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sohnric · 5 months

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BELOVED — E. SOHN

pairing: eric sohn x fem! reader

genre: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers. angst, fluff. the tiniest bit of swimmer! eric for some reason. wrote this in a moment of weakness handle with care!! :~)

word count: 2.4k

warnings: reader is said to be red in the face from the cold (alludes to specific skin color - im sorry i wrote this for me only and yall just get to read it), swearing, insecurity and jealousy, unspecified mental illness (?)

a/n: once again thank you to @csenke for beta reading and encouraging me to post this :p and also for existing. ily <3 btw swimmer eric is such a concept it gave us both whiplash maybe i need to revisit this in a full fic....

The coldness of the crisp evening makes you sniffle, your bones freezing and fingers going numb even in the comfort of your coat pockets. Your brain is full of thoughts fighting amongst each other, running around and hitting the corners of your head, slowly causing you an annoying migraine. You now regret not taking your headphones with you, because the music could help you drown out the noise of your inner voice, but the you from an hour ago that decided to go on a walk to clear your head had other plans for you, so you now have to suffer the stream of your thoughts instead. The stream is so loud you swear you can hear it resonating through the silent campus, but you know that’s a foolish thought, so you fight it away with a bitter chuckle.

Eyes zeroing on the orange fluorescent lights coming from inside of the building you’re standing in front of, you start feeling a little silly for coming here. It’s not like you think you’d be sent away, but there’s also that little bugging voice inside of your brain that keeps reminding you that you weren’t invited. Your feet have dragged you here without your consent or order. One moment, you were walking down the river, shuddering from the cold, and the other, you found yourself in front of the pool– as if the tugging of your heart was stronger than your own brain, stronger than your own thoughts.

Sometimes you feel bad for taking it all out on him. At least that’s what you suppose you’re doing– with your annoyed remarks whenever he checks in on you, with your sighs whenever he asks what’s wrong. It’s not like he’s incorrect with his suspicions– he always somehow knows you’re in a bad mood, no matter how hard you try to mask it– you just don’t often feel like discussing the matter with him. Or anyone, really. Sometimes, you feel bad for pushing him away or not texting him back. Sometimes you feel truly shitty for the fact that you can’t open up to him, no matter how hard you try.

And sometimes, you just truly think that he wouldn’t care. It’s weird how your mind works– someone could spend so much time with you, making memories together and laughing at your jokes, yet, your mind could convince you that they don’t really like you at all in the first place. That this is some sort of a game they’re playing, trying to see how long you can stay convinced that they enjoy your presence in their life before you notice and they step away. You don’t even know where this conviction is coming from. If you knew, maybe you could fix it. If you could locate it, you’d try to delete the flawed code from your system.

Sometimes, you think he doesn’t care about how you are, what you’re doing, what you think. It has nothing to do with the way he treats you; more so with the anxiety nibbling at the corners of your brain whenever he talks to anyone else– with the constant fear of being replaced, of having him find someone better, someone less difficult to be friends with. In its full essence, the image is terrifying. You think your world would crumble if you lost another person in your life.

More so, you think your world would crumble if you lost him. You recognize that there’s a constant desire in the depths of your heart to be someone’s favorite– his favorite– to be the person someone would choose in a room full of people. To be the one they walk up to first with a smile and their arms wide open.

And it’s silly. You’re his best friend. He tells you so every day. It’s the way you’re introduced to everyone out of his circle that you meet on parties or at campus.

Admittedly, you like hearing him say it. Best friend– the title shows you’re the best at something: at being his companion, at making him laugh, at being there for him, whatever it is that you do to earn that sticker. The title shows that you’re somebody’s favorite– his favorite– and it makes you deeply satisfied with yourself. It makes you proud, even.

Some days, you still have a hard time believing it, though. Some days, you still feel stranded. Lonely. Isolated. It’s weird.

Somehow, your heart, your feet and the unconscious part of your brain took you right where you knew you’d find him. You didn’t choose to go here– if you realized you were nearing the building, you would’ve even tried to stop yourself– and as you contemplate turning on your heel and going back home, hell, you even take the first step away from the pools, the sound of the main door opening and his voice calling for you makes you halt in your movements, gluing you to the pavement.

Sometimes, the heart knows what it needs even before you get a chance to register it.

“Y/N! How long have you been standing there?” he calls after you, making you bite down on your lower lip. There’s no escaping him now– you guess it’s for the better, though.

Turning towards him, a guilty look spreading over your features, you shrug. “Not long.”

“It’s freezing out here! Why didn’t you come inside?” he asks, a wrinkle forming in between his eyebrows as he walks closer to you, his friends from the swim team patting his back and saying their goodbyes to the two of you as they pass the commotion on their way out.

“I didn’t want to intrude your practice,” you peep, sniffling a little from the cold.

“Gosh, you always do this,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. He almost looks mad at you, and by the way he raises his voice and throws his arms in the air in frustration, you think you’re correct with assuming he might be. “I texted you the whole day! Hell, I called, even though I know how much you hate phone calls. And I get that you probably didn’t feel like talking, but a simple ‘I'm okay, don’t worry’ text would’ve been nice!”

Dragging his hand through his hair in defeat, he shakes his head at you. “Besides, you can’t just keep shutting me off every time you are having a hard time, for god’s sake! Not only do I worry, but I hate seeing you suffer all alone.”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you listen patiently to his lecture. You know he’s right– he almost always is, because the rational side of your brain ceases to exist every time your insecurities fail you– so there’s really no aim in trying to argue or fight with him.

Eric sighs as he steps even closer to you, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder before he reaches for the hood of your jacket and puts it over your head. “You could’ve texted me you were here, I’d leave practice early for you,” he says, voice now softer as he stands in front of you, not really wanting to scream straight into your face.

You shrug in response, not really knowing what to say. Telling him you contemplated leaving just seconds before he found you here would make him even more mad with you, so you choose to gloss over that fact. Besides, it’s kind of comforting, the way his words work. The way his presence calms you, makes the screaming match of your thoughts drown out with his firm comments and scolding remarks. His words, although full of frustration, make your insides warm up and your muscles relax, like you’re coming undone.

His face shows concern. His actions speak even louder than his words when he tugs the sides of your hood closer together at your neck, the hole for your head previously exposing your bare skin and making you shiver. “Couldn’t you dress more warmly? Do you want to catch a cold?” he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. “You scutter here all unannounced, wearing close to nothing, and expect me to not be frustrated with you?”

You study his expression for a while. It’s not often you get to see Eric from so up close, but even in the darkness of the evening, you recognise the familiarity of his close-to-flawless features. Anchoring yourself into his gaze for a second, you move to study the sculpture of his cheekbones, the furrowed nature of his brows, the slope of his cupid’s bone. His hair falls into his eyes, making you instinctively drag your hand up and move his bangs out of the way, having the male wince at the contact of your fingers with his skin. “Hell, your hands are cold! You didn’t even take gloves? It’s minus five degrees outside!” he grunts.

It makes you chuckle. You did something nice for him, yet, there he is– complaining about the fact that you have yet again failed to take care of yourself. “I’m not even surprised, y’know, since you didn’t put on a scarf either, but sometimes I wish this little brain of yours,” he point his finger to the side of your temple, “had better self-preservation instincts,” he finishes as he fishes for something in his pocket.

Taking out his own gloves and holding them up to you so you can slip your numb fingers into the fabric, he continues on with his little tangent. “Next time,” he adds when you’re successfully wearing the warm garment, “text me as soon as you get here, okay? And look outside before you go out, so you know what to wear. Maybe open that little weather app on your home screen, even. Might be helpful,” he jokes, although a little dryly, as he brings out a scarf from his duffel bag, tying it around your neck and almost suffocating you with how tight he wraps it, making sure you’re defrosting under his tender care.

When he’s done dressing you up like a doll, you’re left staring at him speechless. Eric reciprocates the gaze, something gentle, yet worried mirroring behind his dark orbs. There’s comfort lingering in the air now that you’re not so cold, and with the added essence of his existence, the act of living doesn’t seem like such a hassle anymore. You feel lighter, in a way.

“Sorry,” he hums after a heartbeat of silence, “how are you feeling?” he asks, an apologetic look sent your way when he realizes he slipped into a heated lecture again, not knowing that this is exactly what you wanted and unknowingly came here for. (For his furrowed eyebrows and the crease in between them, his worried orbs and words tinted with frustration, showing you that he cares and wants you to be safe. For his little tangent, yet also gentle touches as he takes care of you and makes sure you’re staying warm. For the familiar look in his eyes, whispering to you that you’re the only thing in the whole world that matters to him right in this moment and always, forever.)

