#not system related but that's okay i think

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Eighteen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader - AO3 - 3.1K words Tags: 18+ mdni. nurse!reader. Sexual content. Pregnancy and things that come with it. Brief mention of options in relation to termination of pregnancy. PTSD. Heavy emotions. Graphic descriptions of domestic violence and miscarriage, suicidal ideation. This is mostly inner monologue. Feelings of anxiety, despair, fear. This part is a little shorter due to its emotional nature.

There’s no oxygen.

No room for your lungs to expand, nothing for you to suck into your chest and relieve the ache blooming in your bones.

You drift, unmoored, a sailboat with no rudder, no engine to save you in an ocean without a breeze. All you can do is follow the current, the one leading you back to the dozen HCG strips buried in the bottom of a trash can, faint pink lines buried in the membranes and the matter of your brain.

The midwife that squeezed you in confirmed it all with a blood draw.

“You have options.”

“I know.”

There are resources, and education for you…  though I know you’re probably aware.”

“Yup.”

“Depending on your decisions, we’d like to see you in about two weeks for an eight-week ultrasound.” You gulp. The air is tragically thin in this room, and the paper crinkles under your uneasy weight.  

“Okay.”

When Simon appears in the main lobby for the usual trek home, you barely hold back the urge to vomit all over his shoes. Your legs are weak, trembling with each step forward, and you hold his hand so tight, your bones ache.

Sensitive as always, he lingers alongside you in the quiet, biding his time before slicing through your silence. “What is it sweetheart?”

“Huh?” You’re already on the front doorstep, memory of the entire trip evaporated.

“Do you still not feel well?”

“Oh, yeah.” The lie is toxic, sludge stuck in your bloodstream, clogging your capillaries until they burst like fireworks. “It’s my stomach.”

“Pen’s still under the weather too.”

“Poor thing.” The words are numb. Your mind is numb. Your body is a livewire and exhausted, all at once, the push and pull almost knocking you onto the floor. In the kitchen, Johnny wraps an arm around your waist, leaning in for a kiss, but nothing registers.

“Maybe you should get some rest.”

“Yeah.” Autopilot. That’s the gear you’re in. Going through the motions, trying to hold yourself together, keep your head above water.

Is this real?

Is this happening?

What will they say?

What will they think?

“Bunny?” Johnny’s thumb is on your carotid, where your pulse beats. Where your heart pushes blood through your circulatory system, flowing to a presence now fluttering inside you.

One plus one equals two.

“Sorry, yeah. Think I’m gonna go up, take a nap.”

“Yell if ye need anything, aye?” All you can do is nod.

You gravitate towards the guest room before you can stop yourself. It’s as you left it, bed made, sheets crisp, remnants of your things separated into easily sorted piles. In the nest of blankets, it’s easy to pretend. Easy to imagine the bed as a cloud of cotton candy, so high in the sky, above the earth, above this… this thing that is happening.

An embryo. Something two millimeters long, siphoning its existence from yours.

That tiny sliver of hope is nowhere to be found, replaced now with logical, realistic questions.

Can you sustain a pregnancy, after the damage inflicted during the last one?

Can you carry one to viability?

Can you mentally, emotionally, physically handle a pregnancy?

An infant?

And what about them?

What about you?

You think about the times you wanted to die. The moments you sat in the shower, streams of red running to the drain, a clump of cells you never knew draining from your body with each second.

A loss you never knew you’d mourn. Something stolen. Something slipping through your fingers, handfuls of sand blown away by a sea breeze.

The overwhelming feeling of drowning every time you laid on the floor in a broken heap, synapses misfiring, making wrong connections, desperately trying to latch onto anything normal, anything sane. Staring at the ceiling, slow flow of blood dripping down your throat, left wondering if this will be it, this will be the moment it goes too far. Your spine will snap. You’ll take a blow to the head strong enough to render you unconscious, permanently. Your windpipe will be crushed, closing in on itself, starving your brain of oxygen. In those moments, you could only hope.

You’re grateful, at least, that you don’t feel like that now.

