#who has time for grief when there's chores to be done? NOT ME

[dinosauring130]

productivity tip: have bone crushing sadness and/or gut wrenching anxiety.

[bucky-murdock-moans]

on the portrayal of grief and depression in daredevil: born again

so I don't think it's a secret that I am so far loving the new daredevil show. I want to preface that it's also completely fine to not like it. but I like the different approaches, the darker tone focusing more on the emotions of the human soul rather than the physicality (for now, at least) and yes, I can't write this without praising charlie cox for his acting. bite me. just like with any other medium, movies and tv shows often have a set mould in which they portray grief and depression. they tell or show us how it's supposed to be, what we are supposed to feel, the characters say the same old lines... the new direction is a lot more heavy on the show-don't-tell side and as someone who had to face grief at a young age while completely abandoned, I feel very strongly about this and I don't want to step around it without praise.

foggy neslon is the closest thing matt has ever had to a family, and the show opens up with him being violently murdered and matt's biggest fear coming alive. someone he loves, someone innocent getting hurt as collateral damage.

I love and adore foggy nelson with all my being not just in the netflix show but in the comics too. elden did an incredible job bringing him to life and showing that potential in the character that is often underestimated in the comics, too. he gave us foggy nelson filled with endless love, kindness, compassion and someone who is incredibly smart - even in the comics, matt admits that himself is more of a master of great speeches and bravado in the courtroom, while foggy is the one with an immense well of knowledge not just about the law but about specific cases that could grant them leverage. as foggy himself pointed out in s3, everybody abandoned matt in his life. his mother left the family (yes, she had ppd, but she abandoned a child nonetheless), his father did his best to raise a kid as a single dad but ultimately, he chose his pride of not willing to lose over staying alive and actually raising his son. stick abandoned matt for a lot of reasons depending on whether you look into the comics or the show. and in s3, while struggling with her own grief and anger karen was considering abandoning matt too. which is a very human emotion to feel on her side, to be fair. as for foggy, that was not gonna happen. foggy nelson loved matt murdock undonditionally. that was the single most powerful, the most priceless thing he could ever give to him. and after his death, we jump a year ahead in time and a lot of people are complaining about bad pacing but please, I am begging you to believe me when I say this was a concious choice to not give us closure the same way matt is not giving himself a chance at closure.

we see a matt murdock who is in survival mode. he moved away from hells kitchen (a palce he never imagined he could abandon), he is now at a new firm, adapting to changes and as you watch him get ready before that court hearing, it is clear to see that he is simply going through the motions. this man is on autopilot. he wants to get the thing done for the sake of being able to say he did it, he finished that task, that chore of making breakfast, getting dressed... and then you see him reaching for foggy's prayer card and you immediately clock in on how worn the edges are. he puts it in a pocket above his heart. at the end of the day, he takes it out, and the next day, picking it up again. he doesn't put it in his wallet, or a pocket permanently to carry it around passively like you would do with a photograph. it is a concious choice that he makes every day to touch it, to handle it, to not allow himself to forgive or forget. he is depressed, he is not letting himself process his own grief and it goes to show just how great of an actor charlie is to convey all that in the posture, in the body language, the way matt seems to stop dead in his tracks when met with inconveniences (sitting down, slumped over when he larns fisk running for mayor while while he ignores the smoke detector for example). we also see him (as of episode 2) abandoning his faith which happens often when people go through intense trauma. especially if religion is a big part of your identity, it's a connection that gets damaged along with your self image. just another sign that goes to show what kind of impact foggy's death had over matt. bottom line is, I love how matt is portrayed with a more high functioning depression (where even karen thinks that he is "doing well" on the outside) while on the inside, he is absolutely falling apart. grief is an extremely complex human experience that never really goes away. it is a long, hard journey that is different for everyone. and yeah, I'm not happy foggy died. I wish he didn't have to. but you could not have picked a better catalyst for matt's life to fall into nothing. and I think in a twisted way it is the most beautiful legacy you can give to foggy. that he was so incredibly, undeniably, unimaginably important and loved.

[pimosworld]

Hi it’s me!! Since you are open to requests, could you please do a very fluffy smut with Joel where the reader is very insecure about her body and he makes her feel loved and it’s just so sweet?? In need of a comfort daddy Joel 🥺

Pairing- Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary- Joel wants you to see your body the way he does, a work of art.

CW-18+, MDNI, NSFW, A smidge of angst because (body image issues), Fluff,miscommunication, reader is not described other than not feeling herself lately, Soft dom Joel, smut, body worship, mirror sex, fingering, unprotected piv, cream pie, self acceptance, no use of y/n

WC-2.0k

[Joel Miller Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

A\N- My first Joel request and I would say I was feeling inspired by some body issues I’ve had lately. Thank you anon for this lovely request I hope I did it justice.

Clothing optional

There was a war going on in your house. Two separate wars to be exact, although you personally had no idea about one of them. 

  You’re currently on the frontlines in your room with a pile of mass casualties on the floor beside you. As you stand and face the mirror in front of you it’s unclear who the enemy is. Logic would have you believe it’s the clothes, the clothes that fit not long ago…that much you’re sure of. The cruel part of your brain, the part you couldn’t seem to shut off was telling you the enemy was your body. This body that has carried you through life, through ups and downs, through grief and happiness. Yet you stand here and shame it, calling it the enemy. 

  This dress, one that you were never really that fond of but could always rely on it fitting was the straw that broke the camel's back. It hugs in all the wrong places and definitely seems shorter than you remembered the last time you put it on. The lace at the seams is frayed a little and you swore you heard a stitch pop when you tried to unzip yourself. Now you’re frozen in fear that you’re stuck in this godforsaken thing and you’ve still not figured out what you’re wearing to impress Joel’s business partners. He was always so put together, what could they possibly think of you by his side. 

  “Sugar ya in there?” A knock on the bedroom door and Joel’s sweet voice causes you to panic. 

  You’re not even close to being ready. Tears streaming down your face, makeup ruined and your claustrophobia is aching to get out of this dress. 

  “Don’t come in.” Your garbled voice is evident all rushed out in a frenzy as you hear the door swing open. 

  ****

  The other war. 

  A war that’s been silently brewing in the house over the last few weeks. Joel noticed something different about you. It took him a lot longer than he’d cared to admit once he realized. He knew your body in and out. Every freckle, every line, every scar or birthmark. He’d made it his mission in life to be able to pick you out of a lineup blindfolded, only tasked with his hands or his mouth.

  He was insatiable for you. 

  He never understood when other men would say that after some time you won’t be as obsessed with each other. After marriage things become monotonous and it feels like a chore. He loved chores, being able to complete a task. If loving you and worshiping your body was a chore then he wanted that duty everyday. 

  At first he thought he must’ve said or done something to upset you. He knew his mouth could be pretty reckless at times so he gave you a few days to cool off.

  When you shy away from him or insisted your shirt stayed on during sex he started to grow suspicious. Maybe he hadn’t told you enough how much he appreciated your body. He thought he did a pretty good job of it but things get complicated when you’re in the heat of the moment. He made your brain go all fuzzy and it was hard to concentrate on what he was sayin’. 

  He’d had just about had enough when he walked into the kitchen the other day. You were reaching something high up on the shelf. Instead of asking if you needed help he just stood there ogling you as your shorts rode up, exposing the bottom of your ass. He wanted to sink his teeth into it. He wanted to grip your thighs and bend you over the counter. He could just imagine it as he pounded into you from behind while you screamed his name, the ripples from his thrusts dancing across your skin. You looked so startled when you saw him there, his eyes blown black with lust as he stepped towards you. His heart broke a little when you scurried away and returned aggressively wrapping your robe around you. 

  ****

  A peace offering. 

  You knew there was no way he was staying outside at any sign of your distress. He enters your shared bedroom slowly like he’s approaching a frightened animal. You’re sure you look like one in your state. 

  He’s quite the opposite. Crisp black on black suit, his hair combed back out of his face to show off those beautiful brown eyes. His cologne wafts towards you with hints of bergamot and cedar wood. Just the sight of him has you weak in the knees. 

  “You wanna tell me what’s got ya all worked up?” He takes a tentative step towards you as you shake your head and wrap your arms around yourself. 

  He clicks his tongue, hating how defeated you look right now. “Listen sugar, I’m gonna count to ten.” He gently unfurls your arms from you and wraps them around his middle. “And by the time I get to ten.” You take a shuddering breath against his chest relishing in the comfort he’s bringing you. “You’re gonna tell me what’s wrong.” 

  “One.” 