You smile at the clueless boy. It seems to make something in him settle into a more comfortable place. “All better now,” you reply.

“Good,” he says. “God, you look awful,” he jokes– laughing airly to reference the state of your frozen face– cheeks and the tip of your nose red, eyes watery from the wind, hair messily sticking out from the bottom of your hood– as one of his hands comes up to cradle your face and squish your cheeks together, turning your chapped lips into a big pout. The contact of his skin on yours makes your stomach feel light with the contrast of his warm hand on your cold face, all your senses coming alive when his voice drops a few octaves lower, seriousness tinting his tone. “Promise me to take better care of yourself from now on?”

Nodding, not really having it in you to even make a noise, you watch as the male studies your face for a while. In any other circumstance, his gaze would make you shy away, but not now. Not when everything seems suddenly so simple, not when all your worries seem to slip through your fingers. When his eyes point towards your lips– your puckered, dry mouth– a sense of expecting takes over you, a strange kind of excitement buzzing in the tips of your fingertips. When you breathe in through your half-clogged nose, the mixed scent of his fabric softener coming off the scarf tied tightly around your neck and the smell of the shower gel he uses to wash the chlorine off after his swimming practice hits your nose, making you a little light-headed. No words are spoken as the male suddenly leans in and presses a quick peck to your lips.

His warm lips meet with yours in what seems to be a second-long contact, but it’s enough to have the ghost of his touch lingering, enough to make your stomach churn in joy.

The action was so painfully casual– as if it was second nature to him. As if there was no reason for him to contemplate the decision– as if this was what he wanted to do all the time, and so he did it. Sometimes, actions speak louder than words.

Selfishly, though, you must admit you need both– you need the words just as much as the actions. Good thing Eric knows you so well– sometimes you think it’s even more than you know yourself.

“Now come on, let’s get you home,” he hums, hugging you to him with his right arm as you two walk down the sidewalk, “wouldn’t want my beloved girl to freeze to death right here.”

His beloved.

The words resonate in your brain. This time, it’s a good type of screaming match happening with your thoughts– all worries battled, using his sentence to cut out the bad parts like a sharpened knife. This time, your mind is full of fireworks and excited buzzing, sending the happy signals all across your body, helping you fight winter with the power of gentle loving.

And sure, you know that those feelings might come again. There’s no way of telling when the skeletons will appear, hunting down your happy thoughts. But you know that even if they do, you will always somehow find your way back to Eric, and he’ll make sure to remind you of what you need to hear, and you’ll be okay again.

You guess The Beatles were right after all. Maybe all you need is a little love sometimes.

#deoboyznet #the boyz #tbz #eric sohn #sohn youngjae #the boyz angst #the boyz fluff #tbz angst #tbz fluff #eric sohn angst #eric sohn fluff #eric sohn x reader #tbz x reader #tbz scenario #the boyz x reader #the boyz scenario #sohn youngjae x reader #sohn youngjae fluff #sohn youngjae angst

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radfem-rage · 2 months

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do you ever think about how emotionally immature TiMs and TiFs are? Everything I see them hung up on as been stuff I dealt with when I was 12-18. Yet they're out here hung up on it despite being 23+. Stuff like being obsessed with having followings, treating trivial things like it's their personality (gender, pretending their bad habits makes them cool, etc), being a mindless consumer (they all act like teens- wanting all this junk and being equally bad with money), not wanting to work because it's soooo unfair, being mad at the way SoCiEtY is (in regards to trivial things), etc.

It's honestly kinda creepy seeing TiMs in their 40s sounding the same way as 16yr TiMs, since literally most trans people sound and act the same fucking way. Its so uncanny, but it's due to their sheer lack of personality. They then turn into little "clusters" of appearance. Are you an it/itself/pup *posts pictures of furries and bdsm* trans or are you a they/them *posts pictures of cottagecore* trans? Don't even get me started on their physical appearance, because yes they even look alike physically and there's sets of "clusters" in regards to style. Are you the kidcore-esc dyed hair still feminine they/them girl or are you the porn-addicted dead-eyed blond twink trying to mimic an e girl? Or are you Chris Chan? lolol

When I see how they all function, especially with how I had plenty of friends who transed out.... It makes me conscious of how much I matured over the years. I wonder if I would be less mature if I wasn't actually dealing with systemic issues? Like abuse, homelessness, discrimination, etc. I went from "youre so mature for your age" to feeling like a "child within an adult body" to now feeling like my actual age. Progress! Yet with these people, there is no progress. They all come across as children in adult bodies.

Holy shit, yes!

What scares me is how the trans community has no problem telling the mentally ill youth that if their pretend identity isn’t affirmed at all times or if their insane demands are not being accepted immediately, it is a valid reason to threaten to commit suicide or shoot yourself. Things like:

• Demanding your parents never call you your “deadname” again out of nowhere

• Parents being forced to forget about how their child used to be before they got mentally ill and when they obviously struggle (because duh, a woman that gave birth to a girl will obviously struggle when that now teenage girl pretends she is a boy) they’re evil

• Tattoos of deadnames must be covered up or “fixed” to have the TiP’s new name or be removed all together

• Genital mutilation surgery the moment they want it and if the parents refuse or want to wait they’re evil transphobes who deserve to die.

• Never being allowed to share news articles about Trans pedophiles or rapists because “transphobia”

• TiF’s invading gay bars and TiM’s invading lesbian bars and then act confused when no one wants them around even though they have been shown multiple times no one wants the opposite sex in gay bars.

Trans people are indeed like children in adult bodies. They have never been told the word “no” and can’t accept it, either. They are stuck in a trans hug-box all day long that will affirm their bullshit and lie to them at every second of every day, they will only depend on other trans people because everyone else is transphobic and slowly lose connections with sane individuals. Then the moment they realize they were never born in the wrong body after all and underwent FGM/MGM for nothing the trans community will backstab them and tell them to k!ll themselves.

I used to have 2 TiM friends. Both were addicted to porn and thought women lived life on easy mode. They were acting extremely feminine and like a sexist stereotype, because they thought that was all a woman was, the moment I stopped affirming their bs and told them women aren’t regressive stereotypes or “feminine people” but adult people of the female sex, they dumped me as a friend. I never once regretted it because truth deserves to be spoken and I got nothing to be ashamed of. I too, changed a lot over the years and became more mature and outspoken, and grew & improved myself a lot, from libfem to radfem, and I love that about myself. ✌🏻

#I apologize it took so long #to answer lol I forgot to check asks #radfem #radical feminism #terf #terf friendly #terfs please touch #radblr #terfblr

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meantaylorsversion · 7 months

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pspspspsps

this but jason pookie bear

in exchange ill write fluff for u [character and scenario of ur entire choice]

Idiots in Love

pairing; Jason Todd x gn!reader

summary; Jason's siblings had enough, they just couldn't stand the pining anymore, so they devised a plan.

warnings; none?

notes; tee hee i hope i wrote everyone in character please let me know! also tumblr works on a reblog system so if you like my work please reblog!!

word count; 1.2k

prompt

Jason sat across from Cass, who was sprawled out on the couch in front of him. "Jay, you like them!" Steph exclaims, who sat underneath Cass's legs. Jason's face turned red and his eyebrows set in a hard look.

"I do not! They are just a friend, Steph! Y/N is just a friend to me!" He repeats, but it sounds like he's only repeating it to himself.

Dick snorted from the chair next to the couch, throwing a piece of popcorn at Jason. "Yeah and the sky is green," Cass nodded from her seat agreeing with Dick, pausing the movie they were watching. The siblings turned to Jason, all with matching smirks on their face. Duke held a sweet smile on his face, before his brown eyes lit up like he had an idea. He walked up to Steph and Cass, whispering in the blonde's ear who then told Cass, Duke then walked over to Dick, quickly whispering while Dick's smirk grew wider, directly staring at Jason.

While Jason wasn't looking at the girls, Steph texted you quickly telling you to come to the manor. You responded fast, telling her you were on your way. You briefly wondered what was wrong but decided it didn't really matter why. Cass giggled quietly as she watched the whole interaction.

