The Corinthian holding Daniel in a baby carrier strapped to his chest while he goes about his nightmare business because he might be babysitting but he's still got to work—
Stalking towards a Dreamer with his knife drawn, smiling like the sexy little threat he is:
Daniel: Bah!
The Dreamer:
The Corinthian:
The Corinthian: ok let’s skip the foreplay i’m gonna cut out your eyes now
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*ೃ༄ addictive personality! eugene headcanons *ೃ༄
tw dark content: symptoms of addiction, drug use, alcohol use, hypersexuality, dubcon, poor diet control
[if you experience symptoms of addiction, please seek help from a professional. and maybe don't read.]
this stems from eugene's presumed childhood abuse/trauma. it resulted in loneliness, boredom, and a need for entertainment and satisfaction.
he had unsupervised access to the internet, and you can imagine how that turned out. eugene grows up slightly more perverted than his peers.
he also lost his first kiss and his first time because gyeoul was feeling frisky. kissing became his new favorite hobby.
when he first started workers, he got curious. curious why vivi was a drug addict, why people go to clubs and drink alcohol, why they sleep together.
little eugene decides to give alcohol a taste. soon, he can't go to bed without at least a glass or two. he has money and connections in spades, so he tries a bit of lsd as well. he could lay in bed and stare at the tv and never get bored.
he has a personal servant in his home, ready to give him anything he could possibly want. eugene's favorite thing to do is drink a little, take some kind of drug, maybe even an aphrodisiac, and get to bed with his servant. if he's not sleeping peacefully after cleaning up, he is scrolling through his phone for a few hours. his servant comforts him and tells him not to be ashamed and that he's here to take care of him.
his addictive personality bleeds out into every aspect of his life. he loves chatting on and on with his favorite people; texting all day without getting tired; constantly checking his phone for responses; watching tv and scrolling on his phone for hours at a time; even his diet is indulgent, nothing stops him from eating his favorite foods day in and day out.
eugene tries to fight his inclinations because, deep down, he knows it's not healthy or appropriate for a chairman. but he always gives in. why fight it when he can stay fed, fucked, and happy forever?
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not to be a downer but I am suuuuuuper worried that because Hunter is going through it and is pissed he's going to say something to Echo blaming him for what happened to Tech.
I am not prepared for that kind of pain.
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succession endgame prediction:
tomgreg happens, but it turns out shiv is pregnant and tomshiv gets back together. greg plays mistress. logan passes the company to tom because he’s officially blood related to the family now, and there’s a next generation heir. kendall commits suicide. roman escapes the business world and has wild gay sex.
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might sound insane for this but after the lightning and the shooting and all that i really want a buddie love confession after a near death experience. maybe one they’re both experiencing so its even lol
I don't want a love confession post near death experience mostly because of Buck and the way he acts as if he only deserves love if he's hurt thing that they established there because of his parents, but honestly, using both of them almost dying as a trigger is extremely plausible. Give them a tomorrow is not promised to anyone moment where they just snap. I can see it happening, considering the way nothing even goes their way.
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Okay so since the Ramona brainrot is strong rn I’ve calculated the scientific amount of kids these two would have.
So I’m going with the assumption that mona is closest to a komono dragon and that Raph would be a species of box turtle.
So box turtles will have a clutch ranging from 3-8, that’s an average of 5.5 eggs per clutch.
Komono dragons lay anywhere between 20-30 eggs in a clutch, that’s an average of 25. (If we ignore the fact that salamanders often Cannibalise their own young, but since both Mona and Raph are mutants with high intelligence I’m going to assume that Mona will not stress snack her own kids)
If we calculate the average between 5.5 and 25, we get 15.25 eggs, if the average clutch number for both species mixed perfectly.
So when Raph and Mona have kids, nothing goes wrong that would result in infanticide, they would have 15 kids.
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((Thinking about what if Taski uses her companions like pikmin.. Like she just throws them at someone she hates and they start beating them.
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okay seriously fr I WILL be his gf in the future, we’re no contact right now, but I can seriously feel it in my bones!!!
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the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again
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this manatee looks like it’s in a skyrim loading screen
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noticed a dip in posts about palestine on my dash, so i think it deserves to be said again: palestine is not a trend. caring about genocide is not a trend. there are still reports about humanitarian aid trucks intentionally blocked off from gaza, meaning so many fucking gazans, a big portion of them children, are just bleeding out with no help. it just came out recently that israelis disguised as women and medics infiltrated a west bank hospital, at which point they killed 3 palestinians (whom they claim were militants. right). these people are living day to day without even the most basic utilities. anyone who claims to have “activism fatigue” needs to question why they’re so severely lacking in the most basic forms of compassion. you don’t get to just grow bored of talking about palestine. please never stop calling attention to the genocide happening full force in front of us.
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ep 4 of the show was actually craaaazy imagine athena getting downright embarrassed in at the weekly family mail opening meeting because your 12 year old daughter was an accomplice in playing the biggest screw you to the gods in forever and then there's poseidon whose son was the one who CAME UP w the idea and he's like my parenting MY parenting im so proud of him. im going to help him on his quest right now actually. why is he falling.
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the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.
three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.
two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.
their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.
one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.
i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.
i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.
and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?
you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.
a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.
someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.
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Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".
Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"
And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".
Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.
At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.
So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!
Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!
Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!
Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.
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