#you're not healthy for me

[justaz]

oh hot take for people to ignore bc its not that deep, ship what you want, but merthur physically cannot have a third. i think that's literally impossible. they're so inextricably bound to one another that it's always going to be MERTHUR and that person...i guess. like. merlin and arthur are always going to chose one another above everything. i just. don't think being their third would be fun. unless you just wanna watch. i guess.

[lovelessrage]

I feel like when the question is asked "do aros feel like they are forced to choose QPRs/some other type of non-romantic dynamic", it's often missing a very vital component, and that is that most people interpret that question to be someone strongarming you into that choice.

What is far more common is the societal impacts at play and how those affect someone's choices. For example, the complex of feeling incomplete or broken without a romantic partner often translates to feeling the same way without a QPR. Feeling failed without a relationship, or that you are missing out on a grand experience others can have but you can't, is also a type of pressure. When you measure your worth up against a checklist of relationships, that's an enforced idea. It's subtle, and it only comes into the light when you already hate yourself and feel empty and alone.

People don't often come up to you and tell you how sad and miserable you'll be directly; it is something you gain from being surrounded by an ideal of success that you feel you cannot meet. I often feel that, for a community that can often pride itself on its "awareness" of alloromantic relationships, or seeing things others don't, or offering relationship advice, there is that same side that sees these blindspots as unapplicable to them. That they are immune to amatonormativity and its variants, when they are not.

How much is want, a healthy want for this dynamic, and how much is based upon an implanted need? How much is based on this as the "aro experience", the "aro relationship", the "aro struggle" influencing what we see as necessary? How much is feeling like you can't be happy or complete without the last little checkmark?

[noxious-fennec]

Hands are too shaky these days

[cinnamonsikwate]

"why couldn't shuro have just been honest about what he felt with laios and falin it's not that hard" are you. are you White

[ben-lyintous]

so after a week of feeling like shit and experiencing some of the worst headaches i've ever had i just figured out i have completely lost my sense of smell too. do yourself a favor and go get your covid shot and your flu shot for the season if you can

[capturedbeauty]

[spaciebabie]

at first getting diagnosed with cptsd was like, "yay my trauma has been validated (it always was valid)!" and i really thought that was going to be it, but then i started to do research as i do whenever i realize i have something and learned that!! the way i experience socialization is!! quite horrid actually!!

[bumblingbabooshka]

I think Sarek and Amanda Grayson both lowkey seeing their children as little experiments in different ways is undeniably bad parenting BUT .... I mean you talk about matching each other's freak .... Like imagine for a second Sarek is like "I am going to show that Humans are just as good as Vulcans by molding this Human child and my half Human son into the perfect Vulcans - This will show that despite what society thinks of as their genetic inferiority, they're just as good as any Vulcan." and Amanda's response to that is to think "Sarek is wrong...Michael's humanity MUST be preserved...so that I can show her all the love and affection I can't show Spock and maybe through their sibling bond all my unspoken and unexpressed love can trickle down to him through her." What are you both DOOOOING!?? You guys are NUTS like PLEASE just TALK to each other and compromise about how you're going to raise your children!! [Love the drama though] So I'm imagining in my head that Sarek is severely pressuring both Spock and Michael to act as perfect Vulcans their entire lives with him or else they're failures not only in his eyes but in all of society's (because he's an ambassador and raising these children is tied irrevocably with his work as such) WHILE Amanda is secretly trying to funnel her humanity and love for Spock through Michael and as such failure to receive, express, or internalize that love is failing not only your mother but also the entire Human race. Damned if you do damned if you don't! Who do you want to disappoint more, kids?