Jason's focus was on his brothers, trying to decipher what he should do, on one hand he was comfortable underneath the blanket and in the chair but on the other, he felt like tackling his brothers and making them tell him their plan. With a look like that on Dick's face, nothing was planned to be good. Duke spoke up from besides Dick, almost laughing as he spoke, "Jay, the way you talk about them gives us the impression you want to eat them whole,"

Jason's face turned red, he sputters before throwing popcorn at the two of them. "Not true!" Dick snorted from his chair, before getting up and stretching almost like a cat. Jason rolled his eyes, realizing there was no way they'd finish the movie they started. He stayed in his chair, staring down the girls, trying to see if they'd crack and tell him what was going on.

For the next ten minutes him and Cass stared down at each other while Steph watched from the side. The doorbell rang and Cassandra looked away from Jason to jump from the couch and run to the door, trying to beat Alfred there. You were just standing there in front of the door, wondering what was taking so long. Currently Jason was chasing Cass, almost tackling her to the ground. And he did, but right as Alfred opened the door for you. "Hello, Mx. L/N, wonderful to see you, if you'd excuse me," Alfred greets, before looking down at the siblings on the floor and the rest of them standing behind the two.

"Children please, don't destroy anything in your shenanigans, and please treat our guest kindly," He says before walking off. Jason quickly scrambles off of Cass, brushing his pants off before spinning around to glare at his siblings and then spinning back around to smile at you, almost like a love sick dog. It was sweet, though his siblings disagreed, you were about as thick as a wall, so anything he did you’d interpret as platonic. “Hi! N/N, why are you here?” He asks, subtly standing straighter as he finally looks you over. You were beautiful, even if you didn’t think so, he believed that Aphrodite herself couldn’t even compare to you. Nothing in the world was more precious than you, you were like air to him. He needed you to breathe. You smiled sweetly at him as you took a step into the Manor, you put your coat on the rack before looking at the siblings with a confused look.

“Would any of you like to tell me why Steph texted me like it was urgent I come here?” You ask, trying to understand the situation. Dick looked to his siblings who were in on the plan before he grabbed your hand and led you over to a random room. Jason tagged along, not trusting Dick. He walked into the room with you, like he was going to protect you from whatever plan his siblings had for you. Unfortunately for him, that was exactly their plan, they all knew him well enough to know he’d go in there with you. Before he knew it his siblings were out of the room and had locked the door. He was stuck in there with you. The person he was in love with. Jason thought this was the end of the world for him, you didn’t like him and now you were stuck in here with him!

You banged on the door, shouting, “Guys! Guys! This isn’t funny, c’mon you know of my—” You clamp a hand over your mouth before you say too much. What Jason didn’t know was that you were deeply in love with him as well. Everyone else around you knew that the two of you were in love with each other. Tim spoke from a TV that was in the room, something he hacked into to help with the plan, “Listen up you shitheads, you guys both like each other and frankly it’s embarrassing watching you two tiptoe around each other so either confess or you’re stuck in here,” The TV cuts out and he’s gone, just you and Jason alone. You sigh and turn away from Jason, twiddling your fingers. “Jay, I have no idea what they’re talking about!” You exclaim, laughing nervously.

He laughs with you, hurt in his eyes, “Yeah, they’re fucking clueless, I have no idea what they mean,” He grunts, the shield he never keeps up around you going up. It hurt, but he knew there was no way you’d like him, he was too damaged. He gets up from the chair he sat in and started banging on the door, begging anyone to let you both out. “Guys! When I get out of here I am so gonna beat all of your asses!” He kicks the door in frustration, running his hand through his hair. You walked up to him, softly placing your hand on his shoulder. His body leans into you and he turns around placing his head on your shoulder.

“Jason Peter Todd, I love you with my whole heart,” You murmur, the words flowing out of your mouth like a waterfall you couldn’t stop. He abruptly removed his head from your shoulder, giving you a wide eyed look. You returned the look, almost panicking, you couldn’t believe you said that out loud.

“Y/N L/N I love you to the moon and back, I always have. I have been in love with you since the day I met you,” He whispers, your eyes light up and excitedly, you go up to give him a kiss. Your lips touch in an excitement like all of the yearning you two did all came rushing in all at once. You both separate, foreheads touching as your chests move up and down quickly.

#alex's writing<3 #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd imagine #dc #dc x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you

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pixelchills · 8 months

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hey!

I just wanted to ask it you're still doing the Animutant thing, I'm getting back into it now and I had a few questions

First was if me and a friend were allowed to make an OC for it, and I just wanted to ask permission, and second was what kinds of jobs could they get?

Yes, I have two slow-process on-going fics of the FNAF Animutant AU (A Not so Sunny World & My Dear Daffodil). And then I have my original Animutant story "Dreamflower" slowly in the works too, hoping to post a couple of the first chapters before the year ends!

Both, the original story and the FNAF AU are open for people's OCs! Just be mindful of the universe when designing your OCs. The universal rules for the original and FNAF version are a bit different.

If you want to make an OC to the FNAF AUs, here's a quick recap of the basic concept of Animutants:

Animutants are always created in laboratories. All Animutants are adults (with very rare exceptions).

Animutants come in 3 sentience levels: 1 is the lowest, close to a plant sentience, level 2 is like a trained animal sentience, and level 3 is human sentience.

Animutants are a mixture of different DNAs; mutated alien DNA is their base, some human DNA and various animal and plant DNAs are used to create individual-looking mutants.

Animutants don't get ill with human illnesses, and they live 10 times longer.

Animutants can work almost any job, as long as their owner is a human, or a company.

Animutants come in all mixtures of animals or creatures. All animutants are about 5'10-10' tall, but some exceptions exist (like DJMM).

Level 3 animutants have fake reproductive systems, but none of them are fertile. Female mutants have periods and wombs, but the womb is used only for surrogate pregnancies. Female mutants are more expensive to make.

Non-animal animutants are called celestials, and they're always intersex.

Animutants are treated like "robots", so technically as objects you can own and sell. Sometimes the world is very cruel to them.

If you want to make an OC for the Dreamflower original story, I'd suggest checking my other blog @pixel-chills where I answer questions relating to it. These Animutants differ from the FNAF Animutants a lot:

Animutants are mutated humans. They act and look more human-like, but might have some animal or plant genes mixed in their system, thus giving them ears, horns, tails, or weird skins.

Animutants are a small minority of humans. A person might mutate if they die, if they happen to carry the mutant gene. Most animutants are early embryos who died in the womb, but mutated and were born as an animutant.

Animutants work very similarly to humans bodily, they can get pregnant, get ill, have chromosome-based genitalia etc.

...uh, just ask if you have any other questions :D OCs are welcome!

#asks #animutants

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seoksgrl · 4 months

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happier than ever, 2. : knj namjoon x reader friends to strangers to lovers

tws: alcohol addiction, vomiting, grief, mention of death and terminal illness

m.list prev | next

Waking up is the same as it always is these days, head weighed down with the fogginess of the night before, the withdrawal kicking in after hours of unconsciousness. You call it that, nowadays, because what you experience doesn’t really constitute sleep anymore. You used to have dreams, wake up in the middle of the night needing to pee or simply waking from the sunlight beginning its slow descent across the scope of your room.

Nowadays, you pass out and stay in the same position for hours on end, no dreaming and, usually, no waking up until the light in your room forces you to. You’ve had more than a few occasions where your body has been so sedated by the alcohol in your system that you haven’t even woken up to pee. Simply relieving yourself in your sleep just like you did when you were a three year old. It would humiliate you if you allowed yourself to dwell on anything in the last few years; now you have the luxury of blocking it all out.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you fight the initial dizziness that comes with your hangover, though it’s always worse than anything you experienced when alcohol was just a treat on the weekends. Now, you drink not only to escape the hurricane of emotions that threaten to drown you when you think too long, but also to get rid of the mind-numbing, persistent symptoms of alcohol withdrawal. One foot in front of the other, you stumble to your old armoire, tugging open the door and ignoring the bundled up clothes that fall out, forgotten and unwashed. At the bottom is your stash, not that you really need to hide the glass bottles of clear liquor anymore. Now you’re all alone in the world, you don’t have the risk of anyone snatching away your vodka before you can remedy your headache with some good, old hair of the dog.

The liquor burns as it glides down your throat, hitting the pit of your empty stomach before it blooms in warmth. After a few seconds, you almost start to feel numb again - perfection.