  “None of my clothes fit, I hate the way I look right now and I don’t want to embarrass you tonight because I look ridiculous standing next to you in some dress that I hate.” It’s all rushed out and muffled into his chest as he cradles your head and rocks you back and forth. 

  “Is that all?” He teases as you nod your head. “I’m thinkin’ maybe there’s a little more.” 

  “Two.” 

  “Well…the other day.” You let out an exasperated sigh as you look up at him. “You were starin’ at me, in the kitchen. I couldn’t tell what you were thinking, but it didn’t look good.” 

  He thinks for a moment, back to his thoughts in the kitchen and you must have read him all wrong. 

  Joel steps back from you briefly as he undoes his tie, letting it drop to the floor. “The other day in the kitchen.” His hands start to work at the buttons on his dress shirt as he shucks it off his broad shoulders. “I wasn’t tryin’ to stare. I was tryin’ to keep my hands to myself.” 

  Your breathing picks up as he undoes the buckle on his slacks and lets them join the rest of his clothes. He palms himself through his boxers, his hard length growing at the slightest touch. 

  “Joel, what are you doing?” He doesn’t answer you as his hands grip your shoulders turning you toward the mirror. “We’re gonna be late for the dinner.” 

  He leans in, taking your earlobe between his teeth as you gasp. “We’re not goin’ to the dinner sweetheart.” Joel’s eyes lock with yours in the mirror as he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Do ya see how beautiful you are?” 

  His grip stops you from shaking your head no and you figure you might as well get with the program now, since he’s being so generous. 

  “You wanna do this your way or my way?” He asks with an eyebrow raised in question. 

  “Your way?” You shakily answer as he smiles all wide and kisses your cheek. 

  His hands make quick work of the zipper that was stuck and he eases it down your back. Carefully dragging it down your body, letting the fabric pool at your feet. His hand kneads your breast and soft whimper leaves your lips as it trails down your stomach. “You weren’t plannin on wearin’ any panties to this event?” His fingers dip lower circling your clit just barely teasing you. 

  “I…I hadn’t gotten around to them yet.” Your voice is shaky as he winds his other arm around you pulling you taught to his chest. 

  “Well good thing…you won’t be needin’ em tonight.” His words send a shiver down your spine as you stand there, naked as the day you were born trying to stay afloat. “Now, I asked you if you see how beautiful you are?” 

  “Yes.” You moan out as he slips two fingers inside, chuckling to himself as he works you open. 

  You cry out at the loss as he pulls them from you, holding them out in front of your face. It’s lewd the way he licks his fingers and his grip on you tightens as your legs threaten to give out at the sight. 

  “You want me to show ya’ what I was thinkin’ about in the kitchen?” Rhetorical question of course but you're feverishly nodding your head all the same. 

  He places a soft kiss to your neck as he guides you to the bed. Neither of you trusting your feet to carry you there. “Lay down for me baby girl. Face me.” You lay down on your stomach, resting your head on your arms as you watch him place the mirror near the edge of the bed. 

  His fingers tug down his boxers and it surprises you every time, the sheer weight of him. His cock twitches at the sight as if it knows you’re looking, admiring as you stop yourself from reaching at the angry red tip to swipe your finger through the bead of precum leaking out. 

  The bed dips behind you as he straddles your thighs. You can see him in the mirror watching you as you wiggle your ass, that fight part of your brain no longer concerned with the way you look. Not with the way he’s looking at you. Like he wants to eat you alive. 

  His fingers grip your flesh as he tilts your hips up, he’s rock hard as he slides the tip through your aching folds. You clench around nothing as you try to draw him in. 

  “Eyes on the prize baby.” You tear your eyes from him as you catch yours in the mirror. He wants you to watch, but not him. 

  You’re the prize. 

  He sinks down in one fluid motion and it takes every fiber of your being to keep your eyes open. You both moan in unison as he starts a slow agonizing pace. 

  Joel watches you as long as he can but he can’t tear his eyes away from the ripple of your skin as he pounds your flesh. Hitting something deep and devastating inside you as you clutch the sheets. Soft chants of his name punched out in his thrusts as he tries to hold off his release. It feels too good and just like his daydream. Having you bent over all fucked out, unable to form a coherent through. The only thought he wants running through that head is how perfect you are. 

  “Oh fuck…I’m the luckiest man alive, ya know that.” He grits out as he meets your eyes again. 

  His strong hands haul you up against his chest as he wraps his arms around your shoulders. All you can manage is a head nod as you keen at this new angle. 

  You can feel the beads of sweat from his hair drip down onto you as you cling to his arms, he growls in your ear as your climax peaks over you, taking you by surprise as you cry out his name. 

  “This pussy was made for me darlin’.” 

  He can feel you suck him in and his balls draw up tight. Your front bathed in a sheen of sweat down your breasts and across your stomach as you ride out the aftershocks. His hips slow to a stutter as he holds your prone and pliant body, pulsing inside you as you let out a soft exhale. 

  You’re completely and utterly wrecked and he thinks you’re like one of those renaissance paintings with the naked ladies. Better than that because you’re real and you’re all his. 

  It takes you a moment to gather yourself as you lay there, Joel’s hand draped over your body at the edge of the bed. You can finally look in the mirror and see the war that was waging was all on your head. 

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

[midnight--sadness]

Gihun finding himself missing his mother too much (Malsoon didn't survive, he still found her dead...). His vision blurring with tears, trying his best to stifle a sob and focus on his tasks. His hands are shaking. Malsoon never got to see that Gihun got better. He got Gayeong back. He has a husband and a big loving family, the best children on earth who would love to be Malsoon's grandkids. Gihun wished she was still alive. He would do anything to have her by his side again, listening to her complaints about how he made food too salty or the climate being too cold for her. But she's gone. Gihun wants his mother but she's gone. A tear dropped onto the countertop, and before he could wipe it away he felt a pair of arms holding him.

"Omma, what's wrong?" a voice whispered, tinged with concern. It was Saebyeok's. "It's nothing, I... I'm not feeling well.." Gihun tried to lie and put up a brave face, until he allowed himself to be honest. "... I wish my mom was still alive..." He choked out. Saebyeok's grip tighetened around Gihun, leaning her head against his back. "You should go rest. Leave the chores, we can handle them."

Once Gihun nodded and hugged her back, he quietly shuffled into his room. He was unable to find any more words to express his grief or how he felt at the moment. Talking it out was his strong suit, but not this day. Gihun layed down on the bed, squeezing his eyes shut. The ache in his chest still remained. Sobs wracked his body, his shoulders heaving with each one.

Gihun's sobs were heard by his other children who had gathered by the door, very worried and distressed about this situation. Especially Daeho, Junhee, and Subong; who just wanted to quickly run to his room but Saebyeok told them that their mother is in a very fragile state, he needs some time for himself. "He misses halmeoni a lot. We need to be gentle with him, alright? Let's finish the dishes and then check on him one by one. Tone down the usual rowdiness and loud banter for today." The siblings understood. When it came to times like these, Saebyeok was a born leader. Her calm and mature demeanor meant things never escalated, always under control. Much like her father Inho.

Which she had to call to let him know.  Saebyeok pulled out her phone from her pocket and dialed his number. The line rang once, twice, before Inho picked up. "Abeoji, could you please come home? It's omma. He... misses his mother and is feeling very sad. He's crying a lot. I've told him to rest and asked everyone else in the house to be more quiet. I think omma needs you right now." what Saebyeok didn't say out loud was that she needed Inho too. His support and presence is wanted more than ever.

"I'll be home as soon as I can. You did the right thing by calling me, Saebyeok. It's not your responsibility as the child to shoulder this duty, but you handled this the best you could. Well done, my daughter. See you at home." Inho ended the call. 

The words brought a small smile and unshed tears to Saebyeok's eyes. Due to pride or the warmth that spread through her chest, she felt lighter than she did minutes ago. A hand patted her on the back, and she turned to see Subong along with her other siblings. "Yo. We got this together. Don't feel like you gotta do this by yourself. Or else I'll fight you behind the parking lot to make you understand!" he pointed a finger at her, wiggling his eyebrows.

That made Saebyeok and the others huff out a laugh. This guy... Never change, Subong. "I'd like to see you try, you ruffian. Abeoji said he'll be home soon, he just left his office. Now, let's go. Omma needs us to be there for him."