In a cocoon on a cusp of hazy sleep, you’re cradled to a chest, jostled lightly until blankets are tucked back up around your shoulders and snuggled between two warm bodies, a gentle hand cupping your cheek.

“Our sweet girl,” Simon murmurs in the dark, “we’re here. Whatever it is, we have you.”

A dream.

You sleepwalk through life. One week turns to two, and then three. Three weeks turn to four, and more, before you know it, you’re twelve weeks pregnant, still going through the motions, robotically making your way through each day. You’re shoving the waterfall of feelings and emotions so deep, so far away, they’re likely to never see the sun again.

You lock them in a box.

You bury it in a grave, six feet under.

At work, you’re grateful you know your job inside and out, because you’re mostly just going through the motions. The only time you show any sign of life is when your boss tries to float you to the NICU. When you dig in your heels, repeatedly denying the request, she finally gives up and moves onto a new unsuspecting victim.

Better them than you.

At home, its worse. You don’t know if you’re imagining the tension or if its truly there, eggshells crumbling beneath your feet, words turned to ash. You’re a marionette, fate pulling the strings, tearing the joints of your limbs in a million directions.

They can tell. They read you too well, but you’re not so easily swayed. Simon tries to coax it gently; Johnny tries to bluntly force it out. Both tactics fail, but they themselves stay steady, and true, holding you in the night, soothing you with touch and whispers, loving you through it all.

During the day, they coddle you. Johnny massages your shoulder, tips your chin back until your skull rests on collarbone, dots kisses all over your skin. He tugs you onto the patio, curls up on the outdoor loveseat with you under a big blanket, your head in his lap, telling you stories about his childhood, his parents. He makes you giggle by reminiscing of all the times he chased Simon around at work, how Kyle fell out of a helicopter, how they had to wear suits for an undercover op one time and Simon's ripped right down the ass.

Simon cooks, all your favorites, things you forgot he pays attention to, and spoons you on the couch, big arm like a safety net stretched across your chest to keep you close. He brings tea to bed, reading until your eyes close, calming your mind enough to lull you to sleep.

Even at night, they treasure you like glass. Johnny lays on his stomach, thumbs rubbing circles into your thighs, parting them, backs of his knuckles tracing over the seam of your pussy, coaxing your arousal, taking his time. He licks your clit so slowly its torture, all the while Simon tugs your knee as wide as he can, hand fisted in the mohawk, kissing you from shoulder to neck, over and over.

You beg them to fuck you hard, harder than you’ve ever asked for it before. Johnny jumps at the idea, but Simon kills it immediately.

“No,” he traces a line over the curve of your ass to the creases of your thighs, “that’s not going to happen, sweetheart. Not until you tell us what’s going on.” You opt to bury your face in his chest instead and ride Johnny’s hand as Simon coaches, telling you how good you are, how lucky they are, how much you mean to them.

If only they knew. Would they still feel the same?

It’s more than you deserve, you think. More than you know how to handle. The guilt piles onto your shoulders. You’re carrying a life, a life you created with them, a life they should know about.

The decisions waiting in the wings haunt you at every turn.

What should you do? What will you do?

You should tell them. They should know.

Why are you keeping this a secret?

The time is passing too fast, and with it, your panic increases, forcing your back to bow, hands clutching at your legs, head hanging heavy to the floor. At work in the closet, at home the moments you’re alone, the agony steals your breath, heart shredding to pieces. It overcomes you, floods your nervous system until the world spins.

In the shower, you fall apart, truly, knees slamming into tile, your shoulders slumped against the wall.

It’s hard to tell you’re crying with water streaming over your face.

You lose your shit the day Penny crawls across the couch to cuddle you.

She pulls herself up onto your belly, her head resting on your chest, chubby hands fisted in your shirt.

“Bunny wead?” She wants a story, a routine the two of you enjoy together, turning the pages of a children’s book and acting out all the voices. She’ll squeal with glee, her laughter full of excitement, and you’ll tickle her sides while pretending to eat her foot.

It makes you both happy, but today, it splits your soul in two.