Wiping the sleep and leftover makeup from your eyes, you finally glance around the room you have slept in since you were five years old. There’s a bolt of something akin to panic that rushes through you when you spot the space where your empty liquor bottles used to take residence on your bedside table, vacant. You, of course, don’t remember much of the night before, or really the last few weeks or months, but you can’t imagine you would do something so out of character as to use your drunken stupor to do some spring cleaning.

It’s after the second swig of vodka that the smell drifts into the room, toast and eggs it seems like. It’s so familiar, so warm and sunny that you screw your eyes closed, swallowing a few more burning gulps of the liquor to shoo away this awful hallucination. It’s cruel, that the universe would do this to you, remind you of the lightness of your old life. But it doesn’t go away, the scent of food continues to waft from downstairs, along with the sounds of someone moving plates and cutlery around, and you almost freeze, wondering if you brought home a guy last night, an unexpected gentleman willing to cook you breakfast after a night of what you can only assume was lacklustre, drunken sex as you peer down at your outfit - a large, ratty t-shirt and underwear.

You even managed to get changed last night? Nothing seems to be adding up. But your stomach is growling, and after a drink, you’re sure you’ll be able to suffer through a stilted conversation with your friendly one-night-stand before you unceremoniously kick him out. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The old stairs creak as you pad down, barefoot and still pantless. The liquor bottle abandoned on your nightstand where you can go back to it later if you run out of the whiskey you keep in the kitchen. You’re feeling like an irish coffee might be the ideal accompaniment to this awkward breakfast.

When you get to the bottom step, your stomach is growling, but your mind is beginning to cloud over with that familiar haze you’ve grown comfortable in, the vodka finally doing its job as your headache fades just a little. You shuffle quietly into the kitchen, eyes flitting up to see what kind of guy you dragged home with you last night before you stop in your tracks, your body icing over as the man in question glances up, eyes flicking to your legs for no less than a heartbeat before he’s looking right at you.

“Oh, good,” Namjoon says, “you’re up. I got you some painkillers,”

The universe is clearly playing some kind of cruel joke on you, to conjure up this image of this man standing in your kitchen, cooking breakfast on a frying pan you can only assume he must have washed. God knows you haven’t cleaned in months.

Kim Namjoon can’t possibly be standing in the kitchen of your childhood home right now, filling up the space with a body that is far thicker and more sculpted than you remember. He looks older, but in a good way, faint crinkles at the corner of his eyes as he squints over to you, quirking a brow as if he can't understand why you’re still standing there.

“Wh - “

“Why are you here, Namjoon?” You wish your voice sounded a little stronger, slurriness coating your words accompanying the breathless in which you ask the question. You are supposed to be angry, you’ve pictured a moment similar to this thousands of times, and each time you tore into him, inspiring even an ounce of the hurt and pain you’ve endured over the last few years would be enough to satisfy you. You hate him, and you hate that you don’t hate him nearly as much as you want to.

He dusts off his hands, wiping them on the back of his jeans, “I figured you might not remember,”

“Remember what?” You ask, a sharp spike of something spearing your stomach, making you hot all over. God, you didn’t sleep together did you?

“I brought you home last night, Y/N,” He says, voice low and steady, the exact opposite of how you’re feeling right now, swaying where you stand when his brows narrow and his lips part, “Are you still drunk?”

You can’t do this right now, you can’t have this conversation with him. Especially not him.

Namjoon always had a knack for seeing right through your bullshit, though back then, that meant calling you out when you tried to lie about whether you were in a mood or not, or calling you a liar when you hid your face in the sleeves of your sweater and told him you were yawning and not watching the slasher movie through the gaps in your fingers. You absolutely cannot talk to him about the clusterfuck that your life has turned into, not when you glance down at his wrist, spotting the rolex that does all it needs to remind you of the different paths your lives have taken.

He walks around the small kitchen island, his frame towering over you even as you try to appear unfazed. It’s impossible though, you’re swimming in that sweet, warm pool of numbness, and you are already uncoordinated, stumbling back a step when he reaches out to grab your elbow. His nostrils flare a little, a concerned notch forming between his brows.

“Have you had a drink already?”

Tugging from his hold, you step away, thankful that the wall stops you from falling flat on your ass. You duck around him, moving to the sink where you rinse your hands for no reason under the cool water, perhaps to soothe your overheated skin. You’re angry, and sad, and fucking drunk already, and you cannot do this with him right now.

“You should go. You don’t need to babysit me,”

Namjoon, you note with relief, doesn't follow you. He stays where he is, your positions in the kitchen swapped now as you wander over to the pan where the cooked eggs sit. Your mouth waters, but the second you’re reminded of Namjoon’s presence, your mouth fills with saliva as the nausea washes over you.

“Are you alone here?” Namjoon asks, as if he already knows the answer but wants to hear you confirm it, “Where is your mom?”

A scoff bursts free from your lips as you brace yourself on the counter, your back to Namjoon because you can’t possibly look at him right now. He makes you feel too much, always has, and the alcohol flooding your blood only makes it all the more unbearable.

“Dead,” You answer simply, relieved at the continued wave of numbness that swallows your chest. You haven't felt anything in years now, but your mother’s death a year ago certainly solidified the fucked up state of your life. Your post-break up binge drinking turned into constant drinking, and now looking back, you can’t remember the last time you went without. You feel sick all over again, already aware this is more than you can take. You’re not about to stand here reminiscing, “She died a year ago, some dumbass doctor didn’t find the tumour until it was too late. Now, it’s just me,”

Just you. Utterly, suffocatingly alone.

The nausea bubbles up your throat once more and you swallow it down, taking deep, shaky breaths to stave off the urge to vomit. The scent of the breakfast Namjoon made suddenly has your stomach rolling instead of growling, and the longer you sit in this deafening silence with him, the more you feel your control slipping. You need a drink, more vodka. Maybe you can find the whiskey somewhere in the mess of the kitchen, you just need -

Throat clenching, you stagger to the now empty sink, emptying your guts of the pitiful amount of food lingering in your stomach. When was the last time you ate anything? You don’t know - it’s not like you eat often nowadays, preferring to drink until your stomach sloshes, full and bloated, forgotten as you skip into unconsciousness.

Your bleary, watery gaze stares into the sink which is now filled with the contents of your stomach, your shoulders curling as you dry heave, bile burning your throat. The warmth of a hand rubbing your back is what you notice next, gasping against each empty gag. It feels too familiar, too good. It reminds you of your mother, and of Namjoon, and his warm, masculine scent drifts over you, overwhelming and a searingly painful reminder. His hands barely manage to smooth your unwashed hair from the nape of your neck before you push him away, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Leave me alone,” Your voice is hoarse, tears you can no longer shed clogging your throat, and you swallow down the acrid taste in your mouth, glaring at your former best friend, “I want you to go. I don’t want you here,”

He stares at you, unblinking, eerily silent as if he doesn’t know who he is looking at right now. Well, that’s his issue, his fault, you think. He left, you didn’t. You stayed here, waiting, foolishly hoping that he might come back. Come home, to you.

You learned the hard way from a young age that everyone leaves. Your father abandoning you and your mother before you were even born, it set the tone for your future. You’re just not the kind of person someone wants to stick around to watch, kind of like a car crash happening in slow motion. It's been that way forever, it feels like, and through it all, Namjoon had seemed like the only tether holding you above the waves, stopping you from going under. Your lighthouse in a storm.

But then he let go, left to move onto better things. And seeing him now, seeing him be just as successful as you always knew he would be doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Everyone leaves, it was foolish of you to believe he would be any different. That fact that he’s here now, thirteen years too late, staring at you with a bleak look of guilt proves your point. He made his choice back then, and you stopped waiting for him a long time ago.

“Y/N,” Is all he says, and the sound of your name in his voice, so much deeper, aged than when he left, it has a shiver running up your spine, “what happened?”

“I just told you. I’m an orphan now, and I can take care of myself,”

Debatable, even to you as you try to block out the reality of your pitiful existence, but you aren’t about to fall into Namjoon just for him to turn and walk out the door again. Maybe he stayed overnight, but that doesn’t mean much where you’re concerned. Men have done the same after a drunken fuck, but they always leave in the cold light of day, when they wake up and realise where they are, when they see what a mess you are. And you know Namjoon will too.

He doesn’t argue, slipping his hand into his jean pocket and placing a small scrap of paper on the kitchen counter. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of looking at it, even as you wonder, but he nods, stepping away as he keeps his eyes on you for a beat longer.