THIS IS SO SAD!!! 😭😭😭😭😭

GIHUN MISSING HIS MOM AND HIS KIDS TAKING CARE OF HIM 😭😭🤧🤧

they would be so gentle with him, so soft.... no one would talk very loud and they'd all watch what they are saying so they don't make him sadder (especially subong).

when inho gets home, he rounds them up and explains that mom is sad and so they need to leave him alone, so he can rest. he cuddles with gihun the rest of the day, holding him in his arms 😣

[marvelstoriesepic]

63 sentence snippet

(It’s a little more since I felt bad for taking so long)

This is based on this WIP poll

Thank you for voting! 💜

The fic with the most votes was Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader. So sorry for taking that long to finally do this but here are the 63 sentences for each vote (and a little more)

Your worth is measured not by your thoughts or your dreams, but by the alliances your hand could forge.

(…)

Your life is not your own. Your voice is not your own. Even your smile belongs to the court, to the crown, to the men who watch you with eyes that devour.

(…)

Grief is an excruciating pain. Your breaths are trapped, pounding on the walls of the cage that is your chest. Begging for release. Your heart still seems to be missing. Or it simply is divided into so tiny pieces it feels like it vanished entirely. It disappeared into the crack of the earth, giving way to roots, the tremor of something breaking open to grow.

(…)

The mercenary sighs, long and exaggerated, as if this entire meeting is a chore he’s been dragged into against his will.

(…)

His eyes struck you. They are cold, calculating. It’s not something you would think of immediately when the color blue comes into your mind. But that’s what the blue of his eyes is.

(…)

“Your Highness,” he says, his voice a low, gravelly drawl that makes the title sound more like an insult than an honor.

(…)

“Very well,” he says at last, the words dropping from his lips like a stone into a well. He straightens, his broad shoulders squaring and his hard eyes fixed on you. “I will keep you alive. But you better not expect me to bow, curtsy, or kiss your hand, your Highness. Do not expect me to coddle you. I am not your knight, and I am not your servant. I’m just the man who gets to clean up your mess.”

(…)

He is not kind. He is not comforting. He is a stranger, forced into your service by circumstances neither of you have chosen.

(…)

Your heart thunders, but it seems to have lost its rhythm, shaking but not steadying. It’s in panic. Pumping and pumping and pumping so much blood but where is it supposed to go?

(…)

But then the corner of his mouth tugs up in a smirk. Amusement and mild exasperation mix in his gaze, as though your panic has been nothing but entertainment and a burden for him.

(…)

“Go to sleep.” His voice is commanding. Unkind. He is done with tolerating you for today. “Now!”

(…)

You are tired. Tired of all this. Tired of the silence, of the questions you don’t get answers to, feeling so unwelcome in the presence of this man you didn’t even want to have anything to do with. Tired of you being brushed off all the time.

(…)

He won’t look at you either but there is something in his posture that has changed. It is a shift in the way he holds himself. Like he is no longer bracing for the next blow.

(…)

He doesn’t respond. His gaze is firmly fixed ahead, but now there definitely is a change in his posture. It’s not quite softness, not an invitation, but it is something - subtle and fleeting. His fingers twitch at his sides.

(…)

The smirk you have seen before - the one that twists at the corners of his mouth in a taunt - is absent now. His expression makes you uneasy.

(…)

The tension he radiates crackles against your skin. Your instincts scream at you to move away from him, to cower and hide, to shield yourself, to run into the woods, and never look back. But you are rooted into place.

(…)

Something shifts in his eyes for a second. His lips press into a line so thin, it might be a boundary you seemingly are about to cross. His eyes turn cold again. So cold. And yet, they feel alive. Piercing. Penetrating you with his unrelenting focus.

(…)

“All you need to know,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, almost growling tone, “is that I’ll take you somewhere safe and make sure your head stays in place. So unless you want to lose it, you’ll keep your mouth shut about things you don’t understand.”

(…)

But even standing in front of him feels precarious. The earth beneath your feet might tilt at any moment and your body would lack the will to catch itself. And you know Bucky wouldn’t dare to even lift a single finger for you.

[immediatebreakfast]

Out of all things (a lot of things) that happened in this entry, I want to focus on Mina's sudden snap back to her writings just like she was on her first entries. All calm and practical, but still undeniable Mina in the personality of her words.

Mr. Morris took me to the hotel where our rooms had been ordered by telegraph, he being the one who could best be spared, since he does not speak any foreign language. The forces were distributed much as they had been at Varna, except that Lord Godalming went to the Vice-Consul, as his rank might serve as an immediate guarantee of some sort to the official, we being in extreme hurry. Jonathan and the two doctors went to the shipping agent to learn particulars of the arrival of the Czarina Catherine.

This is like a less extreme version of Jonathan's sudden change in writing, but more somber and dreadful. Mina has resigned herself to simply tell events, and signaling any kind of closeness by only mentioning Jonathan by name since the other are either reduced to their last names or titles. A far cry from her energetic journalistic style that is meant to grab your eyes to follow the words through the paper, and the symbol of what Mina has lost the more that burning scar stays on her forehead.

The more Mina writes, the more somber it becomes until she is seeing Jonathan have another panic attack, then Mina decides to maybe do something to help. Her insecurity towards her own problem solving tactics which have been crucial through the whole novel hurts so much to read, moreso when Mina was so sure of her competent abilities before being burned out by the hellish chore of keeping the Count both at bay and in their grasp for information.

However, once Mina decides that she must do something...

I am more than ever sure that I am right. My new conclusion is ready, so I shall get our party together and read it. They can judge it; it is well to be accurate, and every minute is precious.

A ray of pure light pours out of her brain, typewriting and thinking and connecting and analyzing every single piece of information possible until that thematic piece of resistance is solely born out of her fingers. A watsonian conclusion and wake up call for Mina to once again move and run just like she did in the earlier entries, and a doylist explanation of how there are so few places for Dracula to hide except from his castle if he is so lucky to outlive the very woman who he called a wine press.

With grief glimpses of her crushing guilt (Why did I hesitate to write the word?), and the ever present existance of the true horror she has lived to this day ("Oh, my God, what have we done to have this terror upon us!"), the Mina Harker is back on track again. This time with a gun on her hand.

[justforbooks]

‘Books picked me up on bad days’: how reading romance helped Lucy Mangan through grief

After the death of her father, the writer took refuge in the kinds of stories she had once written off – discovering a comforting world of funny heroines and happy endings

Grief is an intensifier. It doesn’t often – despite what films and television would have you believe – cause you to act massively out of character. Like motherhood or any other huge life upheaval, its actual effect is to strip away the nonsense and leave your essential nature, your core, not just intact but now unobscured by everyday concerns and frivolities.

So it was no real surprise to find myself, in the immediate weeks after the death of my beloved dad in 2023, flinging myself into books. I would have done so literally, if I could. I wanted to gather my physical books into a wall – or better yet, a cave – around me that would both protect me from this new reality and let me cry in peace within it. Failing that, I took mental refuge in them instead.

I read like I had never read before. I read like a chain smoker smokes, turning the last page of one book and immediately opening up the cover of another. I had books lined up before me to make sure I didn’t go a moment without. None of my usual leisurely picking and choosing, reading blurbs and reviews, feeling my way into what would best suit my mood. Because my mood was simple, uniform and deeply miserable, and what I needed was new stories and characters ceaselessly streaming into my cortex and banishing, for as many seconds at a time as they could, the fact that outside those pages the unforgiving real world no longer had the gentle, wry, witty form of my dad in it.

Every moment that I was not inescapably occupied (with work, with Mum, with making sure life carried on as normally as possible for my son), I was reading. And when I was vitally occupied, I was longing to read, burning to in a way I hadn’t properly felt since I was a child. It felt so odd to have arrived at the same place via sorrow, rather than joy. Adulthood sure can be the pits sometimes.

Anyway it was all odd, and difficult, and my heart goes out to people grieving harder and more complicated losses than that of an elderly father who went peacefully, and on his own terms, when it was absolutely time to go.

The retreat from the world didn’t last as long as I had expected. I felt at first like I would be floored for ever. But now – and I’m writing this six months later – I spend a lot of the time feeling bad that I don’t feel worse in the absence of this man whom I, quietly but unreservedly, loved so much, who knew me so well and who loved me, even more quietly but just as unreservedly, right back. But it’s because I still feel him with me – which, as someone with no religious faith and no goddamn spiritual side either, I really did not expect. But he’s there. Or it’s there; or something’s there anyway. I do really feel, as the poem has it, that he has only gone into the next room. Mum says it’s because we are so much alike. This evolution of the exasperated cry “You’re exactly like your father!”, when she found me next to some set chore abandoned because I’d been distracted by a book, which pursued me throughout my childhood, both charms and aggrieves me. But I hold on to the idea that it’s true.

