#people are superficial and self absorbed

[nururu]

I don't understand why there's such a pressure on representing your gender identity outwardly when it's literally so fucking dangerous. If you're brave enough good for you. If you have enough mental strength, good for you. But y'all need to stop taking that and using it as an example of how trans ppl should present themselves and then making them feel less than and invalid when they don't do it your way. It takes a lot of strength and a lot of bravery and a lot of mental strength, to be able to do that. Like an astronomical amount. Expecting everyone to have that ability is weird. And I know, logically, people don't expect that. When you actually sit down and have a nuanced conversation, everyone understands this.. but the way trans ppl who don't pass or don't outwardly represent a binary gender on their bodies, get invalidated and treated like they're not good enough bc they're not as brave as you,is ridiculous. It needs to stop.

[cyberclouddream]

What Makes You Feel Isolated or Confined

The 12th house represents how we delve into unseen and hidden aspects of existence. Sometimes we’re not ready to confront these areas, and they can turn into a prison.

Aries Rising

- escapist tendencies

- absorbing other people’s emotions

- struggles to articulate feelings

- unfulfilled dreams, ideals, or spiritual longings

- lack of clear boundaries with others

Taurus Rising

- pressure to conform to expectations

- feelings of unachievable freedom in circumstances

- lack of understanding from others

- regrets about impulsive behavior

- restless energy that makes them feel stagnant or unfulfilled

Gemini Rising

- attachments to material comforts

- pressure to maintain appearances

- suppress emotions in favor or practicality

- rigid routines that resist unpredictability

- emotional dependencies on people or situations

Cancer Rising

- fear of commitment

- overthinking that can lead to paralysis

- balancing need for interaction and solitude

- superficial connections that lack depth

- inability to express deeper emotions

Leo Rising

- strong attachments to the past

- fear of abandonment

- the pressure to nurture others

- fear of exposing true self

- need for security, making it hard to take risks

Virgo Rising

- pressure to maintain confident or fun facade

- fear of being under-appreciated or overlooked

- stifled creative expression

- need for drama or excitement

- tendencies to seek validation from others

Libra Rising

- pressure to appear perfect

- need to control details

- overthinking and cycles of self-criticism

- emotional baggage that’s hard to sort through

- desire for routine that can feel stifling

Scorpio Rising

- desire for harmony that prevents expressing true feelings

- tendencies to overanalyze relationships

- emotional dependencies on others

- longing for connection

- pressure to maintain appearances

Sagittarius Rising

- trust issues because of fear of betrayal

- need for control

- unresolved trauma or emotional wounds

- tendencies to repress desires

- the intensity of their inner world

Capricorn Rising

- feeling restricted by obligations and responsibilities

- fear of being tied down

- fear of missing out

- overextending themselves, leading to burnout

- the need to find deeper meaning or purpose

Aquarius Rising

- pressure to always be in control

- fear of failure

- suppressed emotions after prioritizing practicality

- guilt over not achieving enough

- sense of duty and obligation

Pisces Rising

- need for individuality and innovation

- fear of losing freedom

- desire to rebel against societal norms, authority, or traditions

- need to always remain objective

- overanalyzing emotions

[genderkoolaid]

a while ago i saw this radfem post that was in the genre of "oh i'm not transphobic, i respect trans people, but the facts!" and part of their whole point was like. well people assigned female have these deep, complicated relationships with their breasts after a lifetime of fetishization and misogyny, while transfems just thinks boobs are cool and hot!

and like 1) this is another in a long line of examples of how people just have just never actually listened to a trans girls' experience with her gender and misogyny. you think trans women don't have a complicated relationship with breasts? with suddenly having that part of your body be subject to so much scrutiny and the source of objectification? you think trans women never struggle with misogynistic beauty standards around breasts? are you fucking kidding me? and 2) i developed boobs naturally and think they are cool and hot. i regularly look at my tits in the mirror and grab them and think "awesome. these thangs rock. very sexy to me, the person who has them." sorry your fantasy that transfems have superficial and largely sexual relationship with their breasts, and that people assigned female have deep nuanced societal trauma around their breasts and don't find having tits erotic, is just that. a fantasy. i promise you people born with cunts can be shallow self-absorbed sex freaks too <3

[zoobus]

The popular American Psycho (2000) take I heavily disagree with is that Patrick was convincing.

I heard this consistently; Patrick successfully hid his monstrous nature. He is the wolf in wool at the office. He gets away with what he does because he has successfully infiltrated the palace of normiehood. Patrick Bateman is Good at Being Normal.

This is demonstrably and meaningfully untrue? He's not persuasive. He doesn't convince anyone that he's one of them. He regularly fails his charisma checks. His peers openly dislike and disregard him. They don't notice that he (may or may not be) a sicko who kills sex workers, poor minorities, the homeless, and eventually one of their own both because they don't care/respect him enough to bother and because they're all too self-absorbed to notice the dead woman he's stuffing into the trunk.

This is not a small thing! He isn't keenly using pre conceived biases and superficiality to dodge consequences - they simply don't give a shit about him. Like, that seemed a core tenant of the movie, that his wealthy, brand-obsessed colleagues who talk so much while saying nothing of weight aren't actually listening to his flimsy excuses or explicit murder confessions, as if none of his actions mattered. I seriously hate to be that guy but "it's not that his mask was believable, it's that very few bothered looking at the mask" feels like an important point to not miss.

I can somewhat grasp the pov that Patrick was just too good at presenting as a dorky loser since that's what his peers believe him to be - maybe we're working off different definitions of what a "convincing person" is - But Patrick was absolutely not trying to convince them of this! He desperately tries (and fails!) to kill this image - which doesn't sound like convincing guy activities to me!

The word "convincing" denotes a level of agency I didn't see. It's as if people saw his character as frightening because oh what if the normal guy you talk to everyday at work was secretly a serial killer, despite the vast majority of people he interacts with either think he's an annoying loser or quickly recognize there's something wrong with him but lack the social status to do anything about it. Who did he convince?

[runariya]

Y(E)ARNED (JJK) • 1

pairing: alien!Jungkook x human seamstress!female reader genre: alien!AU, S2L, slow burn, angst rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: a lot of fluff, a little bit of lying, good natured 'manipulation', size difference, JK has tentacles, self-doubt, minor wound that needs to be stitched, mentions of bonding, doubt, again lying, kissing, smut (only superficial in this part), lmk if I forgot something pls word count: ~5.8k

a/n: part of the "Dice With Destiny" project by @thebtswritersclub and @creativepromptsforwriting | I just couldn't help but dice again 🫣 sry

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

masterlist • 2

You think you might settle here, let your restless stitching hands finally find their rhythm on this planet where the air is soft and the light through the windows of your little shop lands like golden thread across the floor. It feels right, this place, Euphonis—a world you once stumbled upon like a loose button in a drawer, an afterthought, but now it glows in your mind like the warm thrum of a needle through fabric. The shop is everything you’d imagined and more, dressed in rustic charm, the old wood floor beneath your feet creaking like a whispered conversation, a relict of the lives it has seen, the weight of Seraphenti footsteps heavier than your own feathery steps. No need for a bell at the door, no chime to herald each customer; the groan of the boards will sing their entry for you, a music of its own.

You’ve been a seamstress for as long as your memory stretches, threading your way through worlds in search of something like home, always with the same soft hope in your chest, the same search for people who need your craft. Zyntis and its inhabitants had seemed promising once—their tails awkward in standardised clothing that never quite fit—but your style had no place there, and so the doors of that shop closed, the dream dissolving before it could begin. And then, by some strange luck—or maybe fate—, you found yourself here, among the Seraphentis, creatures of ethereal beauty, their four tentacles making clothes ill-fitting and frustrating, begging for someone with your hands, your skill to fix what never quite sat right on their otherworldly forms.

And now you're here, here with your thread and your scissors, ready to stitch together lives just a little better, one custom piece at a time, easing the small burdens of misfit garments, making life smoother—seamless, you think with a soft smile.

Late in the afternoon, the shop is quiet, only the rhythmic whirr of your sewing machine filling the small room, your small fingers guiding the fabric beneath the needle with every beat of your heart. You're working on a dress for yourself, something soft and simple to soothe the days behind and look forward to the days ahead. The fabric is delicate, like a promise, and you're so absorbed in its flow that you don't hear the front door until the floor itself betrays the presence of another—footsteps, nearly silent but for the familiar creak beneath their weight.

You stop, hands stilling the machine as you lift your gaze and stand up without much thought, and there—there stands a Seraphenti in the middle of your shop, framed by the light like something out of a dream. Your breathing comes to a sudden stop, not for the first time, at the sheer beauty of these beings, but this one—this one is something else entirely. His face holds you, every line and curve more perfect than any sculpture, his dark eyes deep as midnight, lashes long and thick like the edge of a brush dipped in ink. His lips, rosy and gleaming, part slightly when he sees you—when he realises you are not what he expected, a human, let alone one as small as you, much shorter than any Seraphenti, standing before him in a tailor's shop meant for his species.

You feel his surprise, she him staring unsure at you, but you also feel his warmth, his curiosity. The corners of your eyes crinkle into a smile, the kind that stretches wide and genuine, your teeth flashing in welcome as you call out to him with your soft, cheery voice, "Hello, welcome! What can I do for you?"