You burst into tears. She jolts back, looking up into your face, little brow furrowed in confusion, mouth shocked into a circle.

“Bunny.” She pats your cheek, alarmed, and you skim your nose across the top of her head, breathing her deep, anchoring your arm around her back. She’s starting to get upset, too perceptive, too empathetic, already expressing the traits of both her parents. You try to soothe her distress.

“It’s alright.” Your voice cracks on the promise, her nose pressed to your throat. “It’s alright, Penny. I’m sorry. Everything’s okay.” Johnny’s unmistakable gait sounds on the stairs, still slightly off balance, and you hastily wipe your face, forcing your eyes to his as he approaches the couch.

“What’s wrong?” He sees it immediately, and you shake him off with another lie, so many little white ones rotting into blinding despair.

“I had a bad day at work yesterday, that’s all. Just still trying to process it.” His head cocks.

“Ye sure?”

“Yeah, promise. I’ll be fine.”

The tide changes at work.

A man lies in a medically induced coma, barbiturates keeping him in the dark, a suspended state of uncertainty. His wife waits, and waits, fixes her too keen eyes on you every time she sees you, waiting for an update, good news, anything. Anything that could bring her peace.

On the second day of your work week, your steps stutter at the sight of her sitting bedside, a baby in her arms, gentle words floating between them.

“We’ve moved onto ba now, for a bottle, which is just crazy,” she murmurs, a hand under her cheek, wiping away tracks of tears, “and I think he’s too big for me to carry around at this point.” There’s a wet chuckle, and the baby tips forward, smacking his hand on his dad’s. “Is that daddy?” She bounces him, quiet as he babbles and gurgles, his eyes wide at the sights and sounds in a hospital room.

You clear your throat. She startles.

“Oh god, sorry… I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s okay,” Intruding on private moments is not uncommon, though here it feels different. “I just need to check on some things and then I’ll be out of your hair.” She nods, and outside of the baby’s noises, the room is silent until she breaks it with a whisper.

“I know there’s probably no chance he can hear me,” her fingers stroke through his hair, a pained look on her face, “but I like to believe he can.”

“There’s no definitive research that he can’t,” you tell her softly, carefully going about your work to avoid disturbing them.

“I hope he can hear the baby. He’s… he’s missed so much already, you know?” She sniffles, tears freely falling, and your heart clenches. “We’re broken without him; I’m broken without him. He’s my family, my everything. I can’t… we’re not supposed to be apart. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You have thick skin. You’ve seen countless people die. Consoled hundreds of family members. Held hands with patients taking their last breath.

This shouldn’t bother you. It shouldn’t affect you in any way, but when you look at your patient, and his partner, and his child-

All you can see is your boys and their unconditional love. Simon sitting vigilant at Johnny’s bedside. Johnny’s tears when he finally woke up. The fear in Simon’s eyes when Johnny seized, the trust he placed in your promise to take care of him. Penny in his arms as soon as he was strong enough to hold her. Their resolve to hold their family together, their dedication to you through it all. The three of them, a family, now yours, spun together with string stronger than steel, connecting the four of you for the rest of your life.

You’ll make it through. You’ll all make it through. You have their love shining down on your face. The love strong enough to hold you tight, rock you through your nightmares, encourage you to grow, to be yourself, to let it all go.

And they have you. Your love. Something you never thought would exist again, fostered and enticed forward, magnified for them. For the first time, you’re able to give to someone, to comfort them, care for them the way they have for you, hold them tight through their pain, their fears. It’s never felt so…

right.

It’s not one plus one. It’s five. Five hearts, making a family.

You know, without a doubt, they’ll love this baby. They won’t leave your side. They’ll take care of you, they’ll nurture you both, they’ll be solid, and supportive, and patient through it all.

You don’t need them to say it, and you don’t need to be scared.

Their light soothing your despair, healing the deep embedded scars, their warmth of the sun-

The little sunbeam growing inside you.

“You’re a few weeks late.” The midwife shakes her head as you settle on the exam table. You showed up in a whirlwind again, convincing her to fit you in between appointments.