“I’m staying at Lunar Hotel, room four. You know where I am if you change your mind,”

“Don’t stick around on my account,” You say, watching as Namjoon winces at the venom in your words, “you can run back to Seoul for all I care,”

He doesn’t stick around for much longer, his jaw tight as he turns, doing exactly what you predicted and walking out the door. Watching his frame exit the house, closing the dusty glass door behind him, your eyes shift towards the threadbare couch big enough to sit two people at a push. Atop the cushions is a blanket and a couple of throw pillows.

You shake your head, reaching into the nearest cupboard and breathing a sigh of relief when you find the half-drunk bottle of whiskey. Namjoon’s reappearance makes you want to drain the bottle, but you settle on a quick sip before making an irish coffee. When you’re done, your hands tremble a little, but you shake it off, eyes snagging on the slip of paper on the counter.

Without Namjoon’s watchful gaze, you step towards it, scanning the quickly scrawled letters reading Primrose Rehab Centre. There’s a skip in your throat, your hand crumpling up the paper and throwing it at the wall where it falls to join two full rubbish bags. The threat of having your coping mechanism taken away has your heart beating fast, even as a voice in your head tempts you to wonder for a moment what life would be like if you weren’t so fucked up.

The reminder that Namjoon wouldn’t have deigned to stick around has your lips lifting in a sneer, and you grab the whiskey bottle by the neck, forgoing your coffee in favour of something stronger.

The burn of the liquor down your throat almost distracts you from the emptiness in your chest.

Namjoon can barely register his own name being called as he stares out the window at the road, only coming back to himself when a heavy hand rests on his shoulder.

“Hey, man, you good?” Jooheon asks, his face open, warm and welcoming. It seems aside from a few others, Jooheon is the only person actually happy to see him back in town.

Namjoon forces a smile on his face, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. It doesn’t feel real. How can it after the morning he’s had, watching you stagger into the kitchen, reeking of booze with a glaze in your eye that reminds him of how you were last night.

He thought you were having a bad night, the reunion and everything with Seokjin causing you to get a little drunk by the lake. When he managed to all but carry you into the home you grew up in, he could hardly believe what he was seeing, even in the dark. The house was dirty, a layer of dust on almost every surface, and he could barely breathe for the scent of stale booze and must. He knew as he settled you into bed, taking his place on the old sofa, that something was deeply wrong. He’d seen the bottles in your room, but perhaps there was still a part of him hoping for some explanation. One that didn’t take the ground from his feet and have his stomach plummeting when you confessed in that cold, empty voice that your mother died.

Namjoon remembers your mom, a sweet woman, fiercely protective of her daughter and endlessly supportive. Like his own mom, she raised you alone, and he couldn’t deny she did an amazing job. At least looking at the girl he left behind thirteen years ago - now, you’re lost. Empty, soulless eyes and the absence of the smile he always loved.

It makes him feel ill, and he is solely responsible. If he had been here, if he had known - he clenched his fist against the porcelain handle of his coffee cup.

Jooheon waits for his reply, and Namjoon clears his throat, “I went to see Y/N,”

Instantly Jooheon’s smile falters, his feet carrying him to the empty chair opposite Namjoon in the tiny eating area of the bed and breakfast. The decor is dated, a little worn, but Namjoon feels oddly at peace as he tries to come to terms with the reality of your situation.

“She’s had it rough, the last couple years,” Jooheon says, and Namjoon nods, now well aware of how bad you’ve had it, “When Juwon got sick, we tried to rally round, but you remember how Y/N’s mom was. She was a fighter, never wanted to accept help off anyone,”

Almost a mirror image of you, it seems, Namjoon thinks, swallowing hard. He looks to his former classmate, eager for any and all information.

“How long did it…”

He smiled sadly, “They found the cancer too late to really do anything. With Y/N losing the studio, as far as I’m aware they couldn’t cope with the hospital bills. Seokjin offered to help but Y/N refused,”

Namjoon can’t blame you. He’s sure if he was harbouring a broken heart, he wouldn’t accept help from the person who broke it either. He just wishes he’d known. But that’s his own damn fault, he reminds himself with a shake of his head.

He gets stuck on one piece of new info that Jooheon has given him.

“When did Y/N lose the studio? How did all this happen?” It seems like you had one tragedy after another, and all over again, the guilt eats at Namjoon like a virus.

Jooheon’s jaw clenches, his head shaking softly as he speaks, “Y/N was planning to move to a bigger city, to open an art studio there. Hold classes and stuff. Seokjin didn’t wanna leave town and so after he proposed, they stayed here. But, Namjoon,” his classmate speaks low, as if he doesn’t want to be overheard, despite the lack of people in the B&B, “this town is desolate. Barely anyone passes through here nowadays, not like when we were kids. The council in this town don’t appreciate change, and so everyone’s businesses have suffered, including Y/N’s,”

Seokjin’s selfish ass, Namjoon thinks, his lip curling. He would buy you any studio you want, in any city, but his rational mind knows throwing money at the problem isn’t gonna fix it. He pauses, dwelling on the events of last night, the anxiety he had listening out for even a hint that you might be choking on your own vomit. The thought makes him shiver, the idea of you alone in that house, rotting away and drinking until you pass out.

He can’t leave, even as his phone pings with the reminder to set off to the airport. He just can’t - he hasn’t even packed, almost like he knew the second he got back to the bed and breakfast that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Do you want me to check you out of your room?” Jooheon asks, but there’s a look in his eye that tells Namjoon he knows the answer he will give him.

“No,” He replies, “I’m gonna stick around for a while longer,”

please let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist!

#namjoon angst #namjoon smut #namjoon fluff #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon fic #namjoon scenario #purplearmynet

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multifandomgrabage · 2 years

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Random and non cohesive HB thoughts, particularly season 2:

I don’t condone or support Stella’s actions, but I am very disappointed in how she is written. Im fine with her being a villain, and I’ll even let a lack of a backstory slide! My main issues with Stella are:

A) Being 1 dimensional. Please, give her traits outside of “bitch” and “angry at Stolas”. The majority of the fan base already is (somehow) in support of Stolitz, you don’t need another prop to keep your ship going. (subpoint to a): Also, not a fan of the “wife finds out that her husband is queer” trope, but whatever, she is a villain. Its pretty fucking basic though.

B) Her lines. My fucking gosh, her lines are so fucking flat and weightless. You’d think that something an abuser says would stick and sound intimidating, but no. We get “I LiKe ToRmEnTiNg YoU”. For fucks sake, what was that?! As someone who grew up with an abusive mother, I can confidently say that no one will say that. Its like they didnt respect their ADULT audience enough to figure things out and felt they had to have a giant ass neon sign screaming

“LOOK HERE, THIS IS ABUSIVE, SHE SAID SHE LIKES HURTING HIM! A-B-U-S-E! NOW GO AND FORGET ABOUT ANY TERRIBLY TOXIC THINGS STOLAS OR BLITZO HAVE DONE”

Clearly the show is meant for adult audiences. We don’t need to be told what is and isn’t abuse. Why not do a little something called “show vs tell”? Some alright examples they have previously done are the portraits usually having just Stolas and Octavia, or a pissed Stella. Or seeing how she threw a fucking imp butler across the room.

I got a bit off topic, but here are some ways id probably write her:

A narcissist. To the outside world, she is friendly Stella, who just likes to party and smile. She has a perfect family, and everyone loves her. But under the surface, in order to feel superior she puts Stolas down constantly, through verbal abuse and perhaps some physical. Her love for Octavia is conditional, she is only pleased as long as everyone is doing everything to her command. All this possibly stems from an inferiority complex that she desperately covers through a high ego, false confidence and making sure others feel lesser to her.

Some possible lines?:

“You are nothing without me. You think you can make it on your own without me? You cant even take care of Octavia, what makes you think you can handle yourself”

“You would choose a lowly imp over me? I guess I shouldn’t have expected more from someone as low as you”

“You don’t even deserve to have me, consider yourself lucky that I am willing to stay”

“You look so damn stupid like that, singing in your self pity. Had you stuck with me, you wouldn’t have been in that position.” That or someone else mentioned Blitzo and Stella being childhood friends, her being arranged with Stolas, and then having the cheating incident

whoever had that idea is a genius.

