thoughts on Dandadan and where specific characters are going in the story, so incoming ramble posts lol. I've got thoughts on Okarun, Turbo Granny and Kinta specifically.

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR THE MANGA THROUGH CH. 175

First up: Okarun!

So obviously he's lost his turbo granny powers bc he's a good boy who keeps promises, but him having yokai curse powers is like, half the concept of the manga right? (The other half being Momo getting powers due to alien abduction). So clearly, he's gonna get them back because we can't just have one of our two main characters permanently sidelined. The question is just HOW.

I'm pretty sure Turbo Granny is gonna come back, she's a major supporting character and she had a whole little montage panel of Reasons To Stay despite her saying she has none but I'll get into that in a different post lol. HOWEVER! I don't think she's gonna give Okarun her powers again. I mean, they're HERS. And she just spent all that time getting them back why would she give them away again? So Okarun can fight? She can use her powers way better than he can, so if they're needed SHE'LL use them.

I think Okarun is gonna develop his own spiritual powers like Momo's.

In the recent chapters it's gone out of the way to highlight how ridiculously fit Okarun is now. Like, SUPER fit. Most obviously in the fitness tests, where he blew everyone out of the water:

But also in the fight against the pygmies he easily kept up with Aira, who was in her yokai form at the time.

Which I mean, it makes sense that he got fit - he's been fighting for his life as an after-school hobby lol. Obviously continually training to handle Turbo Granny's powers AND fighting things would result in him getting incredibly fit. But they've like REALLY emphasized it these past few chapters. It feels like they're really calling attention to it, you know?

But that in and of itself isn't the real reason I suspect he's got his own spiritual powers. It's actually because he can enter Empty Space.

So per the Serpoians, Empty Space is something aliens create that only pulls in humans with high spiritual power so the aliens can capture and study them. It's why once Aira got her acro silky powers she could enter Empty Space.

Okarun's high spiritual power wasn't his, it was Turbo Granny's. He was able to enter Empty Space because he had her power, but without it he's just a normal kid. So once he gave it back he should be unable to enter Empty Space. And yet:

He's gets pulled into Empty Space to fight the pygmies. He himself calls that out as strange! He shouldn't be able to! He doesn't have Granny's power! But there he is! So he must still have high spiritual power!

I think he spent such a long time with Turbo Granny's full power inside him, utilizing it so frequently, that it changed him. Either it awakened latent spiritual power within him or left behind an imprint of itself, I'm not sure lol. But I think he's developed his own version of Turbo Granny's power. I think it'll be a bit different from her, but still similar (I don't think they're gonna give him a completely different power ya know?). I suspect it'll come with a cool form change to his yokai form, like a costume upgrade lmao.

Furthermore, I think this happened because of the Danmanra arc. During that arc, in the final fight against the Fairy-Tale card, Okarun went all out three times.

He's never been able to do that - it's been kinda implied it would kill him. But through the ~power of love~ he managed to pull it off, and I think it is going to have an effect/consequences. I think this moment here changed him in some way, and it might be the catalyst for him developing his own version of Turbo Granny's powers.

Further to that point is Count Saint-Germain. He cornered Okarun, got him to yield and clearly intended to take his powers, but didn't.

I suspect it's because he wanted Turbo Granny's powers, but Okarun no longer has them. I think he either doesn't know Okarun has his own powers, or he does know and is waiting for Okarun to properly awaken them before he takes them. I'm like 90% sure the Empty Space in the pygmy fight was caused by him. Empty Space is pretty clearly outlined to be an Alien Thing and while the pygmies are spirits/yokai/whatever, Count Saint-Germain is probably an alien given his affiliation with the Kur. AND he was the one who gave Keiko the knife and the mission to steal Momo's power. Since Okarun got pulled into that Empty Space, if pretty boy here didn't know Okarun has some hidden spiritual power, he sure does now.

Either way, Okarun yielding to him here is definitely a Chekov's gun that's gotta fire at some point, and I've got theories on that but I'm gonna save them for my post on Turbo Granny lol.

Anyway TLDR; I think Okarun has his own superpowers like Momo now and we're gonna see them awaken in this arc.

Thanks for reading!