“I know, I… I was struggling with it, but I feel better now. I’m… ready.” Your lips quirk at the corners, and she smiles in return.

“Should we take a look then?” You nod with a deep breath.

The jelly is cold, and she purposefully keeps the screen turned away from you, clicking, measuring, assessing in silence. It's standard policy for any employee or medical professional. Though you're not an ultrasound tech, it's not outside the realm of possibility that you could read the image on the screen before she can tell you gently that something is wrong.

Your past haunts you, taunts you, convinces you this has all been for nothing. You’re too damaged for this. Your body is broken. He took too much.

Still, you hope. You cling to a future, a vision, Penny holding the baby with Johnny’s arms supporting her, Simon half asleep with a burp cloth on his shoulder, little one asleep on his chest.

“Alright,” she turns it back for you to see, her expression colored with kindness. “Everything looks great, honey.”

“Everything?”

“Yes. Placenta is in optimal position, and baby is right on track developmentally for twelve weeks.” She twists a knob, the volume, filling the room with sound of galloping hoofbeats.

The heartbeat.

“Oh my god.” Your hand clasps over your mouth and you desperately try to bring air in through your nose, filling your diaphragm, staving off a river of tears unsuccessfully. She hands you a tissue.

“I’ll get you some printouts, okay?” You can’t do anything but choke on a thank you.

You slip away after your appointment, crossing through the halls leading to the out-patient wing where you’ll find Johnny in physical therapy, Simon in a chair scrolling through his phone just outside. The smile stretches across your face naturally, joy bursting at the seams.  

It's a new day, a new moment to turn away from the darkness and step into the sun.

You’re nearly skipping, heart so full, overflowing with hope, with happiness, your hands trembling, pictures of the scan clutched in your fingers. You hold them so tight, close to your chest, afraid they may disappear, be lost.

In hindsight, the crippling agony and fear you’ve been holding in seems so foolish now. It’s easy to curse yourself for the doubt, for the despair, but the path you took to get here, to be present in this moment, moving forward, was worth it.

They love you, and they’ll love little sunbeam. Penny will be the best big sister. You’ll make new memories, together, build the beginning of this life into a forever. Everything will work out; you can feel it now. You’ve shed the dented armor, the walls, the fence topped with barbed wire. The girl in the mirror, gone. It’s all crumbled down. With Johnny. With Simon. Your family.

A family of five.

You round the corner with your hands knitted together, a flimsy effort to still them, elated and barely able to hold your secret in. You won’t be able to do a cute announcement, won’t be patient enough to do something special like get Penny a shirt that says, “best big sister” even though you’d like to.

You’ve kept it from them for long enough. You need them to know.

You look for Simon first, expecting him to be waiting outside the door, but when he's not there, you glance around, and then peek into the observation window to find the physical therapy room empty.

Where are they? Where-

They’re at the end of the hall, talking to someone out of sight. Simon has his arms crossed, his body angled partially in front of Johnny, who shifts his weight onto his good leg. They’re both wearing serious expressions, Simon’s the most severe, and then Johnny’s lips twist into a grim sort of smile.

Whoever they’re talking to steps forward, and your heart burns into ash, falling through the floor to bottomless depths of darkness.

Phillip.

[nondelphic]

nondelphic writing tips: unconventional (but super fun!) ways to work on your story when you’re not writing

hi lovelies! (｡♥‿♥｡) time for another serious post!!

i'd like to share some of my fav unconventional, but super fun, ways to deepen your plot, characters, and world-building on those off-days when you're not actively writing. because let's be real, sometimes the most creative breakthroughs happen when you’re not staring at the blank page! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ

♡ incorrect quotes for characters

okay, this one is my absolute favourite!! even when i'm not writing, i love coming up with totally out-of-context or incorrect quotes for my characters (think “they would say this” energy). they don’t even have to be lines you use in the story, just little snippets of dialogue that fit their personality and vibe! it’s such a fun way to get to know your characters better and explore their quirks.

bonus: it’s also super entertaining when you assign hilarious, offbeat quotes to your more serious characters (≧◡≦). trust me, it works!