C: Why is her design so damn good? I love fancy pigeons and they made her a fancy pigeon. (this isn’t a complaint but a thought)

Moving on from Stella, lets get to S2 E2…

I was so excited to have an episode where it wasn’t the Stolitz shipping show. I got my hopes too high. The one positive thing Ill say is that I enjoyed the adoption flashback. Maybe I read too much into it but it feels kind of like a commentary in how shitty the adoption system is, especially to teenagers. Any kid really, as they’re treated like literal dogs, and then kicked out on the street.

Back to me complaining about shit:

For one, why did we spend so much fucking tome in that stupid ass sitcom? If Stolas is such a caring dad, shouldn’t he just leave and look for Octavia? So much character growth could have happened in that time.

I know that Loona didn’t just tell Octavia to just deal with her dad neglecting her just because “he’s trying”. Its HIS responsibility as a parent to take care of his kid, and Octavia has every right to be upset st him and her circumstances. Her parents have been unstable, but after a divorce, even more so. Her dad has straight up ignored her, in favor of arguing with Stella. She did nothing wrong and has nothing to apologize for. I got so excited when Stolas started to apologize, but then Octavia apologized.

Did I mention that there was 4 minutes of Octavia and Loona together at most? Despite the thumbnail? Yeah, that blowed.

Honestly the only reason I keep up anymore is because of the animation and the weak dying hope that it’ll get better.

thats all ig, please don’t be rude in the comments. You can disagree but keep it civil. Going to bed now, bye

EDIT: So Imma randomly add a brainbarf of thoughts here too, because I do not feel like organizing shit. My brain's thoughts just expand everywhere, so bare with me.

Another reason why Stella's abuse doesn't really land is because Stolas just... doesn't seem afraid of her at all? For someone who claims to love tormenting someone, she sure is doing a shitty job at it. The way that Stolas would just have the balls (or cloaca ig) to keep going out using Blitz, worry free despite his wife doesn't give the vibes of "Victim of Domestic violence, verbal and physical abuse" to me.

To continue on why her abuse doesn't land, it has to do with the nature of this show and how it portrays stuff. It gets very confusing. Loona assaulting Blitz, Blitz and Asmodeus (on separate occasions) touching Moxie's groin area (without consent) and Multiple characters using slurs against Moxie is supposedly "funny".

Personally I don't find it humorous, but I do get somewhat jaded and desensitized to stuff like that happening. Not to say that it's acceptable behavior, but you do kind of get used to it and take it a little less seriously in the context. In S1E2 Stella is seen screaming and throwing shit around. This *can* be seen as portrayal of abuse, but given that many characters do similar shit it can also be seen as another unfunny attempt at humor.

Fast forward to season 2, if you've lasted that long you should expect some edgy shit like that to be written in a way that tries to excuse it. But all of a sudden, we get "Actually, abuse is bad. Feel bad for Stolas because he is abused by his wife. Yeah, we constantly make our characters do abusive things too, but it's funny when they do it, just ignore it and feel bad for Sad Gay Owl Man."

What? The fuck? Is the deal with powers, especially human disguises? Initially I thought that maybe only Succubi and Incubi, as well has hellhounds had the power because some hellborns are more powerful than others. How would that work if Hellhounds are below Imps in the hierarchy though? By that logic, shouldn't Imps also get that power? So that idea doesn't work. I don't fucking know why or how any of this works. Theres no storybuilding or explanation for it. For something that appears so often, I think there should be. The purpose of a human disguise is to blend in among the human world, so I can see Succubi/Incubi having that power because I'd assume they're some of the only demons allowed to go to the human world. I wouldn't know why a hellhound would come to Earth, but I guess they just have the power too?

Speaking of rules about demons on Earth that weren't explained!

Stolas is able to summon himself in some big scary owl demon form without his book ANYWHERE near him in "Truth Seekers". Yet in S2E2 he can only conjure up a poorly designed human form because now his powers are attached to the book? HUH?! Where is the consistency?

Also, given that IMP is big enough to get a commercial, how have they not gotten in trouble for breaking what I assume is one of hell's only rules? We know that they aren't supposed to be there, and yet this seems to have no consequence? Having them have to try and fly below the radar in hell would raise stakes a lot more imo.

But whatever, fuck the rules, because there are none!

______________________________________________________

Unrelated rambles, but still kind of relevant and similar? I just don't want to make a separate post.

I don't like Andrealphus' design. It's way too bright and saturated and honestly has my eyes strain a lot, despite not being red. I kinda wanna redesign him. Also I feel like he's gonna be yet another gay stereotype, which is always fun to have /s.

Lucifer's design is underwhelming. Not necessarly because the design is bad on its own, but because of two things:

A) Too many characters look like that. We have too many skinny white Tumblr Sexyman Twinks. We have too many characters with that copy paste smile. Too many characters in suits. He just doesn't stand out. This leads me to my next point.

B) His design doesn't say "Lucifer, King and Ruler of Hell, Fallen Angel". It says "Generic Vivziepop Snarky Guy with a quirky interest". BEFORE SOME OF YALL START SAYING "B-but ackshually he pwobably haz a more dwemwonic fowm 🤓", respectfully, no. I feel that the leader of hell should have a default design that commands some kind of respect out of fear, it doesn't have to be crazy, but it should be intimidating, and stand out. What kind of king just blends into a crowd of his own people? Especially in a fantasy? This is fiction, and there is no reason to hold back and not try something new. In fact, 90% of the characters being skinny could actually be used as an advantage, because then you could just make Lucifer's bodyshape different from the default and he'd already stand out much more.

Fuck it, two redesigns coming up. When I'm done I'll link them here.

#helluva boss critique #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss stolas #helluva boss critical #helluva boss octavia #helluva spoilers #helluva loona #anti stolitz #helluva stella #rambles #not edited #now its edited #anyways uh #if anyones wondering im not really an anti of the show #but im not really a fan either?#ill see it come up and watch it casually and have thoughts

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kibou-collective · 9 days

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Updated 5/23/24 Some of our sysmembers wanted to open themselves up to online interaction, so I'm gonna introduce them briefly! READ THE WHOLE POST DANGIT.

Only including headmates that are mature enough to conduct themselves safely on the internet and don't mind being contacted. All introjects mentioned are canon divergent.

Yami- Hiya! I'm the one most commonly in front and forever glued to a screen, lol. Jack of all trades and master of none, when I'm not burnt out and totally out of motivation. Which is often.

Sonic- Sonic the Hedgehog introject. Hyper, playful, overly competitive dumbass (affectionate).

Sage- Sage (Sonic Frontiers) introject. Not the most expressive or sympathetic, since, well, she's an AI and all, but she's curious and nice enough.

No KAngel I'm not adding you to this list you immature b$&#h.

Teto- Introject from Mesmerizer. We don't know that much about her actually, she's just here (hyperfixation introject), but she's chill.

Jax- He's an asshole (affectionate). But in all seriousness though he is nicer than his canon counterpart, just likes annoying people and making stupid comments and being... Jax.

Pomni- She just got here be nice. Shes the sweetest little nervous cinnamon roll though. ... Jax had just told me to add that if you hurt her he will end you (c-can we say that on Tumblr?? And why??? He's refusing to elaborate)

Ragatha- Pretty sure she took all my motherly and caring side from me when she split (joke).

DNI IF YOU ARE: anti-endo. perpetuating misinformation. racist, sexist, homo- or transphobic, or negatively prejudiced in ANY other way. bodily under 16, a little or otherwise not the mental equivalent of a mature human being (we're over 16 and that's what we're comfortable with).

OKAY TO INTERACT IF YOU ARE: endogenic or any other type of plural. a singlet. doubles. sourcemates. someone an introject doesn't get along with in canon. mentally ill or neurodivergent. just be nice and we're good.

DO NOT: assume anything about anyone because of their source. treat our introjects like fictional characters, bots, etc. fake claim. reality check. make highly offensive jokes or comments. use unreclaimable slurs (cursing OK). ask inappropriately personal questions. flirt with or make advances towards ANYONE in the system. discuss ships, traumatic events in canon, or highly triggering topics unless the individual is okay with it.

DO: ask questions!! respect our boundaries. be friendly. be curious. be playful. be honest and as open as you are comfortable with. we can be your friends as long as you just treat us like people. (respectful) front requests ok and encouraged!

Anyways our messages are open, feel free to repost/reply/message us!