[insertsickusername13]

Promises Made on October 30th

title is the concept and summary bc i thought of the title before the concept of the fic. whoops.

warnings: implied abuse, alcohol is referenced and consumed but not in like a bad way (most of the time), no smut but there's one scene where they kiss and i describe it in a gross way for some reason and sex is talked about once or twice

word count: 3.6k

 Jake spent most nights alone. He had friends, sure, and plans most evenings. Dates with girls, parties to attend, and though he’d like to spend the rest of his life swimming in a fuzzy unconsciousness where he was only just aware of his existence, half passed out on someone else’s couch, dawn always sunk her rosy fingers into the horizon and one hostess or another was forced to give Jake a pitying look as they showed him to the door.

 My parents will be home soon, some would say, and Jake would leave with a bitter laugh. If he was lucky, he’d get to stay and help clean up. On the best days, he could sometimes sneak in a quick fuck with whatever girl was still around. 

 Most nights, though, he left before anyone had the chance to kick him out. He spent hours sitting on the floor of his living room, staring at the front door and waiting for them to come home. If he pretended hard enough, the pictures on the walls weren’t the most terrifying thing he had ever faced. Photographs from family weddings, birthdays, anniversaries, and award ceremonies all taunted him. His parents’ faces stared at him, scrutinizing every move as he trembled, cried, and broke down. Every sob echoed back like a bullet ricocheted off metal. He was sitting expressionless in the middle of a war zone watching soldiers (read: dreams) and civilians (read: his future) bleed out and die on the floor around him. 

 Despite holding onto the childish hope that things would get better, that the future held something more than loneliness for Jake Dillinger, there was still the undeniable truth that it wouldn’t. Jake was doomed. Life wasn’t going to be anything special for him—he was going to suffer and he was going to have to get used to it young. He hated his parents, himself, his girlfriend, his life, and his house. He wasn’t going to kill himself, he wasn’t a coward, but he wasn’t going to wake up every morning and fight to be okay. He was resigned to his sadness.

 Until Rich Goranski knocked on his door at 10 pm on September 17th and showed Jake that silence wasn’t the only thing that could exist in his house. 

 He didn’t wait for an invitation inside. The second Jake had opened the door, Rich pushed past him and into the kitchen. He wasn’t quite fast enough for Jake to miss the bruises on his cheekbones or the way he favored his right leg over his left. Jake cataloged the injuries and promised himself he’d ask about them later. 

 “The hell are you doing here?” Jake called after him, his tone tipping over the border between annoyed and concerned.

 Rich shrugged and settled on the kitchen counter. He seemed to only be slightly aware of Jake’s presence, more focused on the empty floor in front of him. His eyes were glassy in a way that suggested he’d already been crying and was done with it. Jake studied him, searching for his next move in Rich’s body language. If Rich looked like he was going to cry again, Jake could probably swoop in for a hug without being called gay. If he didn’t, Jake would probably offer a drink. Or a movie?

 “Stop looking at me like that,” Rich snapped. He was looking up at Jake, his eyes narrowed and lips pressed together, almost like he was challenging him. Jake flinched back, unsure of what he’d done to deserve such treatment. 

 “Like what?”

 “Like I’m a fucking math problem or some shit. I’m not. Just fucking talk to me.”

 Jake considered him. Though it was invisible to Rich, Jake could still see bullets and spears flying through the air as people screamed out war cries and fought with everything in them for land or oil or their families. Metaphorical war didn’t end just because a friend had shown up. Jake was always surrounded by imagined violence; always on the verge of fleeing. 

 “I don’t know what you want from me,” Jake answered. His voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of a bomb going off in the distance.

 Rich forced out a bitter laugh and hid his face behind his hands. 

 “God, fuck, me either. I don’t know why I’m here. Just fucking distract me. Do whatever the hell you want.”

 Jake found his parents’ record player in the living room and hit play. It was the only thing he could think to do—why, he wasn’t sure. But Rich had said anything, so Jake did anything. Some song by The Police (god, the irony) drifted through the room, a byproduct of his parents’ last anniversary together in the house. Jake had long since stopped caring—it didn’t even hurt to know they’d danced in this room, laughed in this room, raised him in this room. 

 He turned back to Rich and was met with a small, borderline amused, “What the hell, Jake?”