♡ acting out dialogue

confession time: i suck at acting but i love to act out my character’s dialogue to myself (ಥ‿ಥ). yes i do have a problem with daydreaming BUT walking around my room and speaking the lines really helps me figure out if they sound natural and realistic! if it feels awkward to say out loud, it might need tweaking. plus, it’s a great way to channel your inner actor for a little while (〃＾▽＾〃).

♡ using ai to brainstorm ideas

i love using ai tools as a sounding board to help with world-building decisions! like if i’m stuck between two options for how something should work in my world (magic system, politics, etc.), i’ll type it into an ai and ask, “what would be more realistic, option a or b?” ai can give you that nudge in the right direction and spark ideas you didn’t think of! it’s like brainstorming with a friend, but faster (￣▽￣)ノ

i have another post on using ai responsibly for writing here !!

♡ character playlists and mood boards

this one is so fun for those “off” days when you’re not writing! create playlists or mood boards for your characters or setting. find songs that capture their personality, struggles, or even the overall tone of your world. or scroll through pinterest and make a visual mood board that reflects the vibe of your world. it’s super immersive and helps you build your story’s atmosphere without writing a single word! ♫(◕‿◕)

♡ role-playing conversations between characters

this is one i like to do when i’m really feeling stuck. it's similar to acting out dialogue but rather than focusing on how realistic it sounds, it's about the characters themselves. i’ll imagine my characters just… hanging out and chatting. not even plot-related stuff, just normal conversations they’d have in their everyday lives. how would they talk to each other when they’re relaxed, annoyed, or excited? it’s such a fun way to build chemistry and relationships between your characters! (*≧ω≦)

♡ build “what if” scenarios

sometimes, i’ll brainstorm totally unrealistic “what if” situations just to see how my characters react! what if they were stuck in a completely ridiculous situation? how would they handle it? even if these scenes never make it into the story, they give me so much insight into how my characters think and behave. plus, it’s ridiculously fun (≧◡≦).

the key to all of this is to keep it light, fun, and creative on days when you’re not in the mood to do “serious” writing. storytelling isn’t just about the words you put on the page—it’s about the world, the people, and the relationships you’re building. so don’t be afraid to play around with it in unconventional ways. ♡＼(￣▽￣)／

happy writing (and daydreaming)!

[goopi-e]

Okay, so I am not going to spoil anything (mostly because I'm not far enough to spoil anything meaningful yet), but I've been checking out A Certain Videogame...

...And "good" doesn't even begin to describe it.

It's so wonderful and refreshing, not only compared to what came immediately before, but just in general. There's nothing to worry about, there's nothing to be disappointed by, just pure joy on every step of the way. The whole thing feels as if it was tailored to fit my dreams, it's so unbelievably in tune with what I love about this series. God, it's such a Zеlda game. I am thriving.

The echo gameplay scratches the same itch I usually look for in randomizers — I've always loved non-sword combat and creative/loophole-y item usage based on some obscure, interconnected mechanics. The bind mechanic looks like something more applicable to dungeons, which I haven't seen a lot of yet, and I'm still getting used to it, but I've always loved Mаgnеsis/Ultrаhаnd, so it's not a bad addition. And, even early on, the sword gameplay is nearly not as scarce as I feared — the gauge replenishments are easy to find.

Another little thing that, despite not being the merit of the game itself, still brings me immense joy, is... It comes in Russian! And features many classic enemies and worldbuilding elements that weren't in any games previously translated to Russian! And you don't even have to scrape through the text dump or whatever, everything is conveniently placed in a compendium-ish system! You have no idea how much it pained me to not know what an official translation for the term "redead" was. Man, I love it when videogames have compendiums.

And from what little (very little) spoilers I saw of the plot-related stuff... I am pretty pleased, too. The story looks pretty intriguing as far as this series goes, I didn't think it'd steer in this direction. At this point, knowing what I know, I don't think the game can pull anything to suddenly become disappointing in that regard.

tl;dr: This game tastes like hope. Immediate fave.

