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I'm surprised breastfeeding mother Gihun has not exploded in the AO3 tags...like he literally looks like the mother more than Junhee did after she gave birth. she didn't bat an eye and looks perfectly fine after while Gihun looks like he's going through postpartum hell.

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Back when I was 20 and taking the 5 hour train journey from uni to visit my family, I would sometimes read fanfiction to pass the time. But this was the time right before smartphones, and WiFi didn't really exist on trains yet (especially the shitty old express trains i had to take). So I would print out the fanfiction from fanfiction.net or something and read it off actual A4s. I honest to God had several sheets of paper with raunchy PWP on them.

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Sending hugs to all those who are going through a lot rn🫂🫶

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I acknowledge that I'm in a very privileged position compared to many other AV translators right now. I have a client that offers me steady work throughout the year, pays well and offers both support and constructive criticism. Not only that, one of my older clients from years ago reached out to me and asked if I would like to resume our collaboration (it ended when I became a parent and was too busy), and i was able to negotiate better rates. In comparison, a lot of other translators have no work at all for a myriad of reasons (AI, cost of living etc).

But I'm also stressed out and overwhelmed because my work calendar is too full, my house is a mess, I need to paint a large room in my house, and since I'm a mum, I'm everyone's go-to person in everything. Doesn't matter if it's the kid's school organising something, my MIL wanting to meet up or the cats needing feeding, they always come to me even though my husband is right there. He would love to pitch in but I'm everyone's first choice and it's exhausting.

Anyway, feeling sort of survivor's guilt about being exhausted from work when other people have no work.

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I'm Sorry - Gator Days

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what you think when you say hella: hella

what i think when you say hella: 

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honestly fucking fascinating that people will pretty universally understand that thin people can be naturally predisposed to thinness regardless of what they eat or their activity level, but that so many of the same people cannot possibly fathom that fat people could have similar dispositions or that there could be any factors more complex than a "lack of self control."

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Absolutely wild to me how sometimes you don't even realize the way you'd been taught to perceive things as a kid was kinda fucked up, actually, until decades later.

Example:

As a kid, I constantly lived in fear of damaging shit in my parent's house. The walls. The floors (especially the floors. The wood was beautiful. Shiny. But so easy to scratch). The cabinets.

As a sixteen-year-old, I once took my car to the dealership after work and paid a very dear sum of $250 ($10/hr cashier salary) to fix a slight scratch in the paint because I knew if my father saw it there would be hell to pay. It didn't matter that I parked far out, like I'd been taught, and someone scratched it anyway. It was my fault. I failed in my duties as a steward of my vehicle.

Every time I scratched a rim on a curb while parallel parking or got a door ding or, god forbid, didn't wash and vacuum that car every weekend, it was treated like some sort of moral failing.

Last year, when my husband and I first moved into our house, he scraped the side of our car when parking in our (Very Narrow) garage. When he told me, my first instinct was to be afraid for him. Like something terrible was going to happen to him because of this mistake. I urgently reassured him that it was okay, it was an accident, I wasn't mad. Baffled, he was like, "Yeah? I know? Like, thank you for the reassurance, but I'm only a little annoyed, I'm not upset. It's just a car." And I had to take several minutes to process that. It's...just a car.

We keep the car tidy. We maintain it. But we wash it maybe 4x a year. We only vacuum it after dirty road trips or when the dog hair starts to get annoying. It has scrapes and dings and the leather seats have stains. But that's ok. Because it's just a car.

This morning, I realized that a small rock had gotten embedded in the felt foot on one of our bar stools. Neither of us had noticed. There are now scratches on our beautiful hardwood floor. My immediate response was fear accompanied by a heavy measure of paralyzing guilt. "I'm so sorry," I told my husband, "I should have noticed. I'll figure out how to fix it, I swear. I can probably sand down that section and match the stain and--"

"Whoa, hey," he said. "It was an accident. And it's fine. Floors are going to get damaged. They're floors. We live here. There was damage in places before we even bought the house, remember? It's not a big deal. It's just a floor." Right. It's just a floor. Right.

My husband's mom is visiting and this afternoon, as I was sitting in the kitchen looking at the scratches on the floor, I offhandedly asked her if my husband had ever broken or damaged anything as a kid. "Of course," she said. Household items. A TV. A wrecked car during his teen years. I asked how she punished him.

"Why would I punish him for things like that?" she said. "They were all accidents."

Right. Of course. Right.

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Weather in the UK is crazy right now. Yesterday was 34 C and my weak Finnish ass was basically dying, and today its 23 C and a bit rainy, and I need my woolly socks and jumper to be comfortable.

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Techno visuals,

The chemical brothers concert https://x.com/gunsnrosesgirl3/status/1940353436610085134

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Every morning, Hank Hill wakes up and drinks a big glass of Respect Women juice