In 'Point of Light' Amanda says that she gave Michael all of the love, joy, and affection which she wasn't "permitted" (we must question the use of the word - what stopped her from directly giving Spock this love? I'm not saying there wasn't pressure for her not to, I'm saying the word 'permitted' absolves her of any personal choice or failing in a way that's interesting to me) to give Spock and though this is on the surface level sweet and probably meant to be interpreted that way, I submit that it must be kind of fucked up to hear that your foster mother was maybe only so kind and caring to you because she felt she wasn't allowed to act that way towards her "real" son. Michael Burnham as a tool for both her parents, however unintentional, is very interesting and I'm not sure it's something canon considers (haven't watched the show, I just like imagining things). The feeling that you have to be grateful to these people for not only being your parents but being YOUR parents. For taking you in and giving you a beautiful life - you have to pay them back, you have to make them especially proud of YOU. Because they didn't HAVE to, did they? Because you're not their "real" child. In the end, it's always Spock - isn't it? The love your mother gives you is Spock's love and if only one child can enter the Vulcan Science Academy then it has to be Spock. You're the appetizer your father serves before the REAL main course and your mother's stuffed doll which represents the thing she REALLY wants to hold and you know they genuinely care about you. That's the worst part. Because you know they care and they didn't mean to hurt you and the voice in the back of your head keeps telling you that any hurt they've dealt you pales in comparison to the debt you owe them and they love you, they love you, they love you, they love you, they love you [repeat as often as need be: remember the debt]

[coachbeards]

TED LASSO | 2x09 "beard after hours"

[necrotic-nephilim]

If you want to be bothered. Maybe this for dick and Bruce???

i ALWAYS want to be bothered these are always the highlight of my day tbh you're a delight for letting me just yap <3

Dick. For the canon isn't real square I am Specifically talking about the Tom Taylor Nightwing run. Usually I ignore bad runs but given this one is ongoing (though about to end THANK GOD and get replaced by Dan Watters who i have high hopes for since i adored his Sword of Azrael (2022) run but i digress) so I counted it. Especially since it's so debated if that run is bad or not, for some reason. I'm a 90s Nightwing truther. I love Dick so dearly and tbh recently I've been more enamored with him the more I read his Discowing era, I didn't used to be as big of a Dick stan as I am these days.

Bruce. Honestly where do you even start with Bruce. I want to fist fight him and also patch him up. He got me into comics and superheroes as a whole but I roll my eyes whenever he shows up in a story. He's a bastard and usually not a good father but also complex and should be dissected under a magnifying glass. I love him dearly. He's also just the worst. I think that's why I love him. I'm always a fan of unabashedly Complicated Asshole Bruce who's generally not always the best person, particularly not to the Batfamily and that being the driving force of his relationships with them, especially in shipping.

And for bonus points, Tim. Because know above all else, I'm a Tim Drake kinnie /deg. He's been my number one for a decade and I've yet to uproot him from my brain. He's literally the Worst half the time and I love him for it. And the canon isn't real refers to Tim Drake: Robin because... that sure was a comic. And that's about all I can say about it. Pre-Flashpoint Tim I miss you so dearly. I think it's fun that I want to put him in a blender and drink the juice but also want Nothing Ever to happen to him.

[sovietpostcards]

I'm back home now!

We drove all day yesterday, 22 hours to be exact, with only short breaks for food and loo. Covered 1700 km. We saw the sunrise in the mountains overlooking the Black Sea, and the sunset in forested plains of Ryazan.

So good to be home and experience honest to god MILD weather :D

[ladyloveandjustice]

Dunmeshi anime: I'm so glad we got to the shapeshifting part I was sure it was going to end on Senshi's part. Would have been more fitting probably,but now we all get blessed with what Chilchuck looks like on the inside and Bishonen Senshi Sailor Moon.

[figofswords]

i love to cook and i love food! i love cooking and i love eating! i love making food and then eating it! wait what do you mean i have to do this three times a day every day for my entire life and also dishes and grocery shopping and

[reinedeslys-central]

more!! again!! for the nico after blood of olympus fic!! actually I thought of this while writing the last one but I just finished it.

His elbows buckle and he lets himself fall into Will, snorting at his theatrical groan under the weight. They lay there for a second until Will shoves him gently, and Nico lets him manoeuvre them into a more comfortable position.

"Hi," he whispers, moving a curl away from his cheek. The greenish tint of the loft window casts a weird shadow over Will's face.

"Hey yourself," Will murmurs back, winking.