 “You said I could do whatever I wanted.”

 “This is what you want?”

 “I dunno.”

 Rich laughed as he hopped off the counter. The sound was so pure Jake watched the blood-soaked carpets go from crimson to pink as the rain washed away the worst of it. A white flag waved in the distance. Rich swayed to the music mindlessly, still favoring his right leg. 

 “Dancing?” Jake asked, the single word enough to get across his message. Rich nodded as he took Jake’s hand in his own and pulled him in close. 

 “Why not? We’ve got nothing better to do.”

 So Jake learned about music and dancing and how small Rich could feel when Jake had his hands on his hips, fingers digging into his skin just to convince himself Rich was real instead of some fantasy made up as a coping mechanism for his parents’ leering memory. Silence wasn’t the worst thing to exist. Jake knew how to make it go away.

 Still, that did nothing to dispel the obvious and ever-painful emptiness. Jake could play record after record as loud as he wanted until he had every song memorized and could sing it from any room in the house, but it was still empty.

He stumbled into the kitchen, drunk and disoriented, his feet dragging across the tile floor. Each step was like wading through the ocean, sea monsters grabbing at his ankles and trying to drag him under. He gripped counters and walls to keep himself afloat just long enough for Rich to knock on his door and saunter in, his presence a song in and of itself. 

 Jake followed his every movement with every sense: his ears, listening to the sound of Rich’s footsteps. Taste: kissing the corner of Rich’s mouth—never his lips, Jake wasn’t gay, but close enough that he could convince himself there was something like love brewing between them. Touch: holding onto Rich’s hand, his clothes, his hair, latching onto the warmth of him to convince himself the air conditioner wasn’t too cold or the empty spaces too vacant. 

 Sight: looking at Rich and only Rich. If he only looked at his hazel eyes and dyed-red hair and, on the days when Jake was weak and scared, his lips, then the shadows in the corners of the room lightened into something manageable and the photos on the walls that functioned as the closest thing Jake had to family faded into… well, photos. Just photos. 

 Rich helped, but he wasn’t enough to make the emptiness go away until October 15th.

 He showed up in the same way he had before. Glassy-eyed, hurt, and willing to do whatever Jake wanted to make everything slightly okay for a little while. 

 Tonight, Jake chose balloons. 

 “You can’t be serious,” Rich groaned. He was on Jake’s couch, a glass of white wine in hand. Something imported from Italy, or maybe France? All Jake knew was that it cost four hundred dollars.

 Jake shrugged. “Isn’t Brooke’s birthday coming up? It could be for her party.”

 “This is literally just a fucked up coping mechanism, don’t pretend it’s anything else.”

 Jake sighed disappointedly and leaned back against the couch. He was on the floor in front of it, a pack of two hundred balloons in his hand. They were all different colors—some neon, some pastel, some black, and others white. He’d bought them on a whim at a Walgreens for twenty bucks with no particular plan. Faced with his barren living room, the only signs of human existence the expensive vases on the end tables and the overstuffed throw pillows, he’d decided he’d blow them up and throw them around just to add a splash of color. 

 Jake looked up at Rich. He was half asleep but tense, his face scrunched up and hands clenched. It’d been bad this time around. It hadn’t just been Rich’s existence that pissed his dad off—he’d done something. Probably something minuscule, like broken a glass or clogged the toilet, but it was enough that what was usually a couple of light bruises and a limp had turned to black and blue blemishes over his right eye and up his chest. His lip was busted and every breath seemed labored and painful. Jake, unsure of what else to do, ran his thumb over Rich’s pulse and whispered, “Please?”

 Rich opened one eye to look down at Jake. Amongst the annoyance and pain, Jake saw a flash of pity. Rich shifted uncomfortably. 

 “Fine, but I have at least two broken ribs so you’re going to have to accept the fact I’m only blowing up one or two of these.”

 “Of course,” Jake rushed out, his hands already fumbling with the packaging of the balloons. “I wouldn’t—if it hurts, you don’t have to. Obviously. Just—”

 Rich thoughtlessly threaded his fingers through Jake’s hair. Jake’s voice gave out. 

