#i need to know who to blame

[hirazuki]

Okay, who is the brown-eyed character who is the reason behind literally all reddish-brown colored lenses being sold out rn? 😂

[graendoll]

Someone explain to me why modern romance seems to consist entirely of alternating first person POV chapters between the mains.

So help me God I was TRYING to branch out from my lovely fanfic safe space because I was hoping it would Kickstart the creative juices which have lain dormant for a year because of work stress the likes of which have me drafting a manuscript about a MURDER, and shitty first person POV is all I get??!

Does anyone get published in third person anymore? Am I going to have to give up my admittedly semi-delusional dreams of being a published author because of a POINT OF VIEW ISSUE??! I CAN'T WRITE LIKE THAT.

[inkskinned]

i'm still trying to piece together the truth of it. when you left, you said: feel free to spin this narrative however you want. i have no idea if you were being cruel or if you just genuinely don't remember what you've done to me.

it's hard because i'd done so much of the work for you. i had seen the parts that flaked off, the rust underneath. i started separating you into two people - the one i loved, and the one who hurt me. i had this fantasy version of you - my partner - and then i had this stranger, a third person who would show up randomly to shatter me. i am deliriously glad i'm no longer with "the stranger". i miss the gentle (unreal?) "other" you terribly.

at first, i was so strict about my boundaries. i remember telling you to get the fuck out of my house if you were going to talk to me like that. by the end: i would justify your behavior for you, accepting even your mistreatment as "my fault" in the grand scheme. i look back on the person i was before you - smart, independent, confident - and i feel a strange sense of detachment. i don't even recognize me.

even in one of our last conversations, you said: if you want a partner that always talks warmly to you, find someone else. there was a time that a comment like that would have made me leave. and instead, somehow, i just placidly accepted that kind of thing. you were literally telling me that i wasn't allowed to have a reaction to your cruelty - and i just took it, because you'd so fully turned things around on me.

when people are faced with irrationality, a rational brain tries to make sense of it. this is the trap. they're lovely in the morning, gentle and blue-eyed and sweet. like nothing even happened, they breeze around the house and kiss you on the mouth. but at night; who is that? they snap almost randomly; flying into an impotent rage about just-about-anything. it just doesn't make sense. so the problem must be me, and my brain, and how i think.

the traumatized brain just wants peace. so maybe i'm misremembering. maybe you were just having a bad day. maybe it's actually me.

you eventually would fully turn on me and start implying that i am the bad actor in our relationship. that's what happens, right? that's literally in the playbook. you went to therapy for all of a month, told her a half-truth, co-opted therapyspeak. you figured out how to reframe your actions as "seeking peace." any time i stood my ground, i was "gaslighting." when i asked you to be more gentle, you said i was "tone policing." you said, randomly, i had emotionally manipulated you - i still have no idea what that's even specifically referring to. maybe my consistent requests for calmness and empathy?

and while i literally know better, and i'm sitting here, trained by you, thinking: wait, fuck. was i actually the person you made me out to be?

and the thing that scares me is that i literally do not know if you ever actually saw what you were doing to me. when you'd tell me how you remember arguments, you'd always summarize them in a way where you come off as gentle and easy: "i was trying to set an important boundary." what had actually happened was 15 minutes of you shouting at me i know you did something shady, just admit it already. eventually you'd say my reaction to your shouting (when i finally reacted, which usually happened around hour three) was inevitably "disappointing" and "another way i'm silencing your feelings."

how many times did i ask you - beg you - to just take accountability? looking back, i don't think i ever heard you say: you're right. the way i talked to you was wrong of me.

i am trying to tie together the two people into a full version of you in my head. yes, you made my coffee and made me laugh and spent hours on the phone with me. and yes - you would scream at me until i had to run away and hide behind something.

i wish i did have a narrative i could pull out and shape to my whim. i wish i did have some semblance of reality. instead i just stand here, strange and vibrating, wondering: what the fuck just happened?

[taradactyls]

It's thinking about Darcy desperately yearning running into Elizabeth at Pemberley hours.

Like, you fell in love with this woman, but rationally (pridefully) you though it wasn't something you should pursue. But you can't forget her, and then she's at Rosings... and the more you see her - with her wit, her eyes, the liveliness of her mind - the more she undoes every expectation of who you should marry that you'd ever had. You prolong your trip to see more of her, you start imagining what it will be like married to her and unwisely after only seeing her again for a week begin asking how she'd feel living far away from Longbourn, and even hint things like she'd be staying at Rosings next time she visits Kent.