It’s as if your words break a spell. He smiles back—radiant, confident in a way that catches you off guard for a second, though there’s a softness in his eyes that makes you feel at ease. He steps forward, his tall build filling the room, and you have to tilt your head back so far that you almost laugh from the sheer height of him.

"Hi," he says with a dialect, his voice rich and warm. "I was hoping to have my shirt customised… if that's possible?"

"Of course!" You can't help the excitement in your voice—he’s your first customer here on Euphonis, and that alone makes you practically beam. You gesture towards the small podium you’ve had specially made for your size, a donut-shaped stand meant to let you reach your taller clients with ease. „If you’d come with me, I just need to take your measurements."

He follows you, but pauses when his right foot lands on the podium, eyeing the contraption with a look of mild confusion before you giggle and explain, "Oh, the donut’s for me, not you. Just step into the middle."

Realisation dawns across his handsome face, and a high-pitched laugh escapes him, shaking his broad shoulders. He looks down at you, and suddenly you both burst into uncontrollable laughter, cracking up like it’s the funniest thing in the world. You hold your stomach as your side begins to ache, tears prickling at your eyes as you try to compose yourself.

"I'm sorry," he manages between laughs, wiping away tears as well. "It's just… brilliant."

"No, no need to apologise!" You smile, cheeks aching from the shared moment. "It's fine, really."

You both manage to calm down long enough for him to step into the circle, and you climb onto the podium behind him. Despite the elevation, he towers over you still, and the two of you exchange a look in the mirror—your heads tilted in different directions as if caught in some ridiculous dance move. The sight is too much; you both burst into laughter again, leaning on each other to stay upright, wheezing without restraint.

When all the laughter finally runs out of your systems, he straightens, offering you a playful smirk. „You know, I’ve always been one of the taller ones."

"Really?" You quip, pretending to be shocked. "I never would have guessed."

His eyes light up, the sparkle of amusement never leaving as he says, "I'm Jungkook, by the way."

"I'm ___," you reply, meeting his gaze in the mirror once more. "Nice to meet you, Jungkook. Now, let’s get those measurements, shall we?"

You begin your work, tape in hand, as you move around him, tracing the lines of his strong frame, marvelling at the way his body seems to have been carved by some masterful sculptor. Each muscle is defined, even beneath the fabric of his shirt, and you focus hard to keep your hands steady, to keep from letting your admiration spill over into something too obvious. Every so often, you catch him watching you in the mirror, a soft smile playing at his lips, his dark eyes warm and knowing as if reading your mind, though he says nothing—just lets you work.

When you reach his back, the challenge becomes clear—his tentacles rise at your approach, like a loom adjusting its threads to some unseen hand. They stand tall and tense, alert and protective, sensing your presence but unsure whether to trust. You reach out slowly, letting the back of your hand hover near them, allowing them to ‚sniff‘ you, in a way. Slowly, reluctantly, they relax, draping back down, though they remain distant, uninterested in interacting with you. You can’t help but feel a small pang of disappointment—Seraphenti tentacles are usually more curious, more playful—but Jungkook’s seem reserved, almost dismissive.

Still, you carry on, finishing the measurements with care, even as a quiet sadness lingers in your thoughts. "We’re done," you say, the words soft as you both step off and out of the podium, heading towards a dresser that you use as a counter, and jot down the remaining notes.

Jungkook hands you his shirt from a small backpack you hadn’t noticed before. “When can I pick it up?”

“Three days?” you suggest, hoping to give it the time and attention it deserves.

“That works for me,” he says with a nod, and you scribble the pickup date on a small slip of paper, passing it to him along with a smile.

“Thank you, Jungkook,” you say, handing him the receipt. “See you in three days.”

“Thank you, too, ___,” he says, his voice softer now, a touch of warmth lacing his words as he leaves your shop.

And just like that, the door closes behind him, leaving you alone again in the soft light of the afternoon, your heart fluttering silently in your chest.

Three days after your first encounter, Jungkook returns to your shop. The wooden floors creak softly beneath his weight as he steps inside, and despite knowing he’s coming, the sight of him still sends a ripple through you, as if the world itself bends gently towards him. He’s all smiles and easy charm, his presence large enough to fill the room but never overwhelming. You hand him his shirt with a small sense of pride fluttering in your chest, neatly wrapped in tissue paper and a cute little sticker holding its edges. You’ve sewn every stitch with care, crafted every seam with precision, and when he leaves with a grateful smile and a wave, you feel light as air, like you’ve woven a thread of connection to a customer that might just hold.

But the next week, he’s back. You hear the familiar creak of the floorboards and turn to see him holding the same shirt, this time with an apologetic frown lining his beautiful face. There’s a tear where you made your customisation, a delicate seam pulled apart. You feel a knot of dread form in your stomach, tightening until it’s nothing but uncomfortable. Your hands tremble slightly as you take the shirt from him, running your fingers along the damaged thread. You apologise profusely, cheeks burning with embarrassment, and promise to fix it at no charge. He reassures you—says it’s not a big deal, that things like this happen—but you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve failed him.

You spend the next few hours painstakingly re-stitching the seam, checking it over and over to ensure it holds. It’s perfect when you hand it back, and Jungkook thanks you warmly, that familiar smile returning to his face as he leaves. Still, something gnaws at you, a quiet voice at the back of your mind whispering doubts into your ear.

Then he returns again.

And again.

Each time with the same shirt, each time with a small tear, a rip where you’ve sewn. Your heart sinks deeper with every visit, each one like a tiny unravelling of the confidence you’d worked so hard to build. You start to dread the sound of the floor creaking beneath his feet, the sight of that perfect face marked with apology. Your hands shake when you work now, the thread slipping from your grasp more often than it used to, and the needle seems to prick your skin more than it should, small beads of red appearing where your focus falters.

By the time he comes back for the seventh time in three months, the weight of it all becomes too much. The sight of him walking through the door feels like a final thread snapping, the tension that’s been building in your chest pulling so tight that it finally breaks in two. You’ve tried your best, given it everything, and still, you’re failing miserably—still, your work isn’t enough. You can feel the tears already welling in your eyes before you even greet him.

The door shuts behind him with that same familiar groan of wood against wood, and you’re already pulling the apron from your waist, the knot in your stomach so tight it hurts.

“Jungkook,” you say, your voice trembling despite your efforts to keep it steady. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

He pauses, his brow furrowing in concern as he takes a step closer, holding the shirt loose in his hand by his side. “What? ___, what’s wrong?”

You shake your head, the words coming out before you can stop them, tumbling over one another like loose yarn spilling from a spool. “I don’t know why it keeps happening. Every time I fix it, it just—breaks again. I don’t understand. I’ve never had this problem before. Maybe my work isn’t… maybe I’m not…” You trail off, tears slipping down your cheeks now, your hands shaking as you press them to your face, trying to hide the wave of emotion washing over you. “Maybe I’m just not good enough.”

Jungkook’s face falls, and suddenly he’s in front of you, his free hand hovering just above yours as if unsure whether he should touch you or not. “___, no, please don’t say that. It’s not—”

“I can’t keep doing this,” you continue as your hands fall limply to your sides, your voice breaking as you choke out the words. “Every time you come back, it feels like I’ve failed. I don’t know why the thread keeps breaking, why I can’t make it work. It’s like every time I stitch it together, something inside me frays even more, and I just… I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen in panic, and he quickly closes the distance between you, reaching out to gently take your miniature hand in his big one. His touch is warm, his fingers curling around yours with a softness that paralyses you momentarily. “No, no, it’s not you. ___, it’s not your work. Your stitching is perfect. It’s me—” He stops, inhaling deeply, his eyes darting around the shop for a moment as if he’s gathering the courage to say something. Then he lets out a burdened breath, looking back at you with a pained expression. “I did it. I—I damaged the shirt on purpose.”

You blink up at him, confusion furrowing your brow. “What?”

“I damaged it on purpose,” he repeats, his voice low and apologetic, like a child confessing a misdeed. “I—I just… I wanted to keep seeing you.”

You think you might faint, your mind struggling to process his words. “You… you tore the shirt… on purpose?”

Jungkook nods, his face and ears burning with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean for it to get this far. I just—after the first time, when I saw how careful you were, how much you cared, I… I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And I didn’t know how else to see you again, so I—” He gestures helplessly to the shirt in his hand, offering it to you like if it were the culprit, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I kept damaging it. A little more each time, just so I’d have an excuse to come back.”

You stare up at him, unblinking, wondering if you imagined his confidence or not. But still, there are equal parts disbelief and something else that settles within you—something that feels strangely like relief, like the loosening of a knot that’s been pulling tight for months. The silence between you stretches, Jungkook’s nerves flaring, as your mind is still trying to catch up with everything he’s just said.

“Why?” you finally manage to ask, your voice small, barely more than a whisper.

Jungkook meets your eyes, his expression softening as he takes a deep breath. “Because… I like you,” he admits, the words tumbling out like they’ve been waiting too long to be spoken. “I liked you from the moment I walked in here the first time. I didn’t know how to ask you out. I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same, or that you’d think I was ridiculous, so I—well, I made up reasons to keep coming back. To keep seeing you. But it’s not because you’re not good at your job—you’re amazing at it,___. It’s because I didn’t want to stop seeing you.”