[reluctantbylerblog]

they really have the gall to say they aren’t biased against byler when these are their reactions to both of these posts:

like c’mon bffr

[dandyshucks]

one of the kiddos really loves rabbits and we're not able to really do much for Easter related activities irl so I thought I'd draw them with their favourite rabbit 'mon ... perhaps a gift from Guz,,,,,

[emdotcom]

*remembers what they did to Vanny* 500 FUCKING PIPEBOMB ATTACK.

[supercantaloupe]

truly detest how pcos tags/forums/etc are absolutely crawling with terfs

[system-of-a-feather]

Man, I'm (Fei, final fused state) listening to the Loki Season 2 Part 2 Soundtrack and the line "Purpose is often more burden than glory" really sticks with me cause man 0 if there is anything to summarize the core locus that defines the "Riku Part" in relation to the rest of the system, the thing that makes the basis for every elaborate dynamic and role they have with the other parts, it would be best summarized as "Purpose and/or Passion". Everything about their role in the system boils down to them being the sole carrier and center of purpose and passion and that they are functionally there to provide that not only for themselves but the entire system - and ever since our childhood / original host situation got fucked up around age 7-10 they've been living that on full drive as a host / one of the hosts / one of the most frequent fronters since then.

And honestly, having to be responsible for giving, providing, and generating a sense of purpose for the system - a genuine "why" to keep going - when growing up being abused, being targetted for MC-related stuff from a snake of a sister that was our "only non-abusive older person in our life" who gave us up to predators and left us for daring to be hurt by that, being disabled and having multiple mental health issues, being otherwise a lone, and having almost every friendship we invested to end with no closure (moved without goodbyes) or turned abusive - was both an insane pressure and a mammoth of a task, especially when you consider that save for the first and last two years, they were the ONLY host and they lived through MOST of the last half of our childhood

They had to experience and endure the garbage of life as a teen and then the climb out and survival in college as the main person experiencing it, and still - despite it all - keep their head up and never waver in their purpose because if THEY lost sight of it, if they stopped believing in it, if they wavered, the system as a whole would collapse beneath them. And that sounds like a catastophization, but as a fused state of all our parts, I can say for certain that - especially during any point before we graduated college - if they ever did genuinely stay down for more too long, we would have imploded. Most other parts don't have any motivation to heal, recovery, or keep trying. Most don't have motivation to try to do better or even really live on their own. Some parts - even with Riku's radiating vision - barely managed to hold faith in them to not just off and kill themselves or go off and commit crimes that would end in a rather short life.

And thats what XIV - hell most of the parts that are otherwise headstrong, angry and closed off and/or smarter, wiser, and more capable than Riku on their own - respected the most out of them despite the fact that they're fucking idiots 95% of the time. Out of context, Riku is really nothing special - they're stupid, they've got shitty stamina and are completely whiny about any level of physical discomfort, they are the worlds largest hypocrites because they know whats right and struggle A LOT to actually do what they suggest, they are control freaks and particular as fuck and there are alters here that can do almost everything way better than they can and yet a lot of the time they are stubborn and even though they CAN easily switch with any of the other parts, they choose to make themselves suffer. In our trauma therapist's words that Riku agreed to - they are addicted to their own misery. (Which probably comes from the fact that they find it easier to find and see their purpose better when they are suffering than when they aren't suffering)

All in all, Riku out of context is a very mediocre and an average normal person (a generalist, which isn't bad, but as a stubborn control freak it is very frustrating from the specialist views) in relevance to the rest of the frequent fronters (a lot of us being a lot more specialists in that we have very specific extreme skills and huge deficiencies elsewhere), but within the context - Riku is beyond a specialist in their sheer resilience and ability to always see something worthwhile in the garbage of everything.

In a similar but very very different way than XIV, they never loose because they never see an end to the "why" and more than anything else, thats what really got us to our place in life. Thats why I am able to sit here and be me, a fused whole for the time being, writing the genuine insight to the host of 15 or so years that somehow always kept their head up and kept trudging through.