 “I don’t understand you,” Rich whispered, not even bothering to look at Jake. “You’re confident all day, and then the second it gets dark you freak out. I’m the same person I am all the time. I know you don’t want to hurt me. Calm down.”

 It was, of course, a trend Jake had noticed as well. At school, he could control his tone and inflections to the point he sometimes wondered if he was accidentally manipulating the people around him into loving him. Then at night, when his defenses were already broken down by hours of facing the empty, stormy seas that were his house, he could barely find it in himself to get out a sentence without stuttering. 

 He blamed it on the one lie Rich had told in his claim: that he was the same person. He wasn’t. There was something different about nighttime Rich that had Jake’s face feeling too hot and the silence turning into the sound of his heart beating circles in his chest. 

 “Sorry,” Jake replied softly, “I dunno why it happens. You make me nervous.”

 Rich raised an eyebrow. Jake shoved a purple balloon in his face and hoped that would be enough for the topic to be dropped. It was still too sensitive, still too in the early stages of development, for Jake to be prepared enough to vocalize the worst of it. Someday, maybe. Probably. Once he didn’t have Christine to distract him or Jeremy’s constant insults to scare him into suppressing every urge that didn’t perfectly line up with the picture everyone else had of him in their minds. 

 Rich took the balloon and started to blow it up. For Jake, the process was effortless. Rich struggled through it tediously, taking small breaths and wincing after almost every one. Jake hated to say that he’d originally interpreted Rich’s complaints as a joke, but his worry hadn’t really spiked until Rich choked out an awkward, muffled cough and pained groan. 

 “Do you need—”

 “No,” Rich breathed, “No, I’m fine. Shut up, Jake.”

 Jake turned back to his neon green balloon without a word. He’d blown up almost twenty by now, enough to coat half the living room in a thin layer of color. He thoughtlessly kicked one with his foot and smiled as he watched it hit a picture of his mother and uselessly bounce off. Smiling, he kicked another one. It hit a picture of himself as a child. 

 He turned to Rich to tell him—about what, he wasn’t sure. Kicking balloons? Hitting pictures of himself and his family? His coping mechanisms were getting more fucked up by the second—and was almost immediately paralyzed by… fuck, by Rich. Just Rich. 

 He was sitting crisscross on the couch, a balloon in his lap. He’d spent the last four and a half minutes blowing it up to just a little bigger than Jake’s head. It was still smaller than it was supposed to be but Jake wasn’t going to complain. It was physically impossible when he could barely get enough oxygen in his lungs to speak. It wasn’t that there was a crushing panic on his chest stopping him from breathing, it was something much brighter. There were so many butterflies in his stomach they were flying into his chest and choking off every inhale. 

 Rich’s lips were wet. That was really what doomed Jake. He’d previously been unaware that every time Rich removed the balloon from his mouth he felt the need to lick his lips, but now that Rich was focused purely on tying the balloon off and was giving Jake ample time to stare, Jake was forced to acknowledge the way his vision tunneled at the sight. The way his whole body seemed to go warm. 

 Jake turned fully to face Rich, the balloon in his hand completely abandoned in lieu of watching Rich stick his tongue out in frustration as he struggled to keep the balloon inflated while tying the knot. When he finally succeeded, he burst into a smile louder than any record Jake had played over the past month.

 Rich looked up, eyes bright, and faltered when he found Jake already staring at him. He cleared his throat as his face flushed red. 

 “Uh, hi,” he squeaked out. Jake wanted to scream. This was one of the differences that left him speechless. Daytime Rich would smirk and call him gay. This Rich just looked flustered. 

 “Hi,” Jake whispered back. 

 “Whatcha doin’?”

 Jake considered his response carefully. One song or another was playing softly in the background, the balloons were filling up the emptiness. Everything was kind of okay. Jake had nothing left to cope with. He just… 

 “I really want to kiss you right now,” he answered. Rich froze. 

 “What?”

 Jake got up just enough so he was kneeling, purple and green and red balloons gathered around his knees and feet and the coffee table his back was pressed up against. He leaned up so he was close enough to run his pointer finger down Rich’s jawline and nudge his nose against Rich’s.

 “You heard me. You can tell me to stop.”