Nico rolls his eyes. "You look like Apollo when you do that. Please stop." Will squawks in protest.

"I do not! Also, since when do you remember what Apollo looks like? Actually, no, don't answer that, you can't bring up my dad while we're in bed, Nico, why would you do this to me?"

Now it's Nico's turn to sputter and whack Will in the chest - getting another dramatic oof and a laugh in return - before turning around to face Hazel's bed. He's not sure when he'll ever be able to sleep facing the wall. Will can't do it either.

As Will's arms curl around his waist and draw him back against him, just like they did back in the infirmary that one day, he thinks maybe he'd be okay trying that with him sometime. One day, in a house with gates, no longer wary of monsters.

Will noses the back of his neck, causing him to twitch. "What is it?"

Will's answering smile presses through the rough cotton of his t-shirt. "Nothing, sunshine."

Nico frowns under the covers. "Hey, what do you think of houses with gates?" He whispers.

"Gates? Well, it'd be safer, I guess, but we'd lose the neighbours coming over -"

"As if you want to see random people at the door anyway. What if they're monsters?"

"Oh, come on, darlin', I'm from Austin. Of course I gotta keep space for the neighbours to come knocking."

"…Fences? Actually, hey, why'd you assume I was talking about us? Obviously - Obviously I was talking about random. Random houses. For architecture reasons."

Will muffles his laugh into the back of his neck, again. "Oh, my bad. And I'm only here because you ripped a stitch on the lava wall yesterday."

Nico feels his ears warm.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"..Still."

Will reels him in closer until his back hits his chest and he can press a soft peck to Nico's still-red ears. "I think a fence is a great idea, by the way. We could ask Hazel for help with some ward stones too, like you have in the cabin. Gotta make sure we've got at least one window and standing space in every direction, though, or at least in the east, because you know my dad would sulk if he didn't get to scream me awake in the morning."

Nico's blush gets worse.

"Now who's talking about your dad in bed?" He gives up on pretending. Will sees him through every time, anyway. "Also, shrines, obviously, and we need a spot to stargaze."

"Yeah, shrines, obviously. Maybe just yours, mine, and Lady Hestia's though, or else everyone else is gonna get pissy."

Nico barks out a laugh like it's shocked out of him. "Pissy? Don't let them hear you say that."

Will holds him tighter and settles against the pillows. "Sure thing, sunshine. Now can we sleep?"

"Yeah, yeah."

It's not long after that that Will's breath evens out behind him, his muscles untensing. Nico knows he's got a few minutes yet, so he thinks.

Today was…. good.

Today was nice. Normal, even. Just a day of camp schedules, working in the infirmary, an admittedly short campfire, and this. No monsters, and no mistakes. No deaths, but..

Unbidden, the moments in the infirmary come to mind. He thinks of helping Will scrub in for his one surgery of the day, a kid that had gotten parts of an arrow stuck in their leg a week ago and hadn't noticed til yesterday. He thinks of yesterday during capture-the-flag, stepping in and desperately trying to copy what he'd watched Will do, because Lydia was hanging crooked from a tree and there was no one else around but him-

He thinks of Patroclus tying the straps of Achilles' armour, watching his lover sleep peacefully. He thinks of what Connor had told him about at the campfire weeks ago, of Silena Beauregard taking on a drakon when Clarisse declared the Ares Cabin wouldn't be fighting.

He thinks he might understand.

Lydia wasn't the same (thank the gods), but if there was something to be done that only Will could do right, yet couldn't, and the only way Nico could take up his mantle would be to die trying - then, yeah. He'd do whatever it would take for these kids. To do what Will would do. He's gone to Tartarus already, hasn't he? At worst, he'd try his best and greet his father early if he failed to survive. Nico could even give Charon a tip on the way in for the hell of it, why not?

If there is a luxury that comes from being a child of Hades, after all, it is that dying is not the thing that scares him.

There's a brazier still lit outside the window. Its glow falls in slits across their bed.

Will grumbles, pushing his feet forward until their ankles are wound together. The sheets shift.