It's too much. You're feeling too much.

She's due to visit for tea the night before you take leave, and an evening gives far more opportunity for privacy and conversation than sitting in Mrs Collins' drawing room for half an hour the next day.

But she doesn't come, she's feeling ill, and you won't see her. If you don't make an effort, you might never see her again. It's not like Bingley will be going back to Netherfield anytime soon, after all.

You bail on the evening and go check if she's ok.

It's late, but you have to see her.

She's not super friendly when answering your questions about whether she's feeling better, yet that's to be expected when someone has a headache. But she's there, sitting with you quietly, and then you're so agitated that you begin pacing.

It's inescapable. You love her too much.

You'll marry her, and deal with all the impropriety of her family's connections and behaviour. She's worth it.

Because of course she'll say yes. You've been so open that she must be expecting your addresses. It doesn't occur to you that you're wrong to assume she's wishing for it.

Then she rejects you.

And she doesn't only reject you: she shatters your entire perception of self. Not immediately - oh, she creates a large crack, but it takes some time for you to do justice to her words. But they linger, inescapably.

"Had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner."

You're bitter, and angry, and hurt, and offended, and the sense of doubt isn't going away. But there is one thing you can do, that you have to do.

You write her a letter to explain yourself against the accusations she levied your way - some unjust, but others will eventually gnaw at you until you're forced to face them and stare directly at all the faults you didn't know you had.

You know it won't make her accept you.

The turn of her countenance you'll never forget, as she said that you could not have addressed her in any possible way that would induce her to accept you.

But you need to write the letter: to explain, to warn, and maybe - just maybe - make her think a little better of you.

If she even gives credit to anything you say.

She thinks so little of you she might dismiss your arguments and only hate you more for what you said of her family.

God, you basically insulted her family again in the letter. With an apology, yes, and as an explanation, but you knew at the time that those comments and what you divulged of Wickham would give her pain. But it's necessary. You still believe that, even as time goes on and you begin to wonder if all it achieved was making her hate you more.

The last time you saw her was as you handed her that letter.

She hadn't spoken.

You weren't yet master of your emotions enough to see her and be friendly, the best you could do was try be composed.

If only you'd been truly as calm and composed as you thought you were when you wrote that letter. You can see now that you wrote in a dreadful bitterness of spirit. There were some expressions you used, the opening of it, which alone would be enough to justify her hate. Though, despite your emotions, you never doubted for a moment in her goodness - never doubted that she won't spread around what you divulged of your sister.

She hates you, but all the reasons you love her are still there.

That's something that doesn't change as you slowly unravel the flaws her reproofs revealed to you and you try to become the person you always thought you were. So many behaviours, and the emotions that governed them, were not what they ought to be. Your principles were always good but you followed them in pride and conceit.

You were blind until she cut you to the quick. Opened your eyes to yourself and taught you such a hard lesson - but it was for the best. She properly humbled you and taught you how insufficient all your pretensions were to please a woman worthy of being pleased. Even if you never see her again you will be worthy of the title gentleman.

You will work to become the person you want to be.

Her rejection doesn't hurt so much as the knowledge that she was right and you failed yourself and so many others. Any anger or blame you felt for her words when refusing your hand are long since passed. If she had been able to overlook those flaws she wouldn't have been the woman you love.

The more you reflect and seek to rectify your behaviour the clearer it all becomes. In trying to understand yourself you realise that so many of these flaws have existed almost your whole life. And yet, despite how obvious it now seems, you had no idea.

Though your parents were good themselves they spoilt you - first as an only child, then as an only son - and you grew selfish and overbearing, caring only for your small family circle. Thinking meanly of the rest of the world, wanting to think meanly of their sense and worth compared to your own.

You owe the world so much better.

Your position, far from giving you leave to treat others as inconsequential, means you have a duty to think of others and ensure they are not wronged. Yes, you've done that broadly - especially on your estate, and always with servants and the poor - but what of in smaller ways, to those closer to your own rank? Have you directly treated them with civility and respect?

You know the answer now, but you're doing your best to fix it.

For almost four months, you ruminate on her words and turn yourself into a gentleman you can respect. Someone worthy of the respect you've so rarely had to actually earn. Someone who might've been worthy of her respect from the beginning.

You've never stopped loving her.

Almost four months, and you're not sure if you'll ever see her again.