His confession washes over you like a warm shower after a long exhausting day, the self-doubt that had been festering inside you slowly dissolving under the gentle flutter of his words. You take a breath, wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks as you search his face, looking for any sign that this might be some kind of joke or misunderstanding—but all you see is sincerity, and a nervous kind of hope.

“I…” You falter, still trying to wrap your mind around everything, but there’s a warmth blooming in your chest now, a quiet happiness that wasn’t there since Jungkook came back with the damaged shirt. You look down at your hands, still held gently in his, and let out a small, breathless laugh. “You tore your shirt… just to see me?”

Jungkook nods, his lips curving into a sheepish smile. “Yeah. Pretty stupid, right?”

A laugh escapes you, soft but genuine, the tension in your chest finally releasing. “Maybe a little,” you admit, looking up at him with a small, flirty smile of your own. “But… kind of sweet, too.”

His eyes brighten at that, relief flooding his expression as he squeezes your hands gently. “I’m sorry, though. I should’ve just… told you. I didn’t mean to make you doubt yourself.”

You shake your head, wiping away the last of your tears. “It’s okay. I mean, it wasn’t great thinking I was losing my touch, but… I guess I can’t be too upset. Not now that I know why.”

The two of you just stand there for a moment, the quiet between you no longer heavy with doubt. It’s strange, how quickly everything has shifted—how the world has gone from tipping over to balancing out again in a way you hadn’t expected. You take a breath, feeling a soft warmth settle in your chest as you meet Jungkook’s eyes once more.

“So… what now?” you take a breath to shush the shyness away, feeling a soft warmth settle in your chest as you meet Jungkook’s eyes once more.

Jungkook’s smile widens, his beautiful eyes crinkling at the corners as he gently tugs you a little closer. “Well, for starters, I’ll stop tearing my clothes on purpose,” he laughs quietly. “And maybe… we could try seeing each other outside of the shop? If you’re interested, that is.”

Your small heart skips a beat at his offer, and for the first time in months, the doubt inside you is nowhere to be found. You nod, a beaming smile on your face as you look up at him. “Yeah,” you say softly, “I think I’d like that.”

And just like that, you love story with Jungkook begins.

It's been months since you and Jungkook started seeing each other. Since that day he walked into your shop with his torn shirt, a thread of connection was spun between you, and what started as something delicate, tentative—like a stitch holding two fragile fabrics together—soon grew into something much stronger, blossoming from strangers to friends, to finally, without much fanfare, to a couple. You’ve gone from quiet cups of coffee shared in the mornings, the smell of roasted beans lacing the air between you, to nights spent curled up together on his sofa, the noise of the world fading away, leaving just the warmth and quiet intimacy of kisses. You’ve woven yourselves securely into each other’s lives, slowly, stitch by stitch, until the fabric of your days has become so interwoven that it’s hard to remember what life was like before the other.

There’s an ease to your relationship now, a rhythm you’ve both fallen into—domestic moments that feel as familiar and comforting as the soft creak of old wood beneath your feet in the shop. You cook together, hands brushing as you pass ingredients back and forth, Jungkook’s arms sneaking around your waist to tease you, pulling you closer just for the joy of feeling your body near his. You help each other with mundane tasks—he rearranges your bolts of fabric while you pin a garment to a mannequin, and in turn, you fold his laundry as he hums some quiet melody under his breath.

But not everything in this tapestry is perfect. There are pulls, tangles in the threads that remind you of the things you can’t control—the Seraphenti tentacles that constantly test for bonds, seeking to see if they align with others, exploring compatibility in ways that no words could, to merge together and never be able to part again. You’ve learned this since the beginning, understanding that his tentacles are almost their own beings, extensions of him yet with wills of their own. It’s natural for them, simply biology, to seek connections, to sniff and sense, and while you try to remind yourself that this is simply part of who he is, it doesn’t stop the sharp tug of fear when you see those tentacles reach for someone else, when they can’t seem to even recognise your presence. It made you feel a little nervous but had never truly been an issue in your relationship—until now.

You are standing in line at a fast food stall, a simple joy, the scent of fried food and warm spices lingering in the air, when everything you silently feared catches up with you, when the sky above is bruised with twilight, such as your soul soon will be. 

It starts as one of those easy moments that feels like the perfect stitch at the end of a long day—a moment of peace, of completion. But then, a female Seraphenti joins the line next to your stall, her silvery skin catching the fading light like a needle glinting in the sun.

You feel the change in Jungkook before you even see it. His body tenses, his movements growing hesitant. You look up and see his tentacles rising slowly, drawn towards hers as though pulled by an invisible thread. Your heart skips a beat, then begins to unravel, that quiet sense of peace fraying as you watch his tentacles move closer towards hers with instinctive curiosity. They hover between them like two stray threads, exploring, seeking a bond, and your chest tightens, painfully so. You try to swallow the bitter knot of jealousy that forms in your throat, but it just can’t go down, too raw, too sharp.

Jungkook’s face pales beside you, and you can see the silent dread and panic in his eyes. He glances at you briefly, as if to reassure you, but it does nothing when his eyes tell. You stand there, frozen, the world around you tilting again, as your eyes focus solely on the quiet, delicate dance of their tentacles. They move closer and closer, testing, curious. And the worst part is that this isn’t some conscious decision of his—this is simply biology, a force stronger than either of you. But knowing that doesn’t stop your heart from sinking like a stone in a bottomless well.

Time seems to stretch and elongate like a spool of thread unwinding too quickly, and the tension becomes unbearable for you. The female Seraphenti seems uninterested in anything but the exploration of the menu ahead, her tentacles floating lazily in the air, waiting for the connection to either solidify or break apart. Jungkook watches with a grieving expression, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, but then, with a sudden, vicious snap, his tentacles attack hers, which recoil with equal ferocity, as Jungkook lets a breath of pure relief escape his body.

There’s a soft gasp from the crowd around you, eyes drawn But it’s short-lived, as the gasps of the crowd around you is heard, Jungkook winces, and you notice immediately that one of his tentacles is curling back toward him, wounded. You’re at his side before you even think, your hands brushing against his arm as you whisper, “Let’s go home.”

He nods, his face still pale, and together you leave the stall behind, walking in absolute silence. His injured tentacle hangs limply, the fabric of your connection feeling threadbare, frayed by what just happened. You can feel it—both the physical pain in him and the emotional sting in yourself, the wound of knowing that his tentacles sought something with another, even if it didn’t take root.

Back at his flat, the quiet is almost suffocating you as Jungkook glances at you with eyes filled with relief, shame, and something you can’t quite place. He sinks onto the sofa, his movements defeated, and you immediately fetch the small first aid kit from his bathroom. And still, Jungkook only watches you in silence as you kneel beside him, your hands gentle as you begin to clean the small cut on his tentacle. There’s a strange sort of comfort in this—tending to him, mending the damage like patching a torn garment. But underneath it all, there’s a sadness that you can’t shake, something threatening to break everything fully.

You move carefully, your fingers working with the same precision you use when sewing—steady, practised, almost automatic. His tentacles, usually so independent, seem to allow your touch this time, curling slightly but not retreating. You feel their warmth under your fingers, the living pulse of them, and for the first time, they seem to recognise your presence not as something to ignore or push away, but as something to co-exist, if only just.

As you prepare the needle to stitch the small tear, you try to lighten the mood, though the weight of earlier still hangs between you both. You glance up at him with a faint smile and joke, “I’m sorry I’m missing the nurse outfit. Would’ve made this whole thing more convincing, don’t you think?”

Jungkook looks down at you, his confusion evident. “A nurse outfit?”

You laugh softly, though the sound is fragile like your nerves, thin like thread worn from overuse. “Yeah, you know. Nurses—like the assistants to doctors. They take care of people when they’re hurt. Stitch them up, give them medicine, that sort of thing.”

He frowns slightly, thinking it over. “Like a healer’s apprentice?”

You nod, threading the needle carefully, the familiar rhythm of sewing calming your nerves slightly. “Sort of. They don’t do the magic or the rituals, but they do everything else. They’re the ones who actually keep people alive most of the time.”

Jungkook’s lips twitch into a small smile, though there’s still a lingering sadness in his eyes. “You’d make a good nurse,” he says quietly. “Or a healer’s apprentice.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I’ll stick to tailoring for now. But thanks.”

The silence that follows again is filled with unsaid words and emotions. You finish stitching the wound, tying off the thread with careful fingers, but as you do, the lingering ache in your chest only grows sharper, the tentacles again retreating from you in an instant. You place the needle aside and sit back on your heels, exhaling slowly as you try to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook whispers suddenly, his voice full of sorrow. “I hate that this happened. I hate that you had to see it.”

You glance up at him, and the raw sincerity in his eyes makes your heart twist painfully. “It’s not your fault,” you whisper back, afraid that if you speak any louder, it might shatter you whole. “I know it’s just… how things are. But that doesn’t make it any easier.” You lower your gaze, feeling the familiar sting of tears welling up behind your eyes. “It’s hard not to feel like… one day, your tentacles are going to decide I’m not good enough. That there’s someone else out there who fits you better.”