And I have discovered romance. Not in real life, obviously. Yuck. But the genre, once forsworn, is now very necessary to me. Once I stopped feeling quite like I would be floored for ever, I started being drawn towards books with light, bright covers that promised distraction, an uplift and – above all – a happy ending. I realise this is not a psychologically complex phenomenon. But however obvious the route, the comfort they offered was real and wonderful. Especially as the first three I came across – Emily Henry’s Book Lovers, Stephanie Butland’s Lost for Words and Harriet Evans’s Happily Ever After – were all about the world of books, bookworms and bookshops, and formed the perfect bridge to cross into this new, unexplored region.

There also seemed to have been, in the 20-odd years since I had last surveyed the landscape, a move away from the ditsy/hot-mess heroines that sprang up post-Bridget Jones. The new generation of protagonists all had their problems – particularly Loveday Cardew, whose emotional withdrawal after her repeated battering by life is carefully and compassionately depicted by Butland and further explored, with great consistency and credibility, in the sequel Found in a Bookshop – but they weren’t chaotic collections of neediness and neuroses held together by the offices of devoted friends, who in real life would have been well within their rights to have deleted these succubi from their phones years ago. They were properly funny, properly thoughtful, capable – often even maintaining professional standards day in, day out at the office! – and generally life-affirming, rather than life-depleting, people to hang out with. I felt like introducing them to some of the longsuffering best friends in earlier books. “Look, this is what you deserve! Enjoy!”

It was a reminder – though I do try to stay aware of it anyway – never to write off any field, any genre, for ever, for the simple reason that even if it doesn’t evolve (and sometimes, as with the hot messes above, it does), you do. You toughen up a bit here, break down a bit there, learn this, rediscover that, have children, have cancer, move jobs, move countries, are opened up to more experiences, more possibilities, live through more world events, governments, relationships, McDonald’s menus, Kardashian exploits and iterations of the Strictly Come Dancing panel – all these things change you and change what you need, what you want and what you bring to previously discarded books, when you pick them up again.

Romantic/popular/commercial fiction, whatever you want to call it, picked me up on bad days, brushed me down and sent me off again with a loving pat to get through the next few hours, days, weeks until I collapsed back into its arms. It’s a trust fall. The writers of commercial fiction know their audience, are often part of that audience (Evans is a lifelong fan of Georgette Heyer, for example, and I suspect none has come to the job without an early affinity with the genre and an absorption of its rules, both the obvious and the ineffable, into their bones) and consider it their duty to deliver. I think of them now like a quieter, more studious version of the A-Team, except that if you have a problem, if no one else can help (or if you have soaked all the available shoulders with tears and need to give them a bit of time to dry out), you can always find them, these soldiers of romantic fortune.

And when I need further bolstering – when, for example, I reach that stage of grief everyone passes through at some point, where it starts to feel absolutely infuriating that your loved one is still dead, when you have missed them quite enough, they have proved that their absence really is a bad thing and it really is time that they came back, because carrying on like this is too hard, really beyond a joke – I stop buying new books and look to my library shelves. Not just the children’s section, though of course that is where any number of my strongest and favourite memories of Dad reside.

But Dad is there in adult books too. Murphy’s Boy by Torey Hayden was my first ever true-life tale. I tried to buy it after seeing the film based on it (Trapped in Silence, starring Marsha Mason and a very young Kiefer Sutherland, fact-fans), about a neglected child who refused to speak or communicate via other means in the wake of his abuse and was eventually “saved” by psychologist Hayden, who specialised in the phenomenon of elective mutism. It could be seen as a forerunner of the misery memoir, but, like most forerunners of popular trends, it is much better than the thing it became. It wasn’t available in England at the time, so Dad asked one of his American friends to buy it for me and, when she handed it over next time she visited, I literally could not believe it.

There’s also Grace Metalious’s proto-bonkbuster Peyton Place, reminding me of when I was seven or eight and first heard Jeannie C Reilly sing Harper Valley PTA. I had to take the line “Well, this is just a little Peyton Place and you’re all Harper Valley hypocrites” to Dad for elucidation, and he told me all about this very famous and bestselling book, which I pledged to myself I would read as soon as I was old enough. I forgot about it until I came across a battered copy in The Brazen Head bookshop in Norfolk and pounced. It was even better than the song.

The run of Philip Roth reminds me of one of our rare disagreements. I was home for the university holiday and Dad came across me reading the newly published American Pastoral. This was just after he had read Claire Bloom’s memoir Leaving a Doll’s House, in which she details her long relationship with the volatile, controlling and verbally abusive author. Dad felt that, at the very least, I should read his books in the light of this knowledge; or, maybe, choose not to read them at all. I, at 20, felt that I could – and should – separate the man from the art.

More upliftingly, I spy Sarah Perry’s The Essex Serpent – a complex, gentle, yet sinuous story about a woman freed by her violent older husband’s death to start life anew. She moves to the Essex marshes to follow her long-denied interest in palaeontology and give her autistic son the peace and freedom he needs. Her scientific mind finds a strange resonance with the local rector’s attempts to stop the village community turning from God to the supernatural when it appears that the monstrous folkloric serpent has returned to the marshes. I read it, loved it and passed it to Dad. It’s a book about all the different forms of love there can be, and how they enrich a life in different ways. When he returned it, he said he had thought it as wonderful as I did. I told him that some reviewers – perhaps because you don’t at any point actually get a scene in which a giant sea monster rises out of the waters and lays waste to a village – had dismissed it as a bit of a book about nothing. “But,” he said, frowning, “it’s about everything.” And that is why I loved him, and that is how he enriched my life too.

🔴 This is an extract from Bookish: How Reading Shapes Our Lives by Lucy Mangan, published by Square Peg on 13 March.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[wayfaringtrainers]

So I constantly joke about how Robin's cooking skills are comedically terrible, but this has always been exaggeration for comedic effect. It got me to thinking: "how capable is Robin in the kitchen? and it kinda snowballed to thinking about all my muses and their culinary capability, sooo, from worst to best:

Worst: Robin

Yeah no, he's a terrible chef, let's not get ahead of ourselves. But not as bad as we've made him out to be. Robin did spend 6-7 years alone on the road, and at least half of them were a hermetic, loner lifestyle so he had to be capable enough to cook for himself.

For the most part, Robin is fine with really basic things. He can butter some bread and slap meat between it, he can fling something into the oven for half an hour. Robin's main issue is impatience; he cannot stand hovering in the kitchen for an hour or two, doing all the prep-work required, his instinct is to just throw it all in at once, no matter how bad an idea that is: if the vegetables needs half an hour at 200 degrees to cook, but the meat takes two hours at 150? He throws them both in at 200 and walks away for 2 hours. It's probably why curries are the only thing he can reasonably cook (being very much a "throw everything in and cook it" kind of food), but even they are just... Mediocre.

Bad: Katrina

Anybody is a master chef in comparison to Robin, but that doesn't mean Katrina is a good chef, she just isn't a disaster. Unlike Robin, who is impatient, Katrina is inexperienced: she's never really done a lot of cooking, because it's never held her interest. She'll cook if she has to, but she doesn't really want to: so her cooking tends to be somewhat plain, bland and uninteresting.

Katrina is strictly a "follow the cooking guide" girl and if she's asked to cook something that doesn't have instructions? She's not even gonna try. What's more, while Robin and Amber will go out to eat because they travel a lot, Katrina will go out to eat regardless, even if she has access to cooking facilities. It just isn't something she cares for.

Average: Amber

Amber's only ahead of Katrina by necessity. Before she met Robin, Amber had a theoretical knowledge of how to cook, but due to her childhood illness, she was rarely allowed to cook for herself (her father and brother were obsessively over-protective). Plus, being Robin's travel companion means she can't rely on him to cook for them, so she has a better handle on it.

Good: Samantha

Being a single mother of two on a budget means Samantha had to be pretty good with her utensils to keep her kids well fed. Prior to her kids, she was already pretty good at campfire culinary, on account of her ranger training.

When times were tough and money short, she may have taken to some of her old-school foraging knowhow to keep food on the table, but Samantha has had years to get comfortable with the kitchen. Her only fault though, is her reluctance to get creative; like everybody else, cooking is a chore for Samantha and while she does it well and takes pride in her skills, she doesn't do it for pleasure, only because she has to.

Best: Dante

Dante is the only one on this blog who actually likes cooking. Dante always had a stressful life, being the favourite child of a perfectionist mother, he was always expected to excel, excel, excel and anything in his life that didn't contribute to accolades, achievements and ambition was something he was discouraged from.

(Yeah, neither of the Richards siblings had a good childhood, go figure)

Cooking was effectively an escape for Dante, it was something practical that his mother couldn't dismiss as a waste of time, but also something he could enjoy doing. He likes the whole process of forming a meal, considering it significantly less stressful than literally every other moment of his life (which includes: work as a nuclear physicist, being Amber's guardian during her sickly days, his whole grief-induced mad scientist arc and having to literally work with criminals). Even the most complex meal is a breeze compared to all that.