You certainly weren't expecting to leave the stables after arriving at Pemberley and find her standing in front of your house.

Your eyes meet.

You freeze in place.

Four months of distance and then twenty yards away from each other.

She's blushing (so are you).

Your brain is too surprised to work.

She's here.

She's here and you're just standing there.

You have to go to her. Even if you didn't still love her, it's the polite and friendly thing to. (But you do still love her, and so her presence is a physical weight in your chest that you could scarce resist).

She had turned away briefly, but turns back when you approach.

You hardly know what you say, she hardly raises her eyes to meet yours, but you hear her voice, and she doesn't sound annoyed when she answers that her family is well.

Honestly, despite how discomposed you are by seeing her without time to prepare, your instinct is to stay by her. Even if it means speaking like a fool. You're pretty sure you ask her when she started travelling and how long she's been in Derbyshire at least thrice. But you start to recollect yourself, breathing a little more evenly, and run out of things to say. Remembering that she's here with friends and you've just come from the road, you take your leave.

Your thoughts stay with her though.

She was still just as lovely as ever. More civil to you than you have any claim to.

Your housekeeper says a gentleman and two ladies were taking a tour of the house, and have now gone with the gardener to see the accustomed part of the park. You know the place.

As your valet helps you change your thoughts solidify: you can meet them, and, through every civility in your power, show her that you aren't resentful of the past.

She's so close, and you can't lose this chance to perhaps obtain her forgiveness, lessen her ill opinion, by showing that her reproofs have been attended to.

And, maybe, you're just desperate for any excuse to see her.

By now, you've been in love with her for more than eight months, despite trying, really trying, to forget her both when you left Hertfordshire and Kent. It's pointless, either you'll recover in time or you'll spend the rest of your life in love with her. At this point you don't even want to fight it. Despite the pain of her not feeling the same way, she did you the greatest good anyone could, by showing you who you really were. You improved yourself because you should, without any expectation of seeing her again, but one thing that you can't alter about yourself is your love for her.

Right now, what matters is being near her and showing her you can be a real gentleman.

So, you follow her and her companions to the stream.

She speaks first this time. Putting herself forward to be friendly and polite. Proof, surely, that she doesn't hate you so much anymore? She's almost her usual smiling self, though she goes red and silent while admiring Pemberley's beauty.

You can understand why - you had determined to not ask whether she liked your home in case it sounded like you were wondering whether she regretted rejecting you and thus Pemberley. You know she didn't mean anything by her praise (and she'd known you were rich when she turned you down) but you understand her sudden embarrassment.

Although... when did she start caring that you might misunderstand her and think badly of her? She didn't care the last time you met.

But that's not important now. It's for you to ease the conversation and prove yourself. So you change the subject, and ask her to do the honour of introducing you to her friends.

Her surprise is obvious, and fair. Seeking the acquaintance of strangers, even respectable-looking ones, just wasn't something you used to do regardless of what the well-bred and civil action was.

And what does it say about you - with all your newfound respect and civility - that you're still surprised when the fashionable couple she's with turn out to be the very aunt and uncle you'd previously declared would be a disgraceful connection. You recognised you were wrong to be so dismissive, so rude, but the core assumption that the tradesman brother of Mrs Bennet and his wife must be noticeably vulgar had clearly remained. Yet here they were, everything elegant and well-bred.

How right Elizabeth had been about you.

But now you can show her that was the past, and your manners are improved and prejudices lessened.

You walk back with them, talking to the uncle, who has intelligence, taste, and sense. You like him a surprising amount. He points out trout in the water, and you're glad to invite him to fish here while they stay in the area. You have all the supplies he might need, and know the best spots. As you speak with him your attention is only half distracted by who walks behind you at a short distance.

Hopefully her uncle's happiness makes her happy also.

You have the chance to see, when the walking arrangements change and then she's the one walking beside you.

Honestly, you're not immediately sure what to say, but again, she speaks first.

Yes, she almost certainly doesn't hate you anymore.

Her explanation that she'd been assured of your absence before visiting sounds more like she doesn't want you to think her rude, than expressing disappointment that you are here.

Yes, whatever her past insults, she definitely cares that you don't think badly of her...

As though you ever could.

In mentioning why you returned a day early you mention who you're with, and too late saying Bingley's name reminds you that the last time you two spoke of him was when she (rightfully) blamed you for separating Bingley and her sister.

That silences you for a moment - but she doesn't respond with anger.