Jungkook’s expression saddens even more, and he reaches out, his hand finding yours, even if it’s the only thing searching for you. His fingers are warm and big, as he squeezes your hand tenderly. “It doesn’t work like that,” he says softly, though you know its a lie. “They don’t decide everything. They’re curious, yes. But they’re not the ones who get to choose who I love.”

You know he’s lying, you know he’s only trying to mend what’s broken. “But what if they do? What if one day, they find someone else and—”

“I’ll fight them,” Jungkook interrupts, his voice resolute. He looks at you with such conviction, such certainty, that for a moment, you almost believe him entirely. “If they ever try to pull me away from you, I’ll fight them. Because I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”

His words hang between you, like the final knot that holds the end of a stitch secure, binding it in place so it won’t come undone. And though there’s still doubt lingering in your heart, there’s also a quiet hope you want to follow blindly.

You manage a small smile, though your voice trembles slightly when you speak. “I hope that’s true,” you whisper, now lying to yourself as well. “Because I want you too. More than anything.”

Jungkook leans closer, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your skin like the brush of soft fabric. “It is true,” he murmurs, his voice low. “I promise.”

Jungkook then kisses you slowly, tenderly, like he has so many times before, but now there’s a sadness, a longing beneath it. You can feel it in the way his lips move against yours, the way his breath is restricted, the way his touch lingers longer than usual. It’s in the soft pull of his mouth, the way his fingers hold you like he’s afraid you might slip away. His fear, his desperation—they seep into the kiss, bitter, and you taste it with every breath, every trembling press of lips.

He pulls you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you instinctively, holding you close, as if your bodies can protect each other from the truth untold. Your hands find their way to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair—soft, silken strands flowing between your fingers. His hands glide up from your thighs, tracing your spine, pressing you closer as they move higher, over your back, until they reach your neck, cradling it with a touch that is both tender and desperate. He holds you like you’re the last solid thing he can grasp in a world that’s threatening to crumble.

The kiss deepens, turning heated as the desperation between you grows. Your fear mirrors his, gnawing worry that clings to your being, tightening in your throat. You can’t stop thinking about the possibility of losing him—of waking up one morning, still wrapped in his arms, only to have him slip away from you without warning some hours later, taken by a bond you have no control over. The thought haunts you, lingers in your mind as your kiss becomes more frantic, more painful. It’s like you’re both trying to escape the fear, but the harder you cling to each other, the closer it seems to get.

Jungkook lifts your small form effortlessly, carrying you to his bedroom without breaking the kiss, his steps hurried, like he’s trying to outrun something. When you finally reach the bed, your hands are on him, frantically pulling at his clothes with shaking hands as he pulls at yours, both of you desperate to strip away the layers separating your skin. You kiss him harder, desperate to forget, to lose yourself in him, to forget the race against the clock that neither of you wants to see.

You can barely savour this moment, the moment that should have meant everything, that moment when you finally allowed your bodies to connect in the only way possible. You don’t even stop to take in the sight of him—the way his body is revealed to you, inch by inch, until he stands before you completely bare. You don’t take the time to marvel at his beauty, the strength of him, the way he seems to tower over you with his sheer size. All you can think about is the sadness, the dark cloud that lingers over this moment, threatening to suffocate any joy you might have felt. You barely even register the difference between your bodies when he finally presses into you—his size, the way your body stretches around him, the sharp sting of pain that follows. It’s all distant, muffled, like you’re watching it happen to someone else, detached and numb.

But Jungkook’s eyes, they’re wide, filled with sorrow and longing, and his voice breaks as he whispers, over and over, a chant of reassurance that he’s trying so hard to believe. “I love you. I love you. I’m never letting you go.” He repeats it like a mantra, as if saying it enough times will make it true, will make the fear disappear.

But the words only echo between the slap of flesh, but you can’t find the strength to respond. You want to—want to tell him you love him too, that you’ll never leave, that you’ll fight for this with everything you have—but the cloud has taken hold, and the words stick in your throat, unable to escape. Instead, you stay silent, letting his words fill the space between you, hoping they’re enough for both of you, even as doubt and sadness weigh heavy on your chest.

And when you both reach that moment of release, it feels hollow—beautiful on the surface, but fragile beneath. The euphoria that should have filled you instead leaves you feeling emptier than before, breaking your heart even more. You lay there with him, tangled in the sheets, your bodies pressed together, but it’s as though a chasm has opened up between you. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. This isn’t how you imagined your first time with him, how you thought your love would feel.

Instead, all you’re left with is the silence that follows and more tears in your eyes than you can hold back. You wonder if this is your new reality—living each day with the constant worry that he might be taken from you. You wonder if the love between you might not be enough to keep you together in the end. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to look at him again without that pang of uncertainty and sadness.

You wonder…

masterlist • 2

a/n 3: hope you've enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like!

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for part 2 and eventual bonuses 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

All Rights Reserved © @/runariya 2024

[crooked-wasteland]

How do you feel about Charlie as a character?

When someone brings up Charlie to me, three scenes immediately come to mind:

Charlie whining that being direct and using her status and responsibility to influence change is "mean".

When she's frantically panicking over how the hotel is not "working", but instead of actually specifying the events in the series that brought the cast together, she only mentions the things she herself suggested, despite her own ideas having been useless at best and actively detrimental to the people in her care at worst.

When she vents to Alastor about Vaggie not telling Charlie about being an angel, she doesn't once look at the situation from Vaggie's perspective of being no different than any other sinner, she demands to know what about her is untrustworthy. Entirely self absorbed.

Medrano has stated that she sees both Vaggie and Charlie as self-insert characters. Putting aside the Freudian self-cest implications, I feel that Medrano's self righteousness and superficial idea of kindness are on full display in Charlie's character. As a person, Charlie is insufferable. She inserts herself in ways people ask her not to, she has a surface level form of empathy, and she exists in a world where her intention supercedes the consequences of her actions. She is nothing but kind and understanding to everyone around her, a perpetual victim of people snubbing her, but she perseveres nonetheless.

Charlie's line in particular about Vaggie encouraging her to take control of a situation being "mean" is clearly how Medrano hand waves her own responsibility to the overall culture of her fandom. To try and regulate anything would be her being "mean", when in reality it is a way of not taking responsibility for the consequences of her own behavior and encouraging the hostility within the fandom.

Furthermore, the fact that both Charlie and Vaggie are two qualities of a single person explains why neither of them have any nuance. It's why Charlie wants to "help" the Sinners in Hell despite them generally accepting and being content with their lives, revelling in their "sins". It's why Charlie's skit for Angel and Pentious has dogmatic language about the "right" way to live one's life. And it's why Vaggie is never explored as being an exterminator who once was so successful as an executioner that she was considered the best of the best, and yet when faced with a black and white ethical concept of killing a child, she immediately has a change of heart.

There is no internal conflict or nuance for either of these characters because, ultimately, both are self righteous caricatures of the director who is broadcasting how much of a "good" person she thinks she is. That she knows what is best for everyone because she just wants to help, regardless of anyone else's desires or situations.

Small edit to point out this is a theme in her works. It directly parallels Blitz in Truth Seekers telling Moxxie that he is "hard" on him because he knows that Moxxie can be "better". And instead of just talking to Moxxie or encouraging him to keep growing, he instead uses manipulation and abuse to "persuade" Moxxie to change. Just like how Charlie imposes her own desires on others and then just keeps "suggesting" that they change. Because, really, Charlie and Blitz know what's the best for everyone around them.

It's why I am vehemently opposed to the idea that anything about Hazbin Hotel is a criticism of Christianity. Because in the end, Charlie is an evangelist spreading her teachings and Good Word to the sinners to save their souls, whether they like it or not.

It's not hard to see how Medrano sees herself in these qualities, and the passive aggressive self righteousness is thinly veiled under a smile and "good intentions".

[pearlprincess02]

gemini sun, virgo moon, pisces rising, cancer mercury, cancer venus, aries mars

gemini sun: multifaceted and curious, these individuals know just a little bit about everything. they move through the world as if it's an all you can eat buffet of knowledge, people, places, and opportunities. gemini's are they messengers of the zodiac, so they might be known for their gossiping habits and talkative qualities. they are brilliant and creative minds with a large variety of interests and hobbies. gemini's can have a lot of acquaintances because of their playful sense of humor, quick wit and charming nature. can be great multitaskers and often jump from one thing to the next. they are always mentally active and strive to know everything about everything. gemini sun's can be deceiving and mischievous about their intentions or to avoid responsibility. most are aware that they can lack depth and be superficial in their actions. with how many people they talk to it would be odd if they weren't inauthentic with a few of them, although they still are very versatile. they don't like being bored so they'll take a strong liking to you if you are just as funny, entertaining and mentally stimulating as they are. gemini is a mutable, air sign.

virgo moon: signifies a practical and detail-oriented emotional nature. Individuals are analytical, seeking order and perfection. they may struggle with self-criticism and worry. attuned to helping others, they express care through practical assistance. reserved in showing emotions, they value reliability and intellect, often finding solace in routine and organization.

pisces rising: sometimes they look half asleep. wherever they are, they’re not here. always staring off into the distance. large, emotional eyes. old souls who have already seen too much.

cancer mercury: subjective, emotional and understanding way of thinking and communicating. being biased and non-intellectual, they can absorb information without critical thinking and hold onto these ideas strongly - hence why this placement is most associated with being patriotic (they easily go along with their family or peers). they avoid arguments and prefer conversations that feel intuitive and where they feel connected to the other person. this can be associated with good memory (similar to moon in cancer) and they can enjoy journalling to keep memories. they can also be humorous.

cancer venus: soft feather pillows, a bowl of warm soup, a bubble bath, tears and running mascara, babies and how babies laugh, poetry, "i'll be whatever you want me to be”, hot tubs, hot coffee, teddy bears, heartbeats, soft hands & skin, lotion, bagels and cream cheese, doodling in your journal

aries mars: your will to survive makes you strong. your connection to your primal urges are strong. acting on what you physically crave is strong. you may feel stronger after sex, but evolving from this belief is your ability to grow strength from leading and protecting others sexuality.