[that-darn-clown]

hello bestie, tis i: Back On My Bullshit

so. Sammy in the Rewrite. Charlie's twin brother, Henry's son.

listen. Henry sucked as a father canonically (at least in the books; if it extended to the game universe, we were never told so directly), but i think it would've been better if Henry was a good father, to contrast William, but was still flawed in his own ways, especially after Charlie dies (but still, for the most part, a good dad). his flaw? he goes really soft on his kids (in part because he doesn't want to end up like his Own biological father, who Sucked), and also spoils them. he gives them whatever they want. he's a bit of a pushover, even with his own kids. it's mostly, in that way, that Anna balanced him out; she was generally stricter, but still a nice woman.

Charlie and Sammy? really close. Sammy was almost always with her or close behind. if he wasn't with her, he generally knew where she was.

then Charlie dies. and it feels like his world is falling apart. his sister's dead and he's the one who found her body. left discarded in the alley amongst the garbage. like she was garbage.

so of course, Sammy's shock and grief eventually fades into anger. he wants to know who did this, and why. when Sammy's angry, you know he's angry. it's part of the reason why Henry avoided telling him for a while what he discovered. he knew that the second Sammy found out it was William? Afton would be a dead man walking. and Henry's got his own ideas on how to handle this so that no one goes to prison. not him, and not his son.

so yeah. Henry's more internally angry, while Sammy is more externally angry. Sammy wants justice, and preferably to murder someone by the time this is over.

anyway, that is all :]

Ough, I always love when you are back on your bullshit

Henry being a pushover dad makes me think of Jodi from stardew valley, she has a line where she says something to the effect of "I think I go to easy on the kids, they've never had to do any chores." That feels like how henry would be, sweet but ultimately not very effective parenting lol.

As for Sammy oooooo my beloved. Maybe. Maybe one day he punches a hole in the wall. Henry is surprised!! I mean he knew his son had anger issues, but this? This is way over the line. He has no idea what to feel, now that Charlie, the peacemaker, is gone. He has to be the peacemaker. But he's never done that before. So maybe he gets terrifyingly close to lashing out, to telling Sammy off. And that's when Sammy learns that henry is Internalizing all of his anger. Ough I love them. I love a comparison of Internalized and externalized nger.

Anyways. I love you and your writing <333

[petertranart]

I have recently read through printed version of my Batman fan-fiction comic book. We must emphasis the term fan-fiction, as I have no affiliations with DC comics, but I had been a fan of mainstream superhero comic books ever since stepping into a library at a very young age. This is the only Batman story that I could tell at this particular point in time, and as one grows older and moves on to other things, the world of comic books - particularly that of superhero comics - is one that doesn't seem terribly important. Perhaps if I was younger and had little duty, this could have been done sooner.

To describe the book, the story follows an Irish immigrant called Leila, who after arriving to Gotham City, encounters tragedy when her lover is killed by an anonymous assailant. This is a Gotham that has been transposed to Victorian Britain during the onset of its economic formation and growth. A grief-stricken Leila is eventually taken in by the retired industrialist Bruce Wayne, whereby she spends her time evading chores on his estate, whilst playing with the local homeless boy. Being fully aware of her master's previous life as the Batman, Leila soon develops a morbid fascination with the mask that he had worn some decades prior.

Outside of the evident themes of migrancy and the history, there are some philosophical themes that warrant our attention. Painting broadly, it is a commentary on the cyclical nature of violence, with our protagonist being sceptical of what the comic has termed the 'heroic project'. The heroism of the past puts forth the idea that our history is one of progression. For Leila, in her discussions with the elderly Wayne, she challenges such assumptions on the basis that there is no empirical evidence for it. Instead, she believes that violence is fated, and therefore as a consequence suffering is inevitable. If violence is dictated by fate, then no amount of training can avert it, which is why she believes the heroic project is ultimately one of failure. Although somewhat unpleasant, I think her fatalistic outlook is natural, and is ultimately borne from the conditions in which the character exists. This forms a basis for the horror scene in the book.

Some words on elements of form, and elements of style. It wouldn't be amiss to say that the bronze age era of superhero comics have been an influence. This can be attributed to me marvelling at John Buscema and Stan Lee's How to Draw book when I was about five years old. I'm also interested in the painterly arts as well, and find that there isn't much that differentiates 'pop' from 'fine' art. Without waxing lyrical on the subject matter, if one looks to how Buscema composes a scene in his loose sketches (consider Conan), you can see the human form takes priority; and the environmental, environmental perspective form, the mechanical, is secondary. This is how Baroque artists approached the canvas when they painted their masterpieces. Needless to say although I have tried to take a traditional approach (particularly with the cover), it should be said that there are some things the printed comic book can't do. To give examples, impasto and chiaroscuro generally doesn't translate well to the medium, as the printed page can't capture the nuances of layer and tone. The printed comic book that sits on a table lacks the grandeur of a large painted canvas on a gallery wall. Ultimately in spite of its creative efforts as a visual medium, the medium itself is a limiting one.

[straysofthesierra]

It was a perfect, clear night. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the moon shone proudly, illuminating the way for the dogs of the valley as they gathered to celebrate the coming of another season. Despite the evening chill biting through his thin coat, Finch was practically bouncing on his paws as he approached Shale Lake with the rest of the Falls. The Fire Feast was his favorite time of the season, especially since he got to see his friends from the other packs.

He scanned the crowd with a whip of his head, then turned to his parents. “I’m gonna go look for Lake and Loon.”

“Alright, have fun!” his mother Starling replied. 

Without another word he turned and sped away. He carefully bobbed and weaved through the dogs all clumped together in groups, laughing and chatting and catching up with each other, but he didn’t see hide nor hair of Lake or Loon. Maybe they decided not to come to the feast this season? His tail dropped in disappointment. He was just about to turn around and head back to his family when something slammed into his side, nearly knocking him to the ground.

Loon laughed as he grunted under her sudden weight on his back. She nipped at his ear and he smirked in recognition, pulling himself out from under her and turning to face her as she wagged her tail at him. “What’s up, bird brain?” 

He matched her delight and reared up to ruffle the fluffy fur on her ears. “Not much, how about you, fish breath?”

They bounded around each other, growling playfully until Lake finally caught up and joined them.

“How are you guys,” Finch panted, sitting down to catch his breath.

“Glad to be done with the seasonal chores,” Lake grumbled, curling her lip in disgust. “I was stuck on fish cleaning duty. I’m never gonna get the smell out of my fur…” To illustrate her point, she bent over and gave her leg a few licks.

“Glad it wasn’t me!” Loon teased. 

“Ugh, yeah. I wanted to go on the hunting patrol but my dad said I’m not ready yet, so I got stuck on cleaning duty with Sparrow,” Finch grumbled.

At that, Loon became suddenly and uncharacteristically subdued. “Oh, speaking of Sparrow, I wanted to ask… did she, um, come to the feast tonight?”

“Um, yeah? Why?” Finch blinked at her, but then realized what she was getting at and rolled his eyes. “Oh good grief, are you still panting after her? I told you it wouldn’t work out, she’s not interested in dams.”

Loon stomped her paws. “I knoooooow! But hey, I can dream, can’t I?” She chuffed. “What about you? You’ve been chasing after that sire Rowan from the Shepherds since we started training!”

“Hey!”

Lake, who had been mostly quiet through their bickering, finally piped up. “Ugh, can you both put your tongues back in your mouths? Nobody cares!”

They paused and gave her twin glances of surprise and confusion. 

“Oh come on, don’t you have anybody you’re interested in?” Loon asked her.

“No, not really…?” Her ears pulled back as she suddenly became very self conscious. Courting and mates had been something she just… never really thought about. As her peers grew older and started noticing other dogs in that way, she would just watch in confusion, unable to relate. In truth, it sometimes made her feel a little bit alienated from the other trainees. Like there was something wrong with her. After all, everyone else seemed to get it. Why not her?

Her fears only seemed to be confirmed as an awkward silence fell over the trio. Finch and Loon were now staring at her like she’d grown three heads. She huddled in on herself and stared down at her paws. “Um, nevermind… Can we just talk about something else?”

Luckily, she was spared some embarrassment by the leads addressing everyone from the Council Rock.

“Welcome everyone. It’s wonderful to see you all again,” Dove, the lead of the Falls, began. “I trust you all had a productive end of season, but the time has come once again for us all to take a well deserved rest and celebrate the coming of another.”

She paused to allow a wave of celebratory howls to flow through the crowd.