Composing yourself, you ask if your sister might be introduced to her. You've spoken of Elizabeth so highly to Georgiana, and so often, that your sister would love to meet her. You don't need to ask - your sister is the social superior, her wishing for the acquaintance is strictly enough for the introduction to be made - but you want to. You mean it, when you ask Elizabeth whether you're asking too much by facilitating the introduction. You want her to have the chance to say no.

But she says yes.

(Even sounding pleased about it, though surprised.)

Which is also a yes to seeing you again during her stay at Lambton. Renewing your acquaintance, despite everything.

The happiness, however irrational, this creates cannot be quelled.

You love her too dearly to not appreciate every fragile overture and sign that she must no longer think you so bad. The letter - your own improved civility - one or both has done away with her dislike.

Replaced it with... well, anything other than dislike is a place to begin.

This time the silence stretches as you walk; she, perhaps, just as lost in thought as yourself.

You could get used to walking around Pemberley with her.

A dangerous thought.

You scarce know what to say as you wait by the carriage for her aunt and uncle to catch up, after she declared herself not tired when you asked if she wanted to come into the house. But, again, she makes the effort to talk to you. You've never spoken of Matlock or Dovedale so persistently, but you want to keep talking to her - hearing her voice - receiving her smiles - for every moment that you can steal.

Four months apart and then the first day seeing her again your heart loves her more than ever before.

And she no longer hates you.

You would have them all come inside, take refreshment, stay, please stay a little longer, but they felt it was time to return to the inn. They're leaving, but you've already organised to bring your sister to see her the day after tomorrow, so it's only a short parting.

Not another four months.

You hand her aunt up into the carriage - and then Elizabeth.

Who is dearest and loveliest to you still, though you might never be able to say those words to her.

You're so aware of feeling her hand in yours, though gloved; the weight and warmth of it. The brief tightening of her fingers on yours as she takes the step up, leaving you bereft when she lets go.

You don't watch them drive away, though you feel her absence palpably as you slowly walk back to the house.

But it's only two days - two days before you'll see her again.

And they're staying for a little while.

All of it is more chances to show her the person you are now. Both the good qualities you never properly revealed before, and the newer ones deliberately acquired to remedy the errors she revealed. Show her you're a man she might admire.

Perhaps a man she might one day be able to love.

It's almost embarrassing, to admit how quickly that wish introduced itself after seeing Elizabeth again.

It probably took under half an hour after you saw her again.

[lightgamble]

DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN | 1.09

You couldn't call me?

[achingly-shy]

kat's five-star agents of shield episodes (1/?) + @goosecoven’s may art event: get to know you night 🪿

"pasty? oh, really? well, when did you become so sun-kissed? because i'm pretty sure that every minute of every day, you've been stuck in a lab right beside me. at the academy, at sci-ops, this plane — you've been beside me the whole damn time!"

[bandzboy]

saying shit like “it’s on you women for stanning boy groups” is not helping and you are putting blame on women who had NO IDEA that this man was awful how are they supposed to know??

[mishiami]

good morning tetro community

@jubileedeeznuts-posting dragged me into this because he's a dastardly awful terrible unforgivable wretch and i HATE her

[tagarilaghost]

I SWEAR CELEBI'S THINGY IS COMING SOON BUT I REALLY WANTED TO POST THIS ALRIGHT

yeaah... future trio got me too...

and Darkrai is there too, because of course he is.

hey look i drew a cute Drifloon :D

...ignore the rest

whatever started at Darkrai doodles ended in brainrot of future trio + darkrai and I'm blaming @scribz-ag24 for this

[dayurno]

robin cross and kevin day parallels actually go so crazy. they both spent their formative years in a basement underground with exy-obsessed captors. they both saw exy as freedom. they both were isolated even within the foxes’ group of outcasts. they were both under andrew’s protection. it cost kevin jean to leave the nest and it cost robin another girl’s life to escape her kidnapper. robin carried her racquet with her to self-soothe and kevin restrings the net of his when he’s anxious. they’re even bird coded

[chrollohearttags]

am I very much new to kpop? yes. am I absolutely going to go see ateez next month? also yes.