 Rich remained silent. Jake thought he felt ocean waters rising around his waist, drowning his balloons and pictures in stormy salt water. So he did the only thing he could think of.

He kissed Rich like his life depended on it, because it did, and felt his heart start beating again for the first time in months when Rich kissed him back just as desperate and soft and messily. 

 Hands tangled in Rich’s hair, mouth open and his tongue practically shoved in Rich’s mouth, licking at teeth like they were nectar or ambrosia, he scrambled onto the couch, limbs slow and unsteady as he climbed over Rich and forced him back against the couch. He tried to get himself closer to his paradise, his respite, his island in the middle of the ocean, but all he got was a wretched screeching sound and the feeling of air-filled plastic against his chest. 

 He pulled away just enough for Rich to let out a small whine as they lost contact with each other.

 “Rich.”

 “Yeah?” Rich asked breathlessly, already trying to lean up and kiss him again. 

 “Get rid of the fucking balloon.”

 Rich’s eyes widened, almost comically so. Jake wanted to cry at the way that sent his heart into overdrive.

 “Yeah, yeah, right, hold on—”

 He threw it across the room. Jake found the balloons kind of useless now. He was so filled with giddiness and hope that he couldn’t even comprehend how anything could ever be empty. 

 Until October 30th. 

 Rich didn’t need to knock on Jake’s door or let himself in. Jake was at Rich’s house, banging on the door repeatedly, each knock echoing and panicked. He didn’t stop until Rich swung the door open, rumpled and half asleep. 

 “What the fuck?” 

 “I need to talk to you.”

 Rich glanced back inside—presumably at his dad—before nodding. 

 “Yeah, okay, lemme get changed and put on my shoes, then we can go.”

 Jake nodded rapidly. His mind was racing beyond what he could understand, landing on panicked responses before he even knew what had triggered his fight or flight. He didn’t stop moving even as Rich disappeared back into his house. His foot tapped against the concrete. His fingers picked at his nails and the fabric of his shirt and his hair. Curses ran through his mind like a broken record, repeated until the sound was imprinted on Jake’s brain. 

 Rich appeared and suddenly everything in Jake’s mind went silent. 

 “So… are we doing this here or…?”

 “My house. Not uh—” Jake glanced back behind Rich. Not near your father was the implied statement. Rich sagged with relief.

 “Okay, yeah. Let’s go.”

 Jake could feel Rich’s concern in his gaze. He was watching Jake’s every move as if preparing for something, like Jake was going to swerve the car off the road and into a ditch or shoot himself. It made Jake want to laugh. Or scream. Or cry. He was going to die. 

 He didn’t even make it back to his own house. It was only a six-minute drive and he only made it four minutes in before he pulled over on the side of the road and stormed out of the car, his whole body trembling. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he needed an escape from the cramped driver’s seat of his car. He needed the autumn air to stop him from overheating and the wide expanse of stars to talk him down from an anxiety attack. 

 Rich fumbled after him, too confused to be panicked and too disoriented to be calm. 

 “What the hell?! Slow down—”

 Jake halted and spun on his heel, eyes wide. They were by a pond with benches and a dock and a parking lot only twenty feet away. There were grills along the beach and a football in the grass. Jake almost screamed. Every sign of humanity felt like too much. If he was going to do this, he needed it to be in the middle of the desert or the empty expanse of space with no one but Rich around to hear his confession.

 No. Fuck it. He needed to do this now. 

 “I’m gay.”

 Rich seized up. He was only a foot away from Jake, close enough so when he finally regained control of his muscles, he was able to reach out and take Jake’s hands. 

 “Really?” he whispered, looking up at Jake with eyes that literally shone like gold or diamonds. Jake wanted to drown in it.

 He swallowed his shame, not caring that it burned at his throat, and said, “Yeah. Yeah, fuck. Not all the way. I like girls. But I like kissing you and I like boys and I… I just like you. All of you. All the way. I like you. I’m really sorry.”

 Rich broke out into a grin. 

 “Yeah?” he asked just for confirmation. Jake nodded again. 

 Rich jumped up into Jake’s arms, fully committed to getting as physically close as he could. He wrapped his legs around Jake’s waist and his arms around his neck and fingers in his hair and kissed him hard on the lips. Jake felt like he was at home for the first time in years.