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toaster-trash · 1 month

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Silly rant about how much I hate the school system but it’s long and angry so

School is so fucking insufferable, you’ll try talk to a teacher getting paid to teach you for two seconds and to complain about the workload and explain your other subjects and they’ll patronise you to death treating you like an overwhelmed 5 year old. I shit you not, I genuinely just asked to talk to two of my teachers for five fucking minutes to ask about them cutting back a bit on mandatory revision so I could do it during study leave to make time for more important subjects, and explained as factually and concisely as possible, and got told to “calm down and breathe” like 500 times while I was fucking talking. One of them I shit you not tried to get me to do fucking breathing exercises with her and repeat back what I was going to do, what in the actual fuck, I was genuinely getting so pissed off and I’m still mad about it lmao, all I need is a “ok 👍 I trust you, I’ll cut back on the mandatory revision homework for you and you focus on your other subject that’re pressing right now”, not to get treated like a first year in special ed.

Teachers have always been like this fr and it’s genuinely been getting to me for fucking years. You’ll go to them about anything trying to have a really really normal conversation and they’ll treat you like you’re completely fucking inept. Throwback to the time my vice principal told me off for “talking back to her” by telling her that a girl getting sexually harassed being her fault made no sense, to the time she found out I was suicidal and fucking schizing (recently actually) and went “are we not having such a good day today? :(“ and also asked if harming myself made me feel good and then went “no, I didn’t think so :(“. Oh and for good measure, throwback to the time the girls in my year were told they couldn’t wear leggings in PE bc it “distracts the male staff” and the time they called all the girls (or afab people lmfao) into the hall to tell us we were “asking for it” bc of rolling up skirts and makeup and made everyone who had them take off makeup/nails and roll down skirts one by one. And that shits just commonplace in schools fr it fucking makes me want to kill myself tbh although I vastly prefer directly insulting a full room of 14 year olds calling them whores to treating mentally ill or VAGUELY stressed people like actual fucking children. Call me a schizo freak and get it over with fr. Genuinely fucking thought this shit would end by sixth form, apparently not! Yeah everyone else in the school looks at me like an adult, and you lot keep saying we’re “young adults” now, and oh yeah sure I can legally get married, have a job, generally am above the age of consent, I’m learning to drive, but oh no! Still have to get not just treated like a kid, but baby-ed. At this point I don’t even feel patronised, I feel fucking insulted.

A different time one of those teachers asked me if I was going out with my female friend while I was trying to express concern for them because they’d pretty much gone missing (it’s complicated), and when I said no they then asked me if I wanted to, which I’ve never fucking gotten over bc why the fuck would you ask me that, but that’s by the by

Can’t wait to leave the school system behind forever fr.

#vent #I guess man #school

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jamisonwritestf2trash · 6 months

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I like the idea of a medic scout friendship. ive seen people try and make medic his dad and like I dont know I feel like you can look up to someone without making them your dad. that interpretation of their relationship is not my favorite but to each their own as they say. maybe im the weird one but I like to project my social anxiety onto scout. like this guy is similar enough where it feels like im allowed to do that. lol. well the point is I like to imagine scout considers people he talks to and is around often enough as friends regardless of how hes treated because they talk to him, if they really hated him they'd leave forever, right? I call it the friendship system, if someone tolerates us enough to keep coming back theyre my friend now. anyway I like to think medic has spoken/hung around scout envienbijv. this ask is a disjointed mess. Basically the moral of the story? I really like making scout worse by taking parts of myself and twisting them to try and fit the charater because if it doesn't ill be too embarrassed. like is it lame to want medic to keep everyone awake for surgery and make small talk at them and some of the mercs like it more, and scouts just come to associate it with "hanging out with medic" time? I dont know. I dont think I explained it well enough I hope you understand and if not im sorry for being weird. I havent eaten yet so the world is awful right now. I JUST RELAIXZZED IM JUST GIVING SCOUT TF2 MY UNMEDICATED ASS'S ISSIUES MAN. scout tf2 really is the adhd haver ever I guess. I just think it would be neat for the mercs to be freinds and I dont really like it when they absolutely hate each other in fan works lol. like I like to think they annoy each other, get into fights, and do dumb shit but in the end care about each other even a lil even if they cant or dont show it like most well adjusted people do. theyre literally team fortress.sorry im off medication right now I hope you have a good day this got too long 💀

I'd love to be able to break this down line by line but I'm so tired I'll just bullet point this

• I love people who associate so closely with Scout because that's so real and I totally get where you guys come from

• Medic and Scout are definitely friends

• I understand all too well the philosophy of "you keep hanging out with me so we're friends now"

• Socut getting surgery is definitely his hang out with Medic time, and he comes to enjoy it more than most things

• You weren't weird at all, but please eat something!

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 medic #tf2 scout

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justsomerandomplanet · 4 months

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Hello! I just wanted to say I absolutely adore all of your art and thank you for all the ancient ones/Heian era content (especially Kenjaku 👀...) I would absolutely love to hear all of your drabbles about it! I have my own stuff too about them but I live for any JJK Heian era stuff lol.

Anyway, mostly wanted to drop by and say thank you for showing us your amazing art ❤️ I look at it every day, it makes me so happy!

Helloooo,

Thank you so much for your kind words!! I'm happy that you enjoy my silly self indulgent art hehe

As for my thoughts on em, I'll put them underneath here so the post doesn't appear too long on the dashboard ^-^

(I'll mostly just share my thoughts on the character dynamics bc I'm not knowledgeable about the actual history of the Heian Era)

Tengen & Kenjaku

Oh where do I even begin!!!

I genuinely believe the two of them are the reason the jujutsu system is the way it is in modern times (more so the former than the latter especially). Although we don't actually know much about what the two were like previously, the implications on their dynamic is so delicious.

For one, I definitely see that they care(d) about each other. The fact Tengen was still aware that Kenjaku was alive and yet still did nothing even though they had prevuously tried to sabotage the merging raises a lot of eyebrows...like why would you let a criminal in the jujutsu history go??? I understand that Tengen's whole thing is that she doesn't interact with the real world anymore, but she can definitely communicate with the other sorcerers to do her bidding when necessary (e.g. telling the sorcerers to let Riko enjoy her youth before the merging while protecting her). On the other hand, Kenjaku always seems to seek out Tengen. Calling her an old friend, always trying to bring her in a conversation, insulting her as if they could get a reaction out of her...oh there's definitely something here that can be explored.

I do believe they had a falling out and that falling out is the reason things have become this way. Tengen's innaction as a way to maintain the status quo (traditions) and Kenjaku's curiosity as a drive to break that status quo (innovation) has led us here. And I do believe Sukuna and Yuuji reflect that too, but that'll be for a different time to ramble on.

Tengen & Immortality

To me, Tengen can feel paradoxical/hypocritical sometimes. She states she did not want to evolve into a higher being yet allows others to treat her like she is one, to protect her and also isolating herself. She often speaks in a way that presents humble but has an arrogance about herself as well (e.g. she is the best barrier user even tho she hasn't really been challenged on it for the past 500-ish years or the merging of star plasma vessels was necessary for the greater good-which is true-but also as a way to maintain herself). She said change in herself was inevitable and detached herself from the real world yet built a foundation in jujutsu that relied on her barriers and did not allow change for like a 1000 years.

Whether or not she meant these things intentionally is hard for me to say bc i don't think Tengen is malicious or means ill-will, but I do think in some way, Tengen is more afraid of change or even death than anyone else and has built a foundation to a society that relies on her existence, leading to a stagnation. I find that fitting that her CT is Immortality, it sorta reflects that don't you think? But like a star, sooner or later, change and death is inevitable.

Tengen, Sukuna, & Kenjaku

These guys had a history. What that history is idk but personally I do believe Sukuna is the youngest out of them. I like to think Sukuna was the pet project of Tengen and Kenjaku. Not necessarily that they're his parents or anything (tho that would be funny) but rather more like...a pupil or a dysfunctional found family dynamic. Sukuna already knows he was an unwanted child but that doesn't mean he didn't have any connections with people growing up. I do think Tengen and/or Kenjaku helped Sukuna in becoming who he is.