When they died down she stepped back Cypress, the lead of the Forget-Me-Nots, stepped forward to continue, her pregnant belly swaying underneath her as she moved. “As usual, it is time to start the sparring matches. Any dogs who wish to participate, please make your way up here to the sparring pit!”

“Yes! I’ve been looking forward to this all season!” Finch bowed forward, tail wagging, and took off toward the shallow pit dug into the ground near the Council Rock.

“Wait-!”

Lake and Loon both rose to try and stop him, but it was too late. One moment he was bounding away, and the next he was stopped short by a muzzle full of fur as he ran into another dog.

“Oof!”

He stumbled a moment, then gave a little shake once he’d righted himself. “Oh my, I’m so sorry! I was just -  o-oh…”

“Woah, where’s the fire?” Rowan chuckled. 

But Finch’s tongue had turned to stone and he couldn’t respond. All he was able to do was stand there, hypnotized by the glow of Rowan’s golden eyes in the light of the bonfire. By the time his brain had finally caught up with him, the only thing he could think to say in response was, “Um. Over there?”

He grinned awkwardly at his bad attempt at a joke, but Rowan just frowned, the warm liquid gold of his eyes turning to fire and burning through Finch’s pelt. Behind them, Lake and Loon tried very unsuccessfully to hold back their laughter at the whole scene. Well, Lake was trying to hold herself back at least. Loon was just shamelessly guffawing, clearly taking great joy in Finch’s embarrassment.

Rowan moved back a few steps, his gaze flitting to and fro. “Riiiiiiiight… Well uh, gotta get to the sparring pit. Don’t wanna miss the matches! Happy season!” He gave a tight, toothy smile, trying to be polite, but as soon as he got the chance he turned and left.

“Heh, yeah! Happy season!” Finch tried to return his smile, but as soon as he started walking away it wilted. When he was far enough away to be out of earshot, he sank to the ground with a long, pathetic wine, crossing his legs over his face. 

Meanwhile Loon was still laughing away. “Well that was about as smooth as a porcupine’s behind,” she gasped out in between her chortles. 

“Oh shut up!”

“Oh come on, it wasn’t so bad. I thought it was kind of funny?” Lake tried, walking up to him and placing a supportive paw on his back. Finch, hearing the hint of a smirk still on her muzzle, peered out from under his paws to glare at her. 

“That’s it. It’s over. I can never show my face at the feast ever again. Just leave me here to die,” he moaned.

That made the two dams giggle.

“Come on, I thought you were gonna spar.” Loon nudged his side. “What if you get matched up with Rowan.”

Sparring with Rowan? Getting up close and personal? Feeling his thick, soft fur against him? The power of his muscular legs that he had only ever been able to admire from a distance? The thought made Finch’s ears burn. “If that happened I would actually die!”

“Come on!”

“Go on, you can do it!”

“Go get him!”

“Show him what you can do!”

Their encouragement managed to coax him out from under his paws, and a small smile onto his muzzle. They may poke and prod at each other, but that was just what friends did. And when push came to shove they really were wonderful friends. “Yeah, okay…”

He pushed himself up while they cheered, pressing themselves to his sides. The three of them trotted away like that toward the sparring pit, their steady presence filling Finch with newfound confidence. He straightened up, puffing out his chest and striding into the crowd.

The other trainees had better watch themselves, because this season, he had something to prove.

[spellcasterjupiter]

Religion saved me... but make it helpol

Holy shit because rn my life is on such an upswing and there is no way in hell it's not due to the gods. Apollon has made me draw and practice guitar and the arts again as well as supported me in EVERY performance literally ever??? Not to even mention how no matter if i quit helpol or withccraft or whatever he was always so welcoming when I came back. And he literally helped my chronically ill cat heal for a long while and aided me in grief. Apollon truly lived up to his name of Protector of Youth and has aided and helped me in so many chapters of my life. I am an artist and always have been, and like most mentally ill artists ive been basically fighting myself because of it. Apollon has been the biggest voice of reason in my life, telling me just to create no matter the quality; if not for myself, for him. He's gotten me back into drawing, writing, songwriting, and even playing other instruments. I don't know where I'd be without him.

Aphrodite has forced me back into my skincare (JK) and is one of the first deities i wrote poetry for and holy shit shes so nice and caring and welcoming. She's truly changed how I view myself, my body, and my face. Especially with being a transguy. Aphrodite is always there. Gods do i love her. haha gods thats fun to say. When I was struggling a lot last year, Aphrodite was the one who'd comfort me. She loved me regardless and I'm truly thankful for it. I promise to keep spreading love in her name, and to know I am capable of being loved like she loved me.

Athene has literally saved my grades over and over again??? And helped me remember the joy of researching and learning and that it's not just exhausting??? Not to even mention how she helped me delve into my Autism and strategies to work around the problems it can cause me in tasks and what not. And she helps me learn more abt ancient greece. She has helped me learn so much about discipline, and helped me remember a lot about myself. I love learning, and school had made it a chore. I also love writing, as clear by my absolute yapping ive done these past couple of posts. She deserves a ton of credit for the reason my practice looks the way it does, and my standard of research ive set for myself in my worship that ultimately benefits me. Shoutout.

Dionysos has pushed me so much further in my acting and confidence and i cant thank him enough for it. He's always been so chill and he might have saved me bc i never felt this intense pressure and expectation from him like i did with others (which was all in my head btw). Im pretty sure the start of his worship is what got me back into helpol last year too. He urges me to celebrate more, and to enjoy the feeling of freedom. To be unapologetically me and to celebrate whatever that means. To recognize the masks i put up, and to set time to put them to rest. Dionysos also has one of my favorite altars lmao

Hekate has really pushed me out of my comfort zone in regards to my craft, and just my religion in general. When my brain convinces me that I'm not really a witch, or that I don't deserve to be one, or that I'm doing everything wrong, Hekate guides me out of that thinking and really reigns me in. She also let's me tap into a darker , more shadow aspect of my spirituality and self in general. Hekate lets me embrace every part of myself, and even sit with the parts I don't like. And she's been here for YEARS and super welcoming when I would quit and come back every other month lmfao.

Selene has been such a soft and gentle guider of me for years. I truly believe that if I had any kind of patron/patroness, it would be selene. I've been in love with the night sky for years, and when I was really struggling mentally it was Selene who I would come to late in the night when I was sobbing, and she would listen every time. Through every apology about how I wasn't doing enough for my deities, and how I thought they deserved better, and how I understood if they were angry at me... but she never was. She was never angry when I procrastinated her research, or when i was too depressed to clean her altar, or didn't offer her anything for months. She was simply just happy when I did. She's taught me so much about how the gods work, and it's very clear as to why she tends to be my first for a lot of deity workings. Like the first one I wrote a poem for, a prayer for, made a digital altar for, and she might have even been the first I offered food to. As a kid i would joke i wanted the marry the moon. This is close enough :)

I might add to this as I grow closer with Persephone and Hades, and maybe even as I expand my work further. But, yeah! I love my deities xoxo

-Owen

[flowerandthesongstress]

Our roommate’s death is scheduled for the day after tomorrow. We’re waiting. Meandering around our home and bumping bodies. Occasionally hugging when we bump. Or simply crying with no preemptive measures taken.

Another email in the culture-shock inbox: ‘Hello, may I consume your eyeball? You do not know me, and I won’t even trust you with my name, but would you please pluck out an eyeball so that I could consume it? I am informing you that saying no is also fine, because your eyeball really isn’t all that special and there are plenty other organs out there to consume, from bodies who will thank me as I binge them. What say you? Hey, how about your eyeball and your liver as a bonus?’

And I’m not even mad this time—and so polite it scares me. Grief makes us civil? Grief makes us human? I wish I was an ape.

I’m doing chores and then redoing them, pretending they’re not done.

He’s crying in the bedroom. He questions whether he has done enough. I go there and I hug him and then I vacuum more cat hair off the rug.

[gofancyninjaworld]

Your tags! I couldn't just leave them there!

awesome-cookies-and-cream

#when ONE said what if god is one of us?#just a slob like one of us#like a stranger on the bus tryna make his way home#anyway its fun how he made 2 stories about gods among mortals yet theyre so different from each other#the message of being god is lonely and also lame actually#you still feel human emotions and do chores is so great#i think theres something so compelling about this god like being who despite being in one way better than most#is just like you also and faced your problems and grief also#i dont knkw where im going with this#but anyway i think that was the appeal of Christianity and the whole jesus thing#imagine a god who knows what its like to be human#to feel hunger and anger and saddness and have a friend die and fear deatg#so yeah jesus coded or whatever

You got me THINKING.