 “Me too,” Rich said between kisses, “Me too. So much. So fucking much.”

 Jake smiled into every kiss, so ecstatic he could barely keep himself standing. He fell back into the grass whispering, “Run away with me. Forever. It’s terrible here. It’s so terrible.”

 Rich nodded in agreement and pressed a gentle kiss on Jake’s neck. 

 “They hate us and we’re gonna find someplace better. I have enough money. Just run away with me, please. We can go anywhere you want.”

 “Anywhere?” Rich asked. He sounded pained, like the word burned as it came out. Jake nodded and propped himself up on his elbows. 

 “Anywhere. Just promise me you won’t leave.”

 Rich smiled and kissed him again. 

 “I promise,” he murmured, “I promise you’re beautiful, I promise I’ll run away with you, I promise I won’t leave, I—”

 He paused. Dread burrowed itself like a bullet in Jake’s chest. He searched Rich’s expression for answers before Rich had the chance to start speaking again. 

 “Not… not tonight, though, okay? There’s something I gotta do first.”

 “Is it—?”

 “Don’t worry about it, Jake. It’s nothing. How about Sunday? Give me tomorrow to take care of things, then we’re gone.”

 November first. The day after tomorrow. 

 Jake could handle it. He’d host his Halloween party, break up with Christine, and tie up any loose ends he had left. He’d be gone before he ever had to clean up the hell of a mess his friends were sure to leave behind in his parents' house.

 “Promise?” he whispered.

 Rich nodded. 

 “Promise. I just need tomorrow.”

[stealingpotatoes]

hands you all this cal to announce i’ve FINALLY finished fallen order (by which i mean i finally picked it up again after those couple hours i played a few months ago and then finished the whole game in 2 days lol)

[crossbackpoke-check]

Why I Am Not Coming In To Work Today [abridged], Jess Zimmerman

part one | part two

[swordspider-fr]

okay want to preface this that the new ancient breed I genuinely like so much more than the other recently released ones (the sandshark guys + the moth alien ones, edit: completely forgot about grass snakes bc they were so mid to me). The design feels very cohesive/strong to me AND weird in a way we haven't super had yet with the headshape (BALD!!!) + limbshape (those huge+few claws <3). like this isn't just Tundra2 but bigger or coatl2 but it's more snake-y.

HOWEVER............ they literally coulda been moderns. like pllllsssssss no more ancients with the 2-wing 4-leg format bc I'm just gonna look at them and wish they are moderns so I could dress them. Like design coulda been vastly improved IMO if they got isopoded-up and just slapped 4 more legs on that thing, imagine legs on the tail section that woulda be great. think they also coulda made it fatter bc we haven't got a fat breed in so damn long but that's also my bias.

[giantkillerjack]

Uh-oh! You are like, SOOO awkward!!

You're so awkward that it is occasionally mildly uncomfortable for people!

You're so awkward that sometimes people are confused by you and then there are awkward silences!

You're so awkward ...... that ultimately no one is harmed!!

Oh damn!!! What a vile crime you have committed! What an unforgivable thing it is to make a fellow human briefly confused!

Why, if *I* were ever briefly confused and kind of uncomfortable as a result, I'd be devastated.... by the absolute net zero change in my happiness and health! - From which I might never recover!! Yes indeed! No punishment can ever be enough for you!!

So you better absolutely hate yourself for it.

Better be SO MEAN to yourself about every single missed social cue so you don't forget your horrible crime! Meaner than you'd ever dream of being to someone else for the same thing! This is YOUR responsibility!

You need to show the world that you KNOW you are bad by punishing yourself constantly! After all, think of all the people who BENEFIT from you punishing yourself! - No, really! Think about it! Think about who benefits from your pain.

Think of alllllll the definitely-good people that your definitely-necessary self-torment definitely helps! I mean, you can't just cut off their definitely-life-sustaining supply of your suffering, right?? Sure, everyone else has a breaking point, but you're probably the only person in human history who doesn't, right? Best not to question it probably. Sure, it's a symptom that billions of people with trauma have had, but who knows? You could be a one-in-seven-billion exception. Anything's possible!