(anon ask)

ᵒᵇˢᵉʳᵛᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵃʳᵉⁿ'ᵗ ᵐⁱⁿᵉ

[imbecominggayer]

Writing Advice: Insecurity

Remember: Insecurity Is Not A Good Trait!

What makes people hate so many insecure characters is because their insecurities are never given proper weight in the story!

At best, it's "humble bragging". At worst, it's annoying and an obvious ploy to get superficial relatability!

Insecurity isn't being humble nor is insecurity the mark of a good person!

Insecurity Makes People Hurt Others To Rise In Life!

Insecurity Can Cause You To Abandon Accountability!

Insecurity Can Lead Towards Being Self-Absorbed!

Insecurity Can Lead To A Mental Health Crisis!

Being insecure shouldn't be treated as the equivalent of being humble nor should it be treated as necessary to being a good person!

In fact, insecurity, as a negative character trait, often leads people in real life to act out in spoiled, selfish, immature, and horrible ways

CONFIDENCE DOES NOT EQUAL EVIL

INSECURITY DOES NOT EQUAL GOOD/SYMPATHETIC

[strangersteddierthings]

What's Eight Plus Seven?

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five

Pizza order successfully placed, Steve dials Robin's number next. He doesn't need to talk long, just... hear her voice. Maybe get some verbal support.

"Buckley residence."

"Thank God it's you," Steve sighs in relief to hear Robin's voice on the other end. There was a little bit of dread that her mom might have answered and then he'd be stuck on the phone while she tried to chat with him.

"Whoa. Was hosting the nerdfest that bad?" Robin asks, laughter in her voice.

"Uhh," Steve starts, because he's eloquent like that.

"Oh no. Was is that bad? What happened?"

He feels a flood of warmth for Robin's immediate concern. "No, no, nerdfest was fine. I, uhh, mostly I'm calling because Eddie and I are gonna, like, hang out and talk and I just- I dunno. Wanted to hear your voice, first."

"Oh. Really? Well. Here's my voice. This is you hearing it."

He laughs at that. "Thanks. It's just, I think it's gonna be, like, a bathroom floor kind of conversation, except in my living room on a couch."

"Oh! I can be there in ten if you need me."

"Nah. This is just- me needing to hear your voice, and also a warning that I might have to crawl through your window and fall apart on your bed later. Just don't know how this is going to go."

"I'm here if you need me. Are you going to talk about Freshman First Day?"

"We, uhh, already did. Mostly. There's been apologies and now we're gonna talk. Get to know each other. Play 20 questions, I guess."

Robin laughs at that. "Alright. Ask him if he's ever going to get me the sandwich he owes me from back in November."

"What?"

"You know, his whole cafeteria speech thing? Stepped right on my ham and cheese. It did make him slip and almost brain himself, and he did apologize. Told me he owed me a new sandwich. I never got it. Ask for me."

"We'll see. Okay, I'm going to go but, thank you. Love you."

"Love you, too. Window will be ajar."

Steve hangs up, then opens the fridge. He debates grabbing them beers but opts for soda. Back in the living room Steve finds Eddie sitting like a normal person on the couch, one leg bouncing relentlessly. Even with his superficial knowledge of Eddie, he can tell he's nervous. Not nervous Eddie would be perched on the back of his couch, ruining the cushions with whatever junk is on the bottom of his shoes. Probably.

"Soda?" Steve offers, plopping himself on the other end of the couch, hand outstretched for Eddie to take the beverage.

"Thanks." The bouncing of Eddie's leg pauses for a moment while he's opening and chugging half the can in one swift motion, then the bouncing starts again.

"Hey, man, relax. You didn't seem nearly as nervous when you were trying to sneakily hang out earlier."

Eddie lets out a big sigh. "Yeah, well, I didn't know you hated me then."

"I don't hate you."

"Oh, shit, no. Not what- I meant, like, past tense. Hated as in, used to hate. Not present tense."

"Ah. Well, I don't think I 'hated as in used to hate' past, like, three months into my freshman year. This is going to be the most self-absorbed shit ever, but, like, once I became popular, I couldn't be bothered to hate you. Didn't have the time to put towards that."

"Oh, of that I've no doubt. That was absolutely the read everyone who tried to interact with you got."

Steve ducks his head to hide his own embarrassment by fiddling with the can in his hands. "I thought you wanted to do, like, 20 questions or something."

"Oh. Serious? You'll do it?"

"Yeah."

"Right then. What even are the rules for 20 questions? Is it 20 questions each, or in total asked?"

"I dunno, man. I don't think people actually keep track. I think we just ask questions until we're done with talking. I guess the rules are don't lie, and if you don't want to answer a question, then don't. Pass on it, or whatever."

Eddie nods but he's still nervous, leg still bouncing. A look on his face so close to fear it makes Steve ache a little. He knows too well what far looks like on Eddie, experienced a week's worth of it.

Steve can start. Ease them into this. "Do you got a favorite color?"

Eddie shifts then. Turns sideways on the couch to lean against the armrest and face him. "Wait. One more rule. No mocking answers. You may laugh once at an answer."

"If you are about to tell me it's hot pink, I cannot follow that rule."

"It's not hot pink. Jesus. It's, uhh, brown, actually," Eddie says, rolling his can between his hands. "It used to be red but. I dunno. When I think of red, now, I think of the sky in the upside down and how that was almost the last thing I ever saw. I think of blood, and bleeding out."

And here he thought he was easing them into this with the most basic of questions. Eddie's already being vulnerable. "Follow up question, if you'll allow it. Why brown?"

"What's wrong with brown?"

"Nothing. Just thought you'd pick black or something," Steve gestures to all of Eddie.

At that, Eddie looks down at his mostly black outfit, the only part of it with any color is the DIO album art on his shirt, then back up. "Fair point. I guess brown just makes me think of home. The wooden porch, the paneling, brown dirt road that leads to the trailer. It's also, like, a good eye color. Exhibit A," He waves his hand in front of his face, batting his eyes exaggeratedly. It pulls a laugh from Steve.

"I can't argue that," Steve waves towards his face, where his own eyes have been described by many a girl as ranging from hazel to honey, but Steve just thinks of them as brown. "Your turn, man."

"You, tragically, had never heard of Ozzy before we met. What's your music of choice, and why is it the Top 40?"

"Like everybody didn't hear you singing along to I Wanna Dance With Somebody last week when it came on the radio at the Byers' Barbecue-"

"Whitney is a national treasure and I will not be slandered for knowing the words to any of her songs."

"Yeah, yeah. I guess it was just the Top 40, but really I don't have a preference. I just let other people pick the music. And, uhh, with the multiple concussions I don't listen to as much music as I used to. The migraines are brutal. It's never the music that brings on the migraine but like, it never helps, y'know?"

Eddie is nodding. "I do know. Like when you get sick and vomit, you avoid the last thing you ate, even when it turns out to be the flu and not food poisoning. Like, you know it wasn't the mango milkshake that made you throw up, but you avoid the mango flavor anyway."

There's definitely a full story in that somewhere. Maybe Steve will ask about it later. "Kinda? I don't avoid music but I don't think I've put a record or cassette in the player in months. Anyway, my turn. How'd you learn to play the guitar?"

"Wayne. He started teaching me before I live with him. Just a few chords when we'd visit every so often when I was little. Really got to learn after he took me in. I was eleven, if memory serves."

"Am I allowed to ask about your parents?" Steve interrupts.

"Yeah. Speaking of parents," Eddie's nervous again, bouncing his leg.

"It's your turn. Ask."

"I know the high school reputation. Big house, no parents. I might have even snuck over a few times to sale here when I knew a party was happening. Rich kids will pay whatever price you name, y'know? So, guess the actual question is, what's the deal there, with your parents?"

Steve would laugh except he has no memory of ever seeing Eddie at his house prior to all the fuckery that's gone down. He was too in his own head to bother with other people back then. And the real kicker? He probably bought from Eddie, at his own house, with his supposed grudge and all. God, he was such a dick. "Yeah. Lots of business trips, for them. The used to ship me off to spend a month with my grandparents when I was little, so they could take those trips. Guess once I was old enough to watch after myself, those trips started to happen whenever, instead of just over summer."

"What, they left you here alone as a kid? Even during the school year?"