So, at some point Genos is going to run into Metal Knight. Let's say for the sake of argument that Dr. Bofoi *is* the Big Bad Genos has been hunting for, responsible for unleashing the rampaging cyborg and currently orchestrating the systematic mass extermination of people (I have reasons to think not but that's a whole 'nother ball game). Then, there's a major split in the way things could go if Saitama were to come on scene before it's too late.

Webcomic Saitama has no moral standing to persuade Genos to let Bofoi live. This Saitama has no idea how Genos feels, has no insight into what it's like to face an evildoer directly responsible for the suffering that has touched you, and has no empathy for it. Also, Genos knows him as a guy whose calm is a symptom of his unconcern for nearly everything.

In the time Genos has known Saitama, he's seen two cities cease to exist and Saitama's most pressing concern to this day is having a nicer hero name.

Saitama might be able to physically pry Genos's fingers off Bofoi's throat but he won't be able to tell Genos to let go.

On the other hand, if he remembers, manga Saitama CAN. He knows what that rage is like. He knows what it means to be barely able to hold off from killing a person who richly deserves death.

He can say, from a place of understanding, that there's value in not killing Bofoi -- at least not yet. Even if Bofoi is far eviller than Garou could ever touch, even if he lacks remorse, even if he has not the slightest intention of setting right what he has done, Saitama can argue that there's a place for a justice that stops Bofoi's machinations and punishes the man but that does not end him.

And Genos knows Saitama is for real. He might just listen.

The consequences... gosh...

One of the things I find very interesting about ONE's protagonists is that they have no moral high ground. Shigeo was just as capable of becoming an obsessive, rage-filled person as any other character, given the provocation of finding his house burned down and his family killed. Saitama was no better than Genos when it came to experiencing rage and a desire to add to exact retribution, given the same provocation.

In Mob's case, it was fortunate that he had Dimple by him who was able to reason with him at ameliorate the worst of his rage. In Saitama's case, he was fortunate that he had a reminder of the value that Genos represented to him and, thus, could hold on to his humanity for long enough to recognize that Garou was just as pathetic a person as he was.

Thus, ONE does not say that his protagonists are better people from whose example we might learn. He says that his protagonists are just as flawed as the people they seem to be better than and fortunate, first in not having experienced the same circumstances, and secondly, fortunate in having experiences and people around them that help them make different decisions.

'There but for the grace of God go I,' is a very humbling thing to be able to say, recognising as it does that had things turned out slightly differently, that could be you in the situation of a person that you pity. It is a sentiment that ONE makes a lot of use of in his stories, which makes his protagonists both more relatable and more valuable as a source of instruction. Surround yourself with good people, he says, so that you yourself might develop in yourself a resource to depend on when the unfairness of this world batters you. Do not disparage those who have been overwhelmed by their circumstances, for that could easily have been you. Instead, seek to reach out to them and seek to learn from them so that you may both be improved. For one never knows what the future may bring, and one cannot say that because one has weathered a storm, the next shall also be weathered. Be humble.

[tellllaura]

My cancer journey as a parent

Laura is now 11 year old. She was first time diagnosed with rhabdomyosarcoma , a rare , but an invasive childhood malignant tumor, in Vienna, Austria, where we lived then, as a five month old baby. She did not remember it consciously. She was in remission for 11 years, medically she was cured, but never say never, the beast came back this summer, literally we got news of her positive biopsy on last day of her school, when we were preparing next day to go for summer holiday.Suddenly, illness arrives, uninvited, incomprehensible. 

The arrival of illness forced itself into our lives where there was no place for it. It disrupted our cycle of life breaking out its natural parts.The disbelief, the doubt, the acceptance, the pain, the shame, the anger, the grief, the symbiotic connection with my child.Why she now? Why me? I want her to live and escape it, get me out of it. This is not my life, this is not her life, she has not deserved it, why God has picked her? I hate this illness, and what it’s done to me and my daughter.I must fight again, oh God, I do not have the strength again. My friends saying I can do it, she is lucky to have me so strong, but I do not want to be strong, I want to be weak, I need help, be the strongest this time. My life is endless battle…We found ourselves captivated between life and death, night and day expelled to an unknown place - between light and dark, you can call it whatever you want, but believe me , it is an another reality, or surreality where you are forced into. You feel like you are not longer here, but not there as well. You must be prepared to fight, you must be prepared to learn your lecture, you must be prepared to accept inevitable as well.

When you are faced with this illness which is still taboo, you feel alienated from society, you feel like you don’t belong to normal reality anymore, with strange feeling of guiltiness and ashamed that you are not part of normal functioning anymore, simultaneously with feeling of anger that illness has struck you, and that you can not do anything about it.

They tell you she has %80 of surviving , they don’t tell you that a 80% chance of cure means a 20% chance of death. You’re left to work that one out for yourself. I think this is because cancer, being still incurable disease as such is related to a death sentence. Yet, in our mind we know that dead sentences is given to people who did not behave properly and within the rules.

Physical illness needs not only conventional treatment, but also emotional tendering and like a guardian angel around her is a sense of faith in the invisible, inner spiritual strength. When feeling low and vulnerable, in a serious illness your appetite for love can become insatiable.Healing is brought about not just by medicine. It is not just treatment which cures you, but all that includes the human touch.

A smile means more than an injection, a hug more than platelets transfusion. The face and encouraging words of our family and our friends, of her nurses and doctors, the face of social workers and charity volunteers , show sympathy, compassion and understanding. Those human faces bestowed so much to the healing of Laura’s little anguished soul.I was used to do things by myself having nobody to help me, I was reluctant to ask for any help, and it was thank to charity workers who pushed me to comprehend that they are feeling sorrow and sadness with us, willing to help us, and to discharge us from practical and financial “chores” that go in dealing with this illness.

However, cancer, like all illnesses, tend to be a big teacher. Throughout this cancer journey I faced things I never thought I could. I am learning things about myself, about Laura, about medicine I never knew. I opened myself to another alternative treatment, I learned about amazing people, their courage, and try to broke conventional, I learned that I have to face my fears, I learned that this life is jsut one perception, another is death, but as life’s perception is so big and encompassing we can not see death properly, but it is still impossible perception. I could never have known any of that beforehand I know now.Laura has ended her chemotherapy treatment, she is in remission again since 2nd block of chemotherapy. She responded well to chemotherapy and to an alternative therapy of Dr Beljanski’s products I am giving to her synergistically. by mama, 12 December 2005

[kwnnys]

— craig tucker fluff alphabet !

fluff alphabet : g/n reader a/n : i went through all stages of grief editing this. pls enjoy. 🥰

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

craig is not the best at physical affection, so you'll have to be the one to initiate it most of the time.

he does sometimes intertwine pinkies and holds your hand, but only sometimes.

its not that he doesn't like it, it just doesn't really occur in his mind to initiate pda and stuff like that.

he much prefers verbal affection or acts of service. telling you just how much he appreciates you and helping you with chores or homework is much better in his opinion.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

you and craigs friendship started when you both were in detention, and you threw a paper airplane right on mr. mackeys head while he was napping.

"hey! who did that?! you better come up mkay. that is very irresponsible and-"

you both snickered and put your hands on your mouths, trying to stop yourselves from laughing.

mr. mackey sadly heard craig though, and immediately accused him.

"craig, did you do that? now listen here young man. I am tired of your attitude and games- did you just flip me off?!"

you couldn't help it and started laughing hysterically, damn you and your shit humor.

you both got detention for 2 weeks.

but after that day, you started hanging around craig more and more and eventually made your way in his little gang.

hes pretty protective of you, constantly flipping off anyone who talks bad about you. also prolly gatekeeps you from everyone else.

he lets you hold stripe before anyone else, and even lets you feed him! the cute little thing.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

craig is a pretty cuddly guy when you both are alone, spooning is an absolute must!

he doesn't mind whichever position, though he prefers being the big spoon. so that he can feel your soft body against his.

he doesn't mind little spooning at all though.

if you lay your head against his chest while cuddling, he'll get soo happy.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

hes absolutely down to get married and live a happy life with you if you're down too.

craig will probably be the one working most of the time, but he doesn't mind being a malewife/househusband either.

it honestly just depends on you.

hes not the best cook, but definitely not the worst either.

hes pretty lazy when it comes to cleaning, always telling himself he'll 'do it later'

ends up never happening though.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

hes heartbroken, but he knows this has to be done.

he will act awfully weird and awkward the whole day, especially around you.

"hey craig, can I borrow a pencil?"

"huh- oh uhh.. yeah here."

he ends up approaching you about 20 minutes after classes, when theres not much people around.