[sassypantsjaxon]

Underrated zosan: Zoro being annoyed with Viola for taking Sanji

[wren-kitchens]

i can’t find the words

1492 words

the infirmary is silent, save for the raspy breathing of its only inhabitant. it took a long while for him to ignore the pain enough to drift off, but I doubt his dreams are being particularly kind to him; getting tortured does that to a guy. apollo left after he was certain he had done all he could, and is currently resting. if you think harming a god like that takes a lot of power, healing a god tends to take twice that much —you can’t pour from an empty oinochoe, as they say, and if poseidon's sorry state is anything to go by, he'll be needed again pretty soon. 

okay this one is pretty much entirely based on @neal-illustrator's famtheon hkfdj this is also partly inspired by luke Sobbing in the live-streamed watchthrough of the ithica saga songs

have some zeus & poseidon hurt/comfort 👍 a part 2 to this!

cw: mentions of torture and injury!

the infirmary is silent, save for the raspy breathing of its only inhabitant. it took a long while for him to ignore the pain enough to drift off, but I doubt his dreams are being particularly kind to him; getting tortured does that to a guy. apollo left after he was certain he had done all he could, and is currently resting. if you think harming a god like that takes a lot of power, healing a god tends to take twice that much —you can’t pour from an empty oinochoe, as they say, and if poseidon's sorry state is anything to go by, he'll be needed again pretty soon. 

of course, all of olympus has heard the news—courtesy of hermes, to no one's surprise—and yet even the trickster god himself has not set foot in the healing chambers. if you ask me (and really, who else is there to ask?), they’re all rather frightened. not of poseidon himself, or the injuries, but of what the two combined represent: if the god of the ocean, all-powerful and second strongest deity in all the land, can be taken down by a mere mortal.. what does that say for the rest of them? 

no one other than I actually dare to voice this sentiment, but it hangs heavy in the air near the silent infirmary. the area is usually less bustling, due to its solemn nature, but athena's brief visit after her.. little spat with zeus brought flocks of siblings and uncles and cousins to simper and sympathise and bring flowers of every kind. after all, a god wounding another is hardly an uncommon sight—and not even remotely cause for concern. now, poseidon's chamber remains empty of any signs of life other than the god himself in the bed, and smears of golden ichor on the bedsheets from what his bandages could not contain. a grim sight indeed.

although- I tell a lie. for the first time since poseidon arrived, someone other than apollo enters the chamber—uncharacteristically hesitant, almost walking back out as they feel the crushing silence in the place. the god carries an almost amusingly small flower when compared to their size, but the expression on their face erases any hilarity the situation may have created. after all, it's one thing to hear the god of the ocean was struck down by a mortal—it's another matter entirely to see your elder brother near-lifeless after being tortured with his own weapon. 

the fact that his brother remains asleep is both a source of anxiety and relief for zeus. it's not news to anyone that the king of gods does not like to show weakness, let alone affection, and poseidon's lack of consciousness combined with the rest of the pantheon's aversion to the infirmary allows for him to act unobserved (of course, they are not entirely unobserved, but they are unaware of my existence, dear reader). on the other hand.. the empty look on the sleeping ocean god's face, accompanied by the ichor-stained bandages across his torso and eye brings a mortifying dread to zeus' heart that he would vehemently deny ever experiencing, even to himself.

poseidon stirs, muttering something inaudible, and zeus practically freezes in place. he makes to turn over, and immediately groans in pain, startling awake. it takes a second for him to regain his bearings, but when he does, he practically stares at zeus, visibly surprised. momentarily, the brothers gape at one another, both feeling somewhat caught out, before finally, zeus speaks. 

"I- brother!" he says, making an attempt at his usual bravado and falling ever so slightly short. "I see you are- making a speedy recovery?"

blinking back sleep and lasting confusion, poseidon clears his throat- and suppresses a wince as his wounds protest. "yes, I- apollo has been doing.. good work."

"I can see." zeus tries for a confident smile. it doesn't quite reach his eyes as it typically does. "that- the colour of your skin is.. coming back, I believe."  

"oh." poseidon raises a hand, glancing at the back of it. "I suppose- yes, it is." he looks back at zeus. "brother.. what are you doing here?"

zeus scoffs. "what- I cannot visit you when you are ill?" he says, hoping he sounds more flippant than he suspects he does. "am I not typically kind?"

poseidon decides not to answer the second question. "it's simply out of the ordinary for you." he says cautiously, on instinct. "besides, do you see another soul here?"

"you need rest!" zeus says, as if it was meant to be obvious. "it would be rude to interrupt-"

"zeus," poseidon says, and zeus stops in his tracks. "why are you here?" 

zeus opens his mouth to say something along the lines of 'it's my duty', or 'do you think me so heartless?', but nothing of the sort comes out. in fact- nothing comes out at all, to both his and poseidon's surprise, other than a painfully quiet exhale, containing far more emotion than he ever wants to express in his life again. something shifts in poseidon's expression, as if he understood what that meant, and zeus is about to blast them both into ash when poseidon reaches a hand out. 