Plus, Tengen keeping Sukuna's mummiffied corpse (with the implication that she was the one to do it) and Kenjaku seemingly being the only one able to hold some level of control over Sukuna's head just tells me something is up with those three that screams a psychological power imbalance. Also also, if Tengen had the corpse but the fingers were scattered, when exactly did Kenjaku split his soul? (this is more of a musing more than an actual question. I just think it would be delicious if Tengen allowed Kenjaku to see Sukuna's dead body-which led to the cursed fingers albeit without her knowledge but shrug)

Kenjaku, Love, & Motherhood

Saving da best for last, oh Kenny! I did a lot of rambling on Tengen but tbf there's so very little stuff on her I have more thoughts to share, but Kenjaku is really my favourite character in all of jjk. They're so fascinating, their curiosity driving them but also spite (just like me fr)

No but in all seriousness, Kenjaku is such a fun but sad character. Clearly, whatever happened between them and Tengen led to where they are, which I find fascinating. I know they're doing things cause of curiosity, but sometimes it does feel like they're trying to prove something (namely to Tengen). The implications that they may have grown up lonely, was friends with Tengen but had a break up, and still talks about making friends...AUGHHH

This leading to the theme of motherhood is also great. What's a better way to build a connection and to create innovation than from your own blood. Yuuji may not have a "role" as Kenjaku told Choso, but I think that's the whole point. Maybe Yuuji was made to hold Sukuna or cursed objects, who knows, but Kenjaku purposely letting him develop himself, for better or worst, definitely feels right.

And in a way I do find it enjoyable Yuuji doesn't actually care enough about Kenjaku. Yes he's trying to stop Kenny but there isn't necessarily any personal stakes that he's aware of, and I find that enjoyable for the irony: Kenjaku being so invested in Yuuji yet he won't even see it. Kenjaku, who is clearly obsessed with motherhood, fetuses, and children, cannot even get the attention of their own child.

#rambles #jjk #kenjaku #jujutsu kaisen #tengen #ryomen sukuna #itadori yuji #phew this was long #i feel like i didnt make sense for most of it tbh #but the way i like characters is mostly based on vibes more than anything so LOL #anyway if you disagree with me that's fine but dont rb n put it in the tags #im just here for a good time....#asks #artbyerry

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thebibliosphere · 2 years

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Do you have any tips for surviving covid and avoiding any long term symptoms? I had CFS for two years and I’d just mostly recovered (somehow, I got really lucky) before I got covid, and now I’m scared it’ll flare up again :(

Hello friend, I'm sorry to hear you're dealing with this.

I'm obviously not a doctor, but as a chronically ill person, covid definitely set me back in my own recovery when I got it. This is not to say it will for you, but if you already have CFS, it's best to act with caution. I thought I was "fine" post covid infection in 2020, and then 3 months later, all my chronic illnesses flared at once, and I'm still dealing with some of the fallout -- likely because I didn't take adequate time to rest post-infection.

I basically spent the whole of 2021 working on my mental and physical health and am just now getting back to a stable baseline with my POTS and exercise intolerance.

So my advice would be to treat yourself like you are already dealing with a CFS flare. Prioritize being gentle with yourself. Avoid exercising beyond your limits, and make sure you're getting enough to eat and sleep.

Also, make sure you're on top of any possible deficiencies. I seem to recall covid hits people harder if they've got vitamin D deficiencies, which makes sense if you know vitamin D helps regulate mast cells, which in turn regulate how your immune system responds to infections and recovery. (You do not need to have MCAS for low Vit D to affect your mast cells. It's been shown to affect things like asthma and other allergic diseases as well.)

Guard your energy levels as best you can, and if you're able to, take extra precautions against getting infected again. If I have to go anywhere, I only ever wear n95 masks with an additional paper surgical mask over the top to get more wear out of the n95.

I buy mine from here, in case that helps. You can also get "reusable" ones from places like Cambridge Masks, which can be hand-washed.

Also, make sure you stay up to date with any available vaccines. I know the vaccines may cause mini-flares (they do for me), but it's better than the full-blown flares that covid itself can cause.

Overall just rest, rest, rest. Obviously, talk to your doctor too if you find yourself with any new or worrying symptoms, just be wary of any recommendations for exercise.

Doctors do so much harm when they prescribe exercise too soon for post-viral syndromes, and while the initial hit of endorphins might feel good, the long-term damage isn't worth it. Trust your body; after living with CFS, you know it better than anyone else.

Best of luck and take care. I hope things go smoothly for you.

#long post #chronic health tag #covid #cfs

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your-local-grinning-cat · 4 months

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Che’nya I just found out I may or may not have BPD. Give me advice on what to do with this information

*Che’nya appears next to you and gives you a gentle hug, wrapping his tail around you as well; AR comes out of the Tulgey Woods and sits nexts to the two of you as well, offering their support and is willing to give you a hug if you’re wanting one from them too*

Che’nya: I know the ask was technically for me, but I just don’t feel comfortable answering such a heavy ask with my usual light-hearted Che’nya answers. Which means it’s really more AR’s place than mine. Hope you don’t mind - we both care about you too, so I think it works out. 💜

AR: I will give the usual disclaimer that I am not a therapist, though I’m sure you’re know that and did not come here for that. But I wanted to get that out of the way first so we can just move right along. I will also put the rest under the cut, as this isn’t the usual Cheshire Cat content. 😊

Okay, this is long because not only is mental illness a topic I care about lot about… I also genuinely care about you. You’re one of the people I talk to on here and so I consider you one of my friends. And when it comes to the things/people I care about… I tend to talk. Even more than usual. You have been warned.

Altair, I’ll be honest, BPD is hard - though I’m sure you’re the last person I need to tell that to. I don’t have it myself, but I’ve known people who have it and I know they struggle. So hearing that you have it, or even that you may have, which means you show enough characteristics of it that the diagnosis is on the table… my heart goes out to you. I may not have BPD, but I do know what it’s like to live with mental illnesses.

My advice… I suppose the best advice I can give is to try not to look at this as a bad thing but as a good one. I know that may seem really hard, but hear me out. Now that you’re aware of your BPD, you can hopefully get help for it, or more specialized treatment for it if you were already receiving help.

I know finally being put on the right meds for your needs after years of being misdiagnosed or getting the right therapist/psychiatrist that you just “click” with can work wonders.

Just recently one of my favorite comic artists, “Art by Moga” was finally diagnosed as bipolar after years of being misdiagnosed and going unmedicated. And it has, according to her, legitimately changed her life for the better.

And I know learning I had Dyscalculia on top of all my other problems really helped me figure out why the way I am about certain things and not feel so self conscious about my difficulties with numbers and math.

Those are obviously not BPD, but I’m hoping the stories may end up being the same for you - hopefully being diagnosed will be a stepping stone to you finally finding a better, happier way of living your life!

But I know either way it’s tough to deal with that kind of diagnosis, so I would say try to be around people you care about and that care about you. Be with your support system. Get all the love and care. You deserve it. Do the things that make you happy. Get some TLC. You fucking deserve it. I give you permission to treat yourself.

But above all else, remember that having borderline personality disorder does NOT mean you are broken or unlovable or anything else. I’m not going to say that cliché line of “you’re perfect just the way you are” because even I don’t believe that about myself. You asked for advice and I’m not going to give you advice I can’t follow on my own. I’m not that kind of hypocrite. I always think there’s room to grow and improve and change. No one is perfect. And thank fuck for that because otherwise people would point at them and tell us all to reach for them as the standard.

So you’re not perfect. Neither am I. And the you before finding out you have/may have BPD is the same as the you now…

You are still the person who would send Che’nya random rizz pickup lines that oftenalways ended in hilarious ways that you didn’t intend that made me, and I hope you, smile.

You are still the person who made that sick-ass Mickey Mouse Clubhouse Martian Mickey twst OC and shared it with me and you’re excitement was so fun and contagious.

You are the person who told me about your other twst OC, Pawn, and his sentient mandolin, Mandy, and didn’t even call me rude when I sent you a block text of questions about Pawn’s relationship with Rook.

You are still the person who Che’nya sang an entire fucking Melanie Martinez musical number to, simply because it was you and you’re fun to have fun with.

You are still one of the very few people that interacts with this blog regularly in private messages rather than strictly via asks or posts - because we talk ooc so often, which means you are not just friends with Che’nya, you’re friends with me, AR.

You are still you.

And you is the person I am friends with.

And I think you is pretty damn great.

Che’nya: I agree.

💜💜💜

#we love you Altair 💜#🫂🫂🫂#this got long sorry #but you know you my inbox is always open 💜#ar answers ooc #che’nya chats #che’nya knows no 4th wall #broken + mad = fun #tw mental illness #cw mental illness #tw mental health #cw mental health

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