"I really love you y/n. but... this is for the best."

after the breakup. he'll seek comfort in his room and stripe. refusing to leave for the next few days.

he finds it hard to cry, so he'll try to force himself to.

hes not insensitive of course not, its just hard for him since he rarely does it.

after a few days he'll check his phone and text all his friends back, though still heartbroken and sad.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

craig struggles with commitment, but he'll do everything in his power to make you feel loved and special. just in his own way.

hes pretty neutral about marriage, but again if you're down. hes down.

he wouldn't want to get engaged too quickly of course- perhaps give it a good 3 years. maybe 4.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

craig is very gentle with you physically.

his touches are soft and careful, and he always asks you before touching you. he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable.

also pretty gentle with you emotionally, but he does struggle a few times since hes not used to emotions.

he is trying though! always reassuring you and making sure you feel special and loved.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

the guy loves hugs. especially from you.

though he doesn't initiate hugs most of the time, he will gladly accept any hug without hesitation.

craigs hugs are short, but warm and cuddly. his hands lingering and ruffling your hair as he kisses your neck.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

love is a very strong and meaningful word, especially to craig.

so he takes his time before actually saying it. he needs time to make sure the feelings he has for you (whether romantic or platonic) are real, and true.

but once he does make sure and finally does says it, he says it.

and he'll say it over and over and over again.

you're leaving his house? "bye, love you."

you both bump into each other on the way to class? "love you."

you give him any kind of gift for any random occasion? "I love you."

he starts saying it everyday, all day. and he'll keep saying it till the day that love dies.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

craig is a chill and laid back guy, and hes not one to get jealous often.

but on the rare occasions when he does, he gets pissed.

he'll secretly flip off the person thats making him jealous and stick his tongue out.

he'd hold you much closer, wrapping his hands around your waist and kissing your nape as he glares.he'll also ask you random questions like "hey babe, what time is it?" or "honey, what do you want for lunch?" while your talking with said person, just to let them know that you're his and only his.

you'll whisper to him a 'whats wrong?' and he'll shrug, asking what you mean and that nothing is wrong.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

craigs kisses are passionate and meaningful, and when you two are kissing, he doesn't care about anything else.

he kisses you everywhere, your lips, cheeks, neck.

but hes most fond of kissing your nape and hands, something about it just feels so intimate.

he loves when you kiss him on his forehead, his ears and face flushing a bright pink whenever you do.

he just loves you so much, and wants you to feel the same way.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

craig doesn't dislike children, but doesn't exactly like them either.

he'll make a disgusted face and scowl when he sees a child crying or throwing a tantrum and laugh out loud when a child trips and falls, not caring if the parent is nearby.

will also not hesitate to flip a child off if they annoy him.

however he does has a soft spot for his little sister, tricia. and is always there to comfort her whenever she needs it.

when you point it out though he will deny it, saying that he only does it cause he doesn't want to hear her cry and whine. which is obviously a lie but he'll never admit it🤫

extra : you caught him playing dress up with tricia once.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

craig is not a morning person at all. and most mornings spent with him is just you trying to crawl out of bed as he clings onto you.

no matter how much you try to wriggle out of his grasp, he just won't let go. you whine and lightly hit his arm but to no avail.

but when you do manage to get out of bed, he'll frown and pout, using a pillow to cuddle with instead.

some lucky occasions you cave and stay in bed with him, much to the raven haired boys delight. he'll kiss your cheek and mumble about how much he loves you before dozing off again.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

nights with craig are usually spent playing with stripe and watching movies. he'll place the little creature on his lap, petting it while his head rests on your shoulder.

other nights are spent either hanging out with craigs gang, or just playing games together.

but no matter what you two do, the night will always end in you snuggling against craigs chest as he strokes your hair.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

craig is not a very open person, so it will definitely take a while before you can really get to know more about him.

its not cause of any trust issues or anything like that, he just doesn't really think to tell you about him in the first place.

you'll probably have to be the one to ask him about things, and hes more than happy to tell you if you're both close enough.

he doesn't tell you much about his problems, mostly because he doesn't wanna trouble you with it. but if you insist then he will slowly but surely open up to you more.

in the end, hes always glad and feels better after talking with you.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

like I said before, craig is a pretty chill and laid back guy.

he doesn't get angered often, and mostly just resorts to flipping people off when they annoy him.

the only thing that really gets him angry or mad is when someone insults a person he deeply loves and care about (or sometimes a guinea pig)

its rare to see craig get mad or angry, but when he does he immediately tries to cool himself down, he hates letting you see him like this so he either walks away from the situation or just take a deep breaths.

he does calms down fairly quick though, so its not much of a problem.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

craigs a forgetful guy, but not when it comes to you!

he'll remember every small detail about you. your favorite bands and songs, your favorite sweets and candy, he'll even remember all the moles and birthmarks on your body.

he likes buying things he knows you like. stuffed animals, bracelets, figures, etc.

and he absolutely adores the face you make when you see what he got you, your eyes glimmering in happiness as you thank him. he just loves it.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

his favorite moment with you was your guys first date. he brought you to a fancy italian restaurant, per cartmans suggestion.

why he listened to cartman of all people was a mystery.

anyways, he asked his best buds to assist him while on the date, and they ended up reserving a table right in front of the one for you and craig.

he was hella nervous, his palms sweating as he looked at his phone over a dozen times to check if he got any messages from you.

once you arrived though, he slightly relaxed abit.

you two ended up having an awesome time. though it was mostly you doing the talking, but he snorted and made a few comments here and there .

once the date ended, he offered to walk you home. to which you happily accepted.

his hand brushed against yours as you talked to him about your interests, though he seemed out of it.

he ended up only staring at your face the whole time and not hearing any word you said.

after you arrived home you thanked him, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before skipping inside.

his eyes widened and his face went red as you left him there, completely paralyzed.

poor boy walked back home completely on cloud nine, a dorky smile plastered on his face.

he ended up thinking about you the whole night, and even dreamed about you spoiling him with kisses and affection.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

he is very protective about you, especially if you hang around stan and his friends.

he'll always insist on coming with you on your little adventures, making sure you stay safe and sound.

however when you refuse he'll pout and frown, but ultimately decides to respect your decision.

he will text you alot though, asking you about where you are and if you're ok every few hours.

its not you he doesn't trust, its them.

he will get less overprotective over you as your relationship grows, though.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

he puts in as much effort as he can. he wants you to know how much he truly cares about you, and will do everything in his power to make you feel loved.

on very special occasions he'll ask help from some friends who have experience or his parents.

"should I get this or this for y/n? or should I get both?"

absolutely loves spoiling the shit out of you, he'll buy you whatever you want and whatever he can afford to make you happy.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

craigs bad habit is obviously the need to always problem solve.

sometimes you have problems that you dont want to solve right away. and thats... confusing in craigs mind.

to him, solving the problem as quick as possible is better so that you won't have to deal with it, so then why are you crying and yelling at him for suggesting ideas to help?

he doesn't get it, he really doesn't. hes trying to help you, so then why are you so upset?

he asks all the smartest people he knows about what to do, but to no avail.

he decides to just ask you himself about what you want him to do and what you need to feel better.

you tell him that you just want someone to comfort you, to hold you and talk through your emotions with you. and so he does.

he holds you, stroking your hair as you sob into his chest. he mutters a few words of affirmation here and there, but mostly lets you do the talking.

after you feel better, he'll make you a cup of your favorite drink and give it to you. cuddling you and kissing your puffy eyes as you fall asleep in his arms.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

craig never really cared much about his appearance or about how people see him.

it was only until you came into his life, that he started actually putting in an effort to look good.

he started brushing his hair before school and getting into the recent fashion trends. its a bit of a hassle, but its all worth it when you compliment his looks and outfit in the hallways!

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

very much. when you leave south park for whatever reason (whether temporarily or permanently) it feels like a chunk of him left with you.

he suddenly doesn't have the urge to attend his classes, or dress up nicely. he'll be even more stoic than usual and would get annoyed much more often.

not a day goes by he doesn't think of you, always pulling out his phone to send you a message or to check your social media accounts.

he misses you dearly, and the only thing that really helps him cope is stripe and the gifts you had bought for him.

he'll sometimes cuddle his pillow at night, imagining it to be you. tears prickling his eyes as he sniffles.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

you both rant to each other about your hyperfixations (autistic moment).

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

skip

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

he has a habit of grinding his teeth while he sleeps, and it drives you insane.

when you confront him about it he'll shrug and deny it, saying theres no way he would grind his teeth while sleeping and that it was probably stripe.

in the end you'd have to buy noise cancelling earbuds because you just couldn't handle the noise.