Instead, better just accept that idea that bullies carry like guns in holsters - the idea that people who have trouble with social cues deserve to suffer. Better carry on the burden they placed on you until you drop. Aid the cause of the callous by enforcing shame and suffering upon yourself extra hard; try your best to do their work for them. They're very busy.

Better not recognize that you need patience and kindness to heal from your trauma. Better not find out that it was trauma rather than personal weakness filling your head with self-hating thoughts. Better not find out it wasn't your fault.

Better not find out that awkwardness is not inherently harmful or unkind, and, in fact, the people who act like it is *are the ones enacting harm and being cruel.*

Better not get righteously angry when you realize just how much unnecessary damage this has done to you. After all, if you get mad, you might realize you deserve better. You might even feel brave enough to DEMAND better! You might build boundaries that keep you safe! You might make other people think they deserve to feel safe too! And we obviously can't be having that, so...

Better not show yourself even a little kindness a little bit at a time.

Better not make a habit out of it after all that practice.

Better not get confident.

Especially if you can't first wipe out every trace of awkward. (And you probably never will. Because people who experience absolute social certainty at all times tend to be insufferable assholes that enforce the status quo. And you just don't have the stock portfolio for that.)

Better not be confident and awkward because then you might confuse and delight people

- you might accidentally end up making other people feel less shame for their social difficulties

- you might make isolated, traumatized, and shy people feel like they deserve to be included in social situations

- you might even make them feel they can be themselves around you

- you might start loving the effect you have on a room

- you might enjoy conversations more

- you might forgive yourself and bounce back from shame more easily and frequently

- you might come to enjoy some of those moments of harmless confusion you cause because NOBODY expects the Confident Awkward, and that can genuinely be an advantage in social situations

- you might stop apologizing so much.

- you might find that socializing is like a video game: it requires practice but also a safe space for it to be fun and positive.

Or if you can't become assertive and confident, better not remain awkward and shy and quiet, and then love and forgive yourself anyway!

Why, it would be carnage!!

In either scenario, you run the risk of finding out that it's not your fault that safe spaces full of kind people can be really hard to find, create, and nurture. You could end up building a skillset that helps you do those things if you're not careful!

If you start giving yourself even the tiniest amount of grace at a time, you will find that you've accessed a gateway drug with extreme long-term side effects:

- You might realize that it was never your fault that it took so long to like yourself.

- You might realize that you were always worth talking to, even when you didn't like yourself and communication felt impossibly difficult.

- You might realize that you'll still be worth talking to even if communication becomes harder as you age and/or experience disability.

- You might come to know that you deserve to be heard even on bad days when words come slow and blurry.

You might discover that you were always deserving of kindness, first and foremost from yourself.

So. As you can see, it's FAR too much of a risk to start granting your awkward self free pardons for your many heinous and harmless crimes. Better to just leave it there.

[across-stars]

(he's autistic to me)

[purpurussy]

.

[aro-aizawa]

going to lose my mind. i've had three people comment on my dead fic asking to post it to youtube.

HI MAYBE LOOK AT THE COMMENT DIRECTLY ABOVE WHERE I SAY IN BIG BOLD LETTERS NOT TO POST MY FIC TO YOUTUBE

[steelhazes]

i will never understand it when new players - and emphasis on new players - decide to story skip, and the further the story skip is, i firmly believe the worse it gets. it's not just shooting yourself in the foot lorewise. that doesn't really have an impact on gameplay, if at all. but when you decide to do combat content with other people, how tf do you parse all of the mechanics thrown at you when you skipped the entire learning process it takes to be able to get at the point when you can do so relatively easily??? how do you find fun when you die over and over to a boss and you have no clue as to what's going on or what killed you???

[bluesey-182]

the vet today really tried to talk me into paying $600 for the same service they provided for my mom and her dog a few months ago for under $100

[brittlebutch]

truly i’m so beyond insane about the Bill and Ted Musical song “Don't Surrender” that Bill sings when he thinks Ted got killed by the castle guard. i'm being so normal and okay about it tho i promise

[lesbianfrottage]

Okay but I need to be someone's beloved wifepet and belong to them completely and be able to pour my whole energy into just loving them. When will it be my turn!

[blizzardfluffykpop]

why the fuck do i miss pigeons