Eddie sounds so scandalized it'd be funny if it wasn't so sad. Steve says, "I wouldn't say kid. I was fourteen, so, like, a teenager. But, yeah, gone a lot. More and more with each passing year. I mean, they've been back, but like, for a day or two. Mom switching out what jewelry she wanted and dad bit by bit emptying his office." He pauses with a frown, remembering now the last time he did see his parents face to face. "It was about halfway through senior year. The last time they were here. They didn't even come to my graduation."

Eddie sucks in a breath and Steve can visibly see him hold back some choice words.

"Anyway, long sob story short, I'm still just a rich kid with absent parents. They don't charge me rent or anything, but I pay to keep the lights on."

"That just adds so many more questions to my list."

"Well, it's my turn now, so. What got you into Dungeons and Dragons?"

Eddie looks surprised, and then guilty. "I've always liked fantasy. And, uhh, my Freshman First Day, the DnD booth was set up in the cafeteria, an okayish looking dragon drawn on the poster taped to the booth's edge. And, uh, I approached..."

"No one told you to fuck off?"

"I didn't tell you to fuck off."

"Might've hurt less if you had," Steve hadn't even meant that to be insulting, or insinuating, but it doesn't land. He'd been aiming for teasing and missed the mark, given the way Eddie jerks back, like he's trying to put more distance between them. "Oh, shit, Eddie, I didn't mean- I was-"

The doorbell rings out and both jump, turning to the front door like it might bite them. The bell chimes again, and it's then Steve remembers he ordered pizza. Wordlessly Steve gets up and deals with that. Pays for the pizza and gives a tip, stops in the kitchen long enough to grab some napkins, then folds himself back onto the couch, placing the pizza box on the cushions between them.

The time away from the couch, less than three minutes in total, Steve thinks, was enough to calm Eddie again, since he starts the teasing, "greasy pizza box directly onto the cushions! That'll never come out you know."

Steve shrugs and grins, flipping the box open to grab a pizza slice. "That's a problem for Future Steve."

Eddie grabs his own slice, and they just eat their first slices in silence before Steve breaks that, "I really wasn't trying to- earlier, I was trying to joke. About Freshman First Day. Not, uh, not like, pick a fight. So, if you still want to talk, I think it's your turn to ask a question. Any question. A big question."

"Alright. A big one. Who is Christopher?"

"Okay. Uh, just, give me a moment. I'll answer and I'm gonna be real honest right now with you, so just let me get through this, ok?"

Eddie nods, reaching for a second slice of pizza.

Steve gathers his thoughts, and speaks. "Christopher was my cousin. His family lives in Washington, so I don't see them much. You know that 'shipped off to the grandparents' thing I told you about earlier? Christopher, and his younger siblings, Amber and Robert, also came out to visit.

"I think my grandparents loved to have us all there. My cousins were there for family time, and I was there to just... not be in my parent's way, I think, but the reason why doesn't matter. The important bit. Christopher was two years older than me, and I thought he was the coolest person in the world. I wanted to be just like him. That last summer we spent together, he told me all about the game of Dungeons and Dragons he'd played with his club at school.

"It made me want to play. I was a kid who loved fantasy, too. I had to pretend to leave that behind when I got into middle school; too afraid of disappointing my dad for still liking make believe. I didn't know at the time that making him proud was just something I'd never achieve.

"Anyway, Christopher introduced me to the game, told me the entire campaign they'd run at his school, and then sent me those books. He's the reason I was at the booth that day. If Christopher could play sports and be a nerd, maybe I could, too? But, uh, that didn't go how I planned in my head. And, then. Then," Steve stops here, a knot in his throat but his eyes dry. It's not that he doesn't still mourn the loss of Christopher, it's just that the tears have dried up long ago. "Christopher committed suicide, that year. Halfway through the school year. I think... I think even if I had joined your club, if you had let me take that flier, I would have dropped out after the funeral. I'd wanted to join so bad so that Christopher would be proud of me."

The room has lost focus, now. Steve is staring forward but he doesn't really see Eddie anymore. It's like he's fallen into his thoughts and nothing else exists anymore. "It's a bit fucked up, but being older than me, I think I looked for approval in him that I didn't find in my dad, or maybe I wanted to be him because his parents were so proud of everything he did and I wanted that. Approval. I- it's- I think I used to confuse the two. Approval and love. Maybe I still do? I dunno.

"I guess I just wrapped all that up, the need for approval, Christopher's suicide, my love for fantasy, and shoved it in the same bottle deep down that I kept my anger at you in," Steve blinks himself back into the present. Takes in Eddie's face, a mix of sad and fond, like he wants to wrap Steve in a hug. Steve would probably let him. "That wasn't fair to you. I'm sorry."

Eddie shakes his head no. "You don't have to apologize to me, Stevie. I get it. You wore your jockness that same way I wear The Freak. Like armor. You weren't wrong, earlier, when you said we were dumb kids who learned to lash out and hurt first, so we couldn't be hurt. I was fucking, no, I am still like that. I mean, I just lashed back out at you when all you did was point out how I'd acted to you."

"Yeah, well, life gives everyone a shit hand sometimes. I used to capitalize on that. Kick people when they were down. It's- it's humbling and, like, awful, to unpack that. I know I'm still working on it, but I didn't have to do it alone. Robin and Dustin have been there for me. Great. They call me on my bullshit and it's easier to take then, hearing it from people I know who care about me."

"Guess I better ask find someone to call me out then."

"Haven't you already?" Steve asks, gesturing to himself.

Eddie barks a laugh. "I- yeah, I guess. You sayin' you care, Harrington?"

"Of course I do, man. We wouldn't be doing this -talking about deep shit and getting pizza grease all over my couch- if I didn't."

He watches Eddie turn red, and hide behind his hair. "Could just be doing it for the kids."

"I could. Guess you'll have to trust I'm not. That I also want a do over."

Eddie shoots him a big smile, dimples on full display, and Steve's happy to let go of his grudge if it means Eddie will smile at him like that more.

-

((Looks like there's going to be one more part. Thought this would be the last one but the boys wouldn't cooperate so next part.))

[autolenaphilia]

The average tumblr queer hates fascism and terfs, and they should, but because they have zero understanding of what those ideologies actually is, they end up repeating such ideology anyway.

They have zero understanding that it is the transmisogynist bioessentialism that makes radfemism so poisonous. So they call trans women mentioning the words "misogyny" and "patriarchy" a terf, while their use of "afab/amab" reveal that they haven't unlearned any bioessentialism and transmisogyny. I've written about this at length before.

And this intellectually lazy acceptance of reactionary thinking goes far beyond that.

Criticize the institutions of religion and the family on this supposed queer communist site, and you'll get massive cries of protest from these queer leftists. And in content if not form they are basically indistinguishable from fascist rhetoric about how "queer leftists who read too many jewish writers (like Marx and Hirschfeld) are trying to eradicate the vital institutions of tradition, religion, family and community with their soulless materialist globohomo." (Note that the link is to a critical glossary of the alt-right on rationalwiki, so there are slurs galore)

And yes, that is what i'm doing, and I'm very proud of it. Abolishing religion and the family, and all of their sanctified traditions is a very important part of the communist project. The main Jewish writer who convinced me of this is Marx, read him.

"The abolition of religion as the illusory happiness of the people is the demand for their real happiness." Literally read The Communist Manifesto, which openly calls for the abolition of the family. A lot of suppose leftists repeat what the manifesto calls "The bourgeois clap-trap about the family and education, about the hallowed co-relation of parents and child"

It's especially ironic to hear such things from self-described queers, as if family, religion and tradition aren't the most common tools used to oppress queer people.

A lot of reactionary garbage with a superficial anti-capitalist veneer has gotten into the left, which is not new. The just mentioned manifesto spends a whole chapter criticizing reactionary forms of socialism. I have myself used Marx's still valid analysis as my basis to criticize reactionary anti-capitalism.

There has been so much nationalist garbage absorbed by the left at this point that fascist thinking crop up all the time in the left. This is because planting the roots of 19th century romantic nationalism tends to bear the same fruit. And tumblr leftism is the most intellectually lazy kind of leftism.

Like your average pseudo-leftist position on nations is basically ethnopluralism, a neofascist ideology originating in the European "New right" that is trying to sell the old wine of blood-and-soil nationalism in new bottles for a postcolonial world. It's creator Henning Eichberg spent decades trying to sell his Völkisch ideology to the left. With some success, it seems like. Like the neofascist in ethnopluralist clothing position that "every culture has the right to preserve their own culture and tradition from the onslaught of global capitalist culture" is something that you'll see all the time regurgitated by supposed leftists. The one 19th century european/western concept that is seen as universally applicable is nationalism. It's bleak.

I can't even say the far-left cliché of "read theory", because a lot of theory is garbage. Not all of it though. This list comes from my libertarian marxist/"councilist" biases but Nationalism and Socialism by Paul Mattick is good, as is "Third-worldism and Socialism" an excerpt from an early 70s pamphlet by the British organization Solidarity, and the 1989 essay The Universality of Marx by Loren Goldner.