Nico smiles into the dark, into the chirping of crickets and the soft glow of the fireflies out the window, and falls asleep.

more for this fic:

scene 0 - prologue-ish scene 1 - the library of social awkwardness or here (or in my heart, 'kidney function is not a right, it's a privilege' lol)

general writing directory

also lmk if you want more lore. I am so down to talk about this fic + the worldbuilding ideas I have for it in the notes it is unreal

[bronzebluemind]

It’s been 0 weeks since the World Cup finale, 17 weeks to go until sgp and 34 weeks to go until next season.

[six-white-venus]

the worst trait of me and my family is probably this: we never learned to say the word sorry.

i) my best friend and i, we are no people. knives? maybe. liars? definitely. but people? i’m not so sure.

knives were never forged to be tender (what a shame, what a shame) and we too, fall and slay what we meant to protect. him and i, we go for the throat when we clash. we hurt and bleed and oh, i should be terrified, i should be running for my life, but all i am is tired and a bit lonely and would really like his arms around me.

( “can we please stop fighting now.”

“oh god yes please.”)

because time and time again, this man has held my heart in his hands and cleaned its festering wounds with cotton dipped in alcohol (always the healer, always the lover) and wrapped gauze around them with clinical precision. and i have walked through the maze of his head and tended to his withering garden, have dragged the sun and fresh air and all the oceans to the barren land to make it bloom (always the poet, always the lover).

him and i, we have never needed words because we are knives forged in the same fire and at the end of the day, we both know that he will be the one who wordlessly stitches my broken heart and i will be the one who sings him to sleep.

ii) let me paint you a picture:

blue that fades into red that fades into black that fades into blue that fades into red. loud, clashing and nonsensical. a pit in your stomach that was dug with desperation and blunt fingernails. how do you colour anger that is also pain, grief, hate, love, fear and truth? the smell of the paint is foul and clogs your windpipes. blunt fingernails and blue and black and madness. can you bear to look at what you created without flinching?

that’s what anger looks like on my father. a horror. a mottled bruise. a hellfire.

all his life, my father has been scorned, belittled, beaten, spat on. his mother didn’t love him right because her mother didn’t love her right. my dad loves like he hates. something is fucked in his head and heart and his words fade into black and blue and red and this shitshow always ends with me sobbing, bleeding, dying on the floor. my father watches with his hackles raised and his eyes red and wide and glowing. once wounded, an animal never sheathes its claws. it strikes the ones it loves and walks away with its head held high and hands trembling.

but here’s what happens when the curtains close: he pulls me into his arms and brings me tea. he wipes away my tears with hands that has moved mountains to make me smile. he kisses my forehead and tells me that his mom didn’t love him right. my grief is like anger and indignation and love. i wrap my arms around him and cry all the tears he never had the luxury to. who should say sorry, really? is it him or his mom or his mom’s mom or this stupid fucking world? my father has never said the word sorry. he never needed to. this is what love looks like on us. a horror. a mottled bruise. a hellfire.

iii) despite it all, i am not usually an angry person. i take after my father and my mother, after all. i rage like my mother (quick, loud, fire that burns out almost as quickly as it sparked to life) and fight like my father (aim, shoot, bullseye). my sister does something even mildly upsetting and before i know it, i’m cursing her to be miserable till she dies. not even an hour later i’m draping myself over her shoulder and bugging her till she rolls her eyes and smiles ever so slightly.

(“do you have no shame?”

“yeah no i don’t think so.”)

my family and i, we never learned to say the word sorry. because the word sorry never meant sorry, not to us. because at the end of the day, that’s all it is: a word. and it sticks to the back of my tongue and the dents of my molars and gets tangled in my mouth when i try to spit it out. so i grab it by its throat and thread it into my being. i find it so much easier to hide my pathetic inability to do one thing that doesn’t scream that there's something wrong with me with the truth of another three words:

“i love you”

and they are always echoed back to me, just a few million times more tender, in ways only we can understand.

“yeah, i know.”

“that’s great, but there’s no escaping dishes duty.”

“oh, shut up, you.”

“what’s that for?”

a pause and a hum.

“i love you too.”