"brother, I will be fine." he says, and it suddenly occurs to zeus that he's offering to hold his hand. without his say, zeus' eyes dart to poseidon's amputated arm, something seizing in his chest in a way that has not occurred in centuries. "if kro-"

"I know." zeus says before poseidon can continue, like he can dispel the realisations from the two of them if he just talks loud enough. "you shall make a full recovery. apollo is an excellent healer- he is my son, of course." 

"yes." poseidon says, dropping his hand. zeus can’t help but feel as if he’s lost something. "but I will not let that mortal wipe me off this earth." he says, with a bite of malice in his words that suggest he’s being a little more truthful than he probably should be. "I will not give him the satisfaction." he looks at zeus. "just as I did not give our grandfather the satisfaction. I have dealt with worse."

"must you-" zeus starts with the intention of criticising his brother, when his voice fails him as it has never done before. "must you say that?"

poseidon gives a little smile. "brother, it has been millennia. you cannot fault me-"

"you did not have to watch." zeus hates this—the way his voice betrays him, the sympathy in poseidon's eyes, the memories his injuries bring to the surface of his mind. hating it does not make it disappear, no matter how much he wished it would. "both times- I had to watch. I cannot- I will not let you leave once again."

poseidon raises his hand, and this time zeus does not hesitate in taking it, desperately trying to convince himself it is for poseidon's comfort, rather than his own. "I have no intentions of leaving. you are king of the gods."

"in which case, I order you to remain." zeus says, and he feels just as he did all those years ago—playing make believe with his brother, imagining what life would be like if they were on top. "you cannot disobey a royal order."

"I would not dare." poseidon says in that mock solemn voice zeus remembers all too well. he finds that his throat is suddenly tight at the memory. "the all-powerful zeus could strike me down if he so wish-"

zeus decides not to remember what he does next. he does not recall how he ended up with his arms around his brother, nor does he recall blaming the dampness on his face on poseidon's hair. he most certainly has no memory of the way poseidon's embrace felt so painfully similar to how it used to, and it'd be impossible to say if his brother muttered comforting words into zeus' hair as he once did. 

poseidon remembers, though. the gentleness that was so clearly out of zeus' nature as he did his best to avoid upsetting his tender wounds, the familiarity of his brother in arms mixed with how bizarre it felt to be equal in size after centuries of memories of his baby brother. he remembers feeling silently grateful for zeus' sobs masking his own, for odysseus—somehow—landing them both in this situation, and he certainly will not forget the whispered 'I think I missed this,' for a thousand lifetimes. 

[hauntedtacocalzoneshepherd]

I really want a parallel to that one scene in CC where Yaz loses her balance on the train tracks while they are fighting Toro and Sammy catches her and it's like a whole silent forgiveness scene. Oh and if it's not too much I'd also love if they mentioned the orange orange and orange thing or a gyrosphere parallel.

[devils-yui]

Rewatching TFA, for the hundredth time in a row, and I've got to say. I used to think Sari was, kind of annoying, during my first initial watch and sometimes. The things she does makes me go wide-eyed and gripping at the screen going, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?"

But then now, as I'm rewatching it hundreds of times over. I have to physically remind myself that she is a child.

And not only that, but she was a child that was BARELY raised properly. She didn't have other children to socialize around, she had a robot teacher, a robot dog companion, and her occasionally in her life father who was busy manufacturing robots, entertaining the ideas of tours and etcetera.

So maybe, yes. I can definitely understand why she does rash things, and act the way she does. I understand why she's seen as a social outcast amongst other groups of kids (like in the show, ON HER BIRTHDAY).

And I'm not as mad as her, as anybody should be for a child who was raised/taught the wrong things or having not been taught at all.

However...

THIS GUY.

IS A WHOLE 'NOTHER CASE.

I JUST WANNA-

[theinfinitedivides]

'masoom dil hai mera, isse tod diya jaaye… hayeeee, masoom dil hai mera, isse tod diya jaaye, rishta ghamon se mera… haye raam, rishta ghamon se mera, ab jod diya jaaye, jod diya jaaye...' — masoom dil hai mera | heeramandi, 2024, dir. sanjay leela bhansali.