It's why Riku as a part is known in this system for being the part that no part can genuinely hate for long. There are so many reasons a lot of parts have to hate them, or be frustrated with them, or want to usurp their central role to the system, but in the end of the day - they really believe in the most for all parts of our system, in the world, and others. They see the most potential in others and look at the most dismal situations and "give up on it" situations and both internally as a part, internally as a system, and to those around them, really dedicate to wanting to see people reach where they belong. To them, those they come to know have a place to be, a great thing to become - maybe for the world, maybe for society, maybe for their close peers, maybe just for themselves - and they just really genuinely like to see all that potential grow and flourish against all preconsceived notions of what is possible.

It's not anything "special" for them, it's just their way of existence because its their extreme that they got from our childhood, our trauma, and our disorder. They see potential - a why - in almost everything and anyone they spend enough time with and they love to see that why be realized.

I dunno, I feel like Riku and XIV have spent time trying to pinpoint and explain the nature of Riku and how - despite being considerably average to the other parts in the system - Riku is by far the most respected and loved parts in our system. Perhaps its cause they're so average as well that they are the best.

You know, "Sometimes the best horse is the worst horse, and the worst horse is best horse, because the best horse learns too easily and misses the marrow of the practice where as the worst horse will fail and struggle and yet persevere to deeply understand the practice and when that worst horse learns the practice, he will have a much deeper, much more full understanding and appreciation of the practice" - the allegory(?) from Shunryu Suzuki that our system loves, I think best summarizes the nature of Riku.

[the-broken-pen]

I suffered a mental break after writing like eighteen college essays and wrote the newest one about a bagel and I just call it college essay bagel and it haunts me but like objectively it’s funny because it’s about a bagel you know? And my English teacher is gonna throw a book at my head when she finally reads it

[brother-emperors]

I guess it's time to feel /something/ about Crassus asking Pompey to help him control the crowds so he could leave Rome to Parthia, essentially having Pompey walking Crassus to his death.

HELL YEAH @garland-on-thy-brow has an extremely fun post about this

[gurorori]

im so so sad i wish i could be an adult

[aro-culture-is]

Lithromantic culture is hating the unrequited love trope, especially when the char lacks the guts to confess.

.

[rescuefield-arch1]

you know it's terribile that we know so little about claire and her life post t-p, i think she should get magic red eyes just for funsies

[ohnoitsmysideblog]

i’ve been really into apple and onion lately. but like in an “overly analyzing every interaction, set, and prop” kind of way. like in a “thinking heavily about the theming and moral lessons” type of way. like i’ve been thinking a lot about the “not funny” episode and it’s been overlapping with my thoughts on mirrors and reflections and the times in my life when i’ve wholeheartedly convinced myself that my friends were going to abandon me and i might as well get used to being alone and maybe i’ll just be alone on purpose to spite them and it’ll be great because i can totally be my only friend and by viewing myself not as “myself” but as some kind of hard-to-explain separate Thing then i will never have to deal with loneliness ever again.

and okay sure yeah maybe at the end when falafel calls his friend and tells him “tea is hot but not as hot as the sun” as a way of reaching out despite the time that’s been lost i cried a bit. yeah. like that’s a pretty rad message for a kids show I’d say like yeah it actually is important to remember that everything is not black and white and people are capable of forgiveness and i’m a person who can be forgiven.

and i didn’t mean to write this much but fuck it, i love that the character arc for apple wasn’t “onion would never replace me because i’m his best friend” but instead “i love onion and i love being his friend even if that means i’m his millionth friend.” and of course apple isn’t replaceable but u get what i’m saying. i’m sorry but themes centered around love are and have always been my absolute favorite. love ur friends love ur family love ur pets love the earth whatever. ok i’m done now. i just wish i’d found this show earlier but i guess i’m glad i found it now when my life’s a mess.

[aliosne]

Also during conversation with client M last night she asked if/when I’d started ADHD meds and if I’d had them as a child would I have— and I didn’t even let her finish I was like it would have fucking changed my life and maybe I would have a PhD now

[snekdood]

man i wish i did have all this privilege everyone acts like I have for being a trans guy, my life would be way more chill. I wouldnt hafta worry about shit really