[verygoodbeastarsfaces]

okay i know this is mostly a goofy manga cap page but fuck it im gonna do some analysis too

so bald legosi arc right? legosi is trying to train his body for combat WITHOUT using meat to give himself the fuel he needs to bulk up. legosi sees eating meat as morally wrong and especially hypocritical for himself personally because the reason he seeks strength is in order to PROTECT herbivores from violence at the hands of carnivores

ENTER PINA COLADA

i love pina colada because im a nasty messy bitch who loves causing problems and i love pina for matching that energy. really i do. but i'm very okay with admitting that my enjoyment of pina is superficial, so i started asking myself WHY pina is Like This™

OKAY SO this scene right here got something across to me that the anime absolutely did not. so we've kind of established that the carnivore herbivore dynamic in the world of beastars is a very complicated metaphor that means different things at different times. its not JUST race relations, its not JUST sexuality, its not JUST inequality, it is everything about a society through this lens of animal instinct to highlight whatever particular criticism is being dissected. AND THIS PAGE!!! is about PRIVILEGE!!!

"I'm here trying to control my desires, and he just does whatever the hell he wants." Legosi is viewing pina's freedom to speak his mind and live freely as something he gains in his life via a position of privilege. Pina will never be consumed by the instinct to murder and cannibalize his loved ones, and so pina can pursue life in a flippant, disingenuous and carefree manner.

and legosi FUCKING HATES THISSSSS because the entire bald legosi arc is about legosi trying to EMPOWER HIMSELF THROUGH SELF HATRED. legosi's refusal to eat meat to fuel his body the way it NEEDS to be fueled when stressed and trained the way hes training is not something done out of moral obligation, it is done as a way for legosi to try and forcibly EXCISE a part of his innate BIOLOGY that he HATES.

but yknow heres something else. this doesnt sound right to me. pina is hedonistic, sure, but why is his philosophy specifically "morals don't really do us much good" and not something more, lets say, benevolently hedonistic?

our girl haru gives us our answer.

while legosi views pina's devil may care attitude as a privilege, so too do herbivores view carnivore's strength as a privilege. pina will never be COMPELLED to murder and cannibalize, but legosi will never be TARGETED to be murdered and cannibalized. pina's casual disregard and DISRESPECT of the real danger legosi presents to him (that legosi NEVER allows himself to forget) is a defense mechanism in the same way haru's sexuality is for her. pina has absorbed and internalized exactly where he stands in this world, and through taunting the carnivores around him, he feels feels empowered in the same way haru's sexuality empowers her. pina is hedonistic because he is living every day as if it were his last, squeaking out whatever pleasure the world has to offer carelessly, because if people love him, he has power over them.

And if he taunts a carnivore and lives to tell the tale, then in that moment, he had power over them. This power struggle is the CORE of beastars, where humanity and instinct collide and give us the messy, deeply fucked up world this story takes place in. Pina is a character driven to recklessness and hedonism by his own disenfranchisement in a world where cannibalistic murders are commonplace and yet life goes on. It must go on, and this is how pina goes on.

i love pineapple boy

[lilyrachelcassidy]

Something Only We Know

Felix Catton x Reader

A/N: BLURB for “soulmate.” which is gonna be a long-ass fic

Warnings: language, sexual allusions

WC: 1.1k

Xoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxox

“So, where were we exactly?” You glanced, utterly bored, at your blind date. He had just returned from the loo after what felt like an hour — what he was doing there, taking shit or making out with a well-endowed waitress, you didn’t know. It’s not like you cared anyways; the guy was atrocious — self-centered with a plastered smile of a highly conceited person who thinks themselves better than anyone else. Every damn time you had started speaking about yourself, in answer to his superficial questions actually, he would suddenly butt in, completely ruining any remnants of a good opinion about himself in your eyes, and literally begin talking about himself. Out of the context. No exaggeration intended.

“Hey, listen, my friend called me up just a moment later. She said something about an emergency, like something happened in our dorm. Do you mind me taking a rain check?” You put on a fake smile of feigned sadness while gathering all your belongings already off the table as an indication of double urgency to your words.

“That’s alright. Carry on,” he said, “but only under the condition that you give me your number. I still have so many questions to ask you.”

While saying so, his gaze momentarily slipped to your bosom, and a smirk surfaced on his face.

Ugh. What. A. Fucking. Cocksure. Prick.

“Yeah, sure.” Your tone evidently exposed your chagrin, but the what’s-his-name was probably way to self-absorbed to even fucking notice. Without further ado, you gave him a fake number along with another fake smile before promptly ditching the place of horror. You made a mental note to never return there again.

You didn’t comprehend what the deal was with all the guys now on the dating apps. Every single time you decided to venture and meet up with someone, after having devoted a couple of evenings of getting acquainted with a person on the other side of the screen, they would always turn out to be the worst of the worst wankers. Was it a sign for you decamp the dating apps and hope that life would bring along someone worthy your attention? And time?

Were the dating apps simply for some lonesome 20-something pervs who opted just for a one-night-stand or alike, and nothing that would transcend beyond?

Or was it just your fault that you attracted these kinds of people? Maybe the core problem, in fact , was you?

As a situational irony would have it, so in a brown study you were, that your spatial orientation seemed to have failed you, for you bumped into someone. Hard. To the point where both of you —as if suddenly on two different sides of the magnetic field —collapsed on the ground, apart from each other, with the loud thuds.

You groaned and for a moment thought that life simply couldn’t get any better. Sarcasm widely intended. From what you could instantly feel, you were going to have a pretty nasty bruise on your left side of the hip. And your outfit was entirely ruined, with the tights ripped as though some ferocious animal clawed on it, and the rest of your attire was throughly covered in mud. Not to mention the embarrassment of facing the individual who you have knocked down with your absolute lack of attentiveness.

Fucking awesome.

“I’m so sorry,” said you and the person opposite you at the same time. Involuntarily, you scrunched your brows and looked from the ground at the trampled stranger. His gaze was already concentrated on you and he seemed to be bearing the same train of thought as you had — ‘what the heck are they apologizing for?’

Once you scrutinized the stranger’s countenance more closely, you decided that he was rather exquisite in the appearance. He had his brown doe eyes that spoke nothing but innocence; the jawline was so prominent and sharp that you were quite sure that he could cut paper with that shit; his lips were twisted in a soft smile which made him look purely angelic; a little brow piercing only added to his comeliness, instantly exposing that he wasn’t a type of a person you were going to be bored around with.

Also, once he stood up from the collision, he proved to be of an exceptional height which impressed you. The height difference between the two of you was speaking volumes, which was… hot.

He was hot.

Everything about him was hot.

The innominate stranger extended his hand as a silent offer for you to stand up. You willingly accepted the gesture, soon leveling up, and again fully standing on your feet, although now in a more blighted state than before.

You wanted to utter the statement of gratitude and so you lifted your eyesight to his face again. Conversely, he wasn’t looking at you now but rather transfixing on the two-star tattoo on your inward wrist and your still-joint palms. You didn’t understand his reaction, however he, as if inferring your train of thought, turned around his wrist so now the inward part was visible as well.

It took you a moment to realize what he meant — but when you finally did, the situation left you awestruck. He had the same, if not identical, tattoo engraved on the exact same spot you had. Even a little imperfections of the already-a-tad-faded tattoo could be traced.

No. The tattoos were definitely identical which was bizarre.

Instead of being wholly weirded-out by all of this, a strange sense of ecstasy overwhelmed you. You had never felt like this before, not even after a proper session of sex, as you stood there with a complete stranger with your fingers intertwined. The feelings that you seemed to bear in your chest were not only ecstasy but also… the abnormal calmness, as if nothing in the world could rupture your inner peace now.

The rangy stranger appeared to have the same feeling of unadulterated composure, for a grin spread across his face with a strange look of simultaneous disbelief and fascination in his eyes. The expression utterly mirrored yours.

For all and no time in the universe, you both stared at one another as the bolt of electricity passed through your bodies. Excited electricity. The kind of electricity which makes you contemplate your deeply-entrenched theism. The electricity which foreshadowed that something thrilling is bound to happen.

Or someone thrilling is bound to settle in your life for longer than planned.

[fvckw4d]

The lamest thing about astrology is that its entire schtick is being able to know someone without having to know anything about them but the time and location of their birth, but it only really works if you're good at cold reading people and getting them to open up about themselves.

The result is it's really popular with self absorbed people who think they are special enough to magically know everything about random strangers without needing to look beyond superficial traits. They don't study people, they study guides to stereotyping them. If you are good at reading and understanding people and getting them to drop information about themselves, you might be able to use astrology to your benefit as much as any other cold read-related woo or scam, which is it's own issue, but a lot of people who believe in it only do so because they want to skip all of that. They don't understand the skill set involved is being good with people at least enough to deceive them, so they study fucking snake oil cook books as if it's a cheat code to avoid practicing basic social skills.

It's one reason it comes off so fucking basic and irritating, having someone insist they understand who you are based on fated celestial magic instead of just fucking asking you. Especially since most of them dont fucking care enough about you to bother even doing that.

[babyastrowitch]

PLANETS IN THE FIRST HOUSE

The first house represents your physical appearance and overall self!

Sun in the 1st

strong sense of identity. confident and may appear stereotypically like their zodiac sign. egotistical.

Moon in the 1st

feminine appearance. may be soft/curvier. very moody, could be sad one moment then silly the next. absorbs all energy around them. their inner child is always present. will for admiration from others but rejection will scratch their self worth.

Mercury in the 1st

the way these people speak and think are highlighted here. well proportioned faces with a shine to them, good physique. well-spoken and good listeners.

Venus in the 1st

these people are literally ruled by venus so they are noticeably attractive. well liked by many. strong personalities. knows what suits them and what doesn't, may decorate themselves with accessories and jewelry. actively tries to hide their flaws.

Mars in the 1st

fearless and energetic. intimidating to others, may come off too aggressive in some cases. bold and unapologetic. disobedient and may throw tantrums. prone to "turning red" in embarrassment or blushing. prominent forehead.

Jupiter in the 1st

tells and seeks the truth, easily attracts good luck when they are positive, appears flamboyant and popular but are not superficial. they can be all things to people.

Saturn in the 1st

comes across as mature and serious until they smile. orderly sense of style. displays leadership qualities. they pause to think before making decisions.

Uranus in the 1st

comes off eccentric. dislikes people telling them what to do. wants to be seen as different, will put their own spin on anything. they don't care about the approval of others which can make them come off as cold.

Neptune in the 1st

comes off as emotionally mature and wise. selfless and searching for divine love. may lie to oneself, and may not have a sturdy image of themselves. they mimic the personalities of people they are around.

Pluto in the 1st

deep and destructive changes in life. constantly searching for how other people perceive them. dangerous aura and may be a thrill seeker. good eyebrows and jawline, intense eyes. wears a lot of red and black. master manipulators.

[starsreminisce]

Your post got me thinking with your latest post. It’s one of the reasons why I really don’t ship Azriel and Elain. There isn’t anything redeemable about how he treats the women he’s into. I think there is a very similar attraction to Mor that we’ve seen with him even though we didn’t get his POV on that one. It’s lust, it feels superficial. And it’s kind of a weird parallel that Cassian got with Mor, not Azriel, and now Cassian got a second sister, not Azriel. To me this entire thing reeks of jealousy and desire to be like his brothers. I don’t want to demonise Azriel, I really like him as a character and who can’t relate to this feeling of not being enough when your brothers are doing so much better? But the problem with Azriel is that this type of attraction reads as kind of a strange hyperfixation, it’s not really about the girl he’s selected, it’s more so about the feeling of wanting to belong. With Elain, I feel like that would simply scratch that itch. Of course, she is beautiful and she is attractive, but that’s all Azriel thinks about plus his desire to be like his brothers. It’s not really about Elain, it’s about him. I think that’s why Lucien and the smell of their bond triggers him so much. @acourtofthought pointed out that other couples’ bonds could be smelled too and I think in this case Azriel is lashing out at Lucien for taking the third sister. It’s really not about who Elain is as a person or who Lucien is as a person. Azriel said he could easily defeat Lucien or whatever, but that also didn’t consider Elain. We don’t know how she’d take it if her mate was murdered, even if they weren’t close.

Another thing about Azriel is that he’s quite competitive (look at the snowball fight lol). The fact that he doesn’t have a mate might weigh on him because he’s the only one, he’s missing out on something his brothers have etc.

And I think that’s kind of the reason why Gwyn would be perfect for Azriel. It’s a natural attraction that’s not filtered through all this brother/sister bs that puts him in this competitive state. With Elain I feel like the objective of his desire is to become more like his brothers. Elain is a vessel for that. Whereas with Gwyn he could simply develop a friendship (already happening), Gwyn is removed form the inner circle just enough that she’s still around him but not to a degree where he can measure her up against big standards that he placed on himself for no reason.

"Women are only there for the males" is an argument the antis like to swing towards Eluciens, and I beg to differ, especially when they never talk about what Azriel can offer Elain. Instead, they focus on the rough life Azriel had and the current struggles of inadequacy he feels, as though Elain is a bandaid to help him fix that.

To me, this suggests they haven't absorbed any of SJM’s books.

Most E/riel theories are Elucien or Gwynriel reskins, morphing Azriel or Elain to be Lucien or Gwyn, and that's not the message SJM puts out.

Nesta never truly lost that snarky side of her, and Cassian loves her for that. She may have felt she wasn’t enough for Cassian, but not once did she feel like she needed to change her personality to suit him. She just evolved because that’s what healed people do. Feyre understood the lengths Rhys went to protect his court, even if it meant playing a villain.

Azriel had two years of knowing, talking, and spending time with Elain, and he still feels ashamed to touch her. Am I supposed to think it’s romantic that he feels that way about her? Am I supposed to think that it’s romantic that Azriel feels like he can’t be his true self around Elain? All this time, Lucien has been gone, and we know that he has not been pressuring her - Feyre tells us as much.

But we do have two lines from ACOSF that tell us how each male views Elain, and since I am a romance reader, I’d rather pick the one who looks at Elain with longing than a charged look.

The thing I do like about Gwynriel is that Cassian and Nesta started to observe a change in his behavior around her. He smiles more. His shadows are more playful. He doesn’t hide his amusement, and most of all, he notices her. He does so much for her without her prompting that now I’m convinced the reason why he does challenge her in the second half is that he knows she’s competitive and loves the scowl she’ll give him.

The only reason why I think Azriel gravitated towards Elain is that she’s nice to him, but it's up to him to decide that he’s worthy of it, not for Elain to make him feel like he should. And I see that he doesn’t. From what I’ve read with his feelings towards Mor, he most likely will never. Nesta put herself in a position where she can feel like she’s worthy of Cassian. Cassian did not do this for her. He helped her, like Elain could have helped Azriel, but we don’t know if Azriel is willing.

There is so much Azriel offers Gwyn that he does not give Elain, and that began when he was in disbelief that the female he rescued in Sangravah is the same female who is standing in front of the ribbon to cut it.

Even when he saw the near-comatose state of Elain, when he knew she managed to get to Hybern, we didn't get any thought on his admiration for that.

Azriel waited longer for a bond to snap with Mor than Rhys waited for a mate. Cassian was mated before Azriel, and he didn’t want that life until Rhys had Feyre. SJM specifically used envy to describe Azriel. There’s a legit reason for that.

Just as much as there is a compelling reason why Elain would subject herself to being drawn to Lucien for two years, given what we know about mating bonds post-snap. It’s deeper than "she’s not interested" and even more insulting to her intelligence, "maybe she doesn’t know how" or "no one has ever told her."

But I guess I can't expect much from a group of shippers who believe that Elain is the savior to all of Azriel’s self-esteem issues, especially when they have yet to provide a quote where another character observes Azriel looking at Elain with anything other than a charged look.

[la-pheacienne]

Can someone please explain to me what "soft feminine power" is? This is not a rhetoric question and I'm not being ironic, I genuinely do not know what that means. In my language we don't have the equivalent of this. There is no feminine or masculine power, there is only power, either you have it or you don't. If you are a woman in a patriarchal society you can gain power up to a certain level by using """""feminine""""" means, but that's not "soft feminine power" that's literally victimized, restrained women trying to survive with the means that they have left. It's not something one should glamorize or wish for. It is just a reality for some women. When Barbara Stanwyck in Baby Face, a woman forced to prostitute herself by her father since she was 14 yo finally gets away from him and starts having sex with men for her own profit and to forward her own interests in order to climb the social hierarchy, that's not "soft feminine power". That is what a woman had to do to survive. She sold her looks and her body and her nice words, she manipulated men and used them in every possible way in order to gain power, and she did. She didn't start a feminist revolution, no, she didn't take a gun. But there is nothing "soft" here, this is the very opposite of soft. This is an extremely determined person who is resilient and hard as a rock and cuts through life like a razor. There is nothing inherently feminine in this either. It's something that women had to do because of patriarchy yes, but it is not a "feminine" trait. What about all these men that sell sex to survive, because they are homeless or underage or immigrants or very weak for whatever reason? If you are at the bottom of the social ladder and don't have any direct power to do absolutely anything to improve your circumstances then you have got to find other indirect ways to do that and you need to use manipulation and exploit yourself and your looks in order to survive. It is a necessity. It is not hashtag soft feminine power. It is not something to wish for especially today in the sense that, oh, actually I don't want to be direct and forward with what I want and what I believe I deserve, I prefer using my "soft feminine power" instead. You don't know what the fuck you are talking about. "A lady's armour is courtesy" is not something that should be even remotely associated with hashtag "soft feminine power". It's just what Sansa has been told from birth and it's the only thing she values about herself or others. Our problem with Sansa isn't that we dislike "soft feminine power" it's that she was a bully and painfully superficial and self-absorbed and reactive and her vices as a character were one of the factors that caused the horrible ending of the first book and nothing about this is even remotely "soft" or "feminine" or "powerful" or even close to getting her any form of actual power. It is literally not about that. I want Sansa to actually grow as a person and her arc is already about that and her journey in KL was very important and kudos for her because she managed to survive but people's dislike on her has nothing to do with the fact that she keeps her "femininity" but for the particularly negative role she played in the narrative of the first book and the fact that apart from surviving, she hasn't offered much thematically or narratively, yet.

My point is, the phrase "soft feminine power" literally has no meaning and is either used to 1) glamorize the struggles of marginalized individuals to survive or 2) conceal actual character flaws like lack of backbone or extreme conformism.