before you know about women, you hear that you do not need to love the man, just that you need to love him through his manhood. which is to say you have seen the future painted in lamb's blood over your eyes - how your mother shoots you a look about your father's inability to cook right. how your aunt holds her wineglass and says i'm gonna kill em. men, right! how your best friend bickers with her boyfriend, how she says i can't help it. i come back to him.
you learn: men are gonna cheat. men aren't going to listen when you're talking, because you're nagging. men think emotions are stupid. they think your life is vapid and your hobbies are embarrassing. men will slam things, but that's because men are allowed to be angry. if you get loud, you're hysterical. if a man gets loud - well, men are animals, men are dogs, men can't control their hands or their eyes or their bodies. they're going to make a snide comment about you in the locker room, about your body, about how you're so fucking annoying. you're going to give him kids, and he will give you the money for the kids, and you're going to be running the house 24/7 - but he gets to relax after a long day, because his job is stressful. the man is on stage, and is a comedian, and says "women!"
and you are supposed to love that. you are supposed to love men through how horrible they are to you - because that's what women do. that's what good women do. wife material. your father even told you once - it'll make sense when you're older. it was like staring down a very lonely tunnel.
it feels like something's caught in your throat, but it's all you know, so. it's okay that you see sex as a necessary tool, a sort of okay-enough ritual to keep him happy, even though he doesn't seem to care about happiness as-applied-to you. it is relationship upkeep. it is kissing him and smiling even though he didn't brush his teeth. it is getting on your knees and looking up and holding back a sigh because he barely holds you as you panic through the night. it's not like the sex is bad and you do like feeling wanted. and besides! he's a man! like... they're another species. you'll never be able to actually communicate, right. he isn't listening.
you just don't get it. you don't feel that sense of i'm gonna climb him like a tree. mostly it just feels fucking exhausting. you play the part perfectly. you smile and nod and are "effortlessly" charming. and it's fine! it's alright! you even love him, if you're looking. you could have good life, and a good family, and perfectly happy.
in the late night you google: am i broken. you google i'm not attracted to my husband. you google i get turned on by books but not by him. you google how to get better in bed.
the first time he yells at you, it almost feels like blankness. like - of course this is happening. this is always how it was going to end up. men get angry, and they yell, and you sit there in silence.
you mention it to your friend - just the once - while you're drunk. she shrugs and says it's like that with me too, i just try to forget and move on. men are always gonna hear what they want to. pick your battles and say sorry even though he's in the wrong. you play solitaire online for a month. you go to your therapist appointment and preach about how you're both so in love.
after all, you have a future to want. nobody lied about it - how many instagram posts say marriage is hard. say real love takes work. say we fight like cats and dogs but the best part is that we always make up. how many of your friends say happy anniversary to the best and worst thing to ever happen to me. if you really loved him - loved yourself too - you'd accept that men are just different from you.
the first time she kisses you, it's on a dare at a party. something large and terrifying whips through your body. you wake up sweating from dreams where her mouth is encrusted with pearls and you pick them off one by one with your teeth. fuck. you sit at the computer and your almost-finished game of sim city. you think about your potential perfect life and your potential future family. you google am i gay quiz with your little hands shaking.
you delete each letter slowly. you don't need to love him. you just need to keep going.
2K notes
·
View notes
didn’t you have a whole thing about Clark’s parents you were writing as well? did I make that up?
"Focus, Jor-El," Lara said, the thought chiding as she nudged him with her elbow.
"I swear there's something over there," he said with frustrated curiosity, though he put the bot back on course. Flickers of thought about strange structures, ancient ruins. He had the thought that he'd be able to see better if the bot were higher, if it had been carried by something they could have launched into the air, fire and noise. She nudged him again because he hadn't bothered keeping the thought from her.
"Stop looking for problems you can solve with rockets," she said, still not looking up from the screen. She loved her mate dearly, but this struck her as one of his moments, a blade in search of a throat. He feigned offense at the thought.
"Most problems can be solved with rockets," he insisted, with a distant thought about her parents that failed to coalesce into anything coherent. The shadow of a tasteless joke unmade.
"When I tire of the sky being above my head instead of on top of it, I'll let you know," she said. It was hard to make out any of what the bot was transmitting. She tried lowering her glasses to look past the tinted lenses, but this close to the surface was still too bright for her. She winced, sliding her glasses back up her nose.
"My poor perfect mate," Jor-El teased, "with her perfect eyes stuck in imperfect conditions."
"Contemplate emptiness," she shot back, and he laughed aloud.
Read More
475 notes
·
View notes
i love the idea of eddie working jobs that no one expects him to. eddie as a baker, hasn't slept at all between finishing his concert and needing to get to work, so he's surviving off coffee alone because he has to start on the muffins. eddie as a barista, hair pulled back into a tight ponytail as he smiles with fake politeness at overworked jerks complaining about the price of soy milk. eddie as a grocery store bagger, taking the time to put all the similar foods into the same bags to make it easier for the shopper to unload at home and his rings turn ice cold from holding onto a carton of ice cream for too long.
eddie as a daycare greeter, throwing kids over his shoulder to march them into their classrooms with a warrior's roar as they squeal and pound at his back with grubby fists. eddie as a valet at a fine dining restaurant, opening doors with an outstretched hand to assist guests and then peeling away in a too nice car once the driver was out of earshot. eddie as a florist, wrapping smiley face bandaids around his fingers that were pricked by one too many thorns before setting out a curbside vase with free flowers for tourists to grab.
and you know what else i love? steve falling for him in every possible universe. he's first in line to get the blueberry muffins that he's grown to crave every wednesday morning, and it absolutely has nothing to do with the man at the register. he's at the end of the mid-morning rush to get his coffee and blushes when he sees the barista give him a real smile instead of the fake ones he throws around. he stays long after his bags are tucked neatly in his shopping cart so he can invite the guy who went the extra mile to pack his things nicely to his house for dinner because they both know he bought enough for two.
he's the single dad who's a little rundown but sees a future in mr. eddie as he holds his crying kid to his chest and sings something to get her smiling again. he's the guy standing off to the side in the parking lot laughing because the hot valet doesn't know how to drive stick and he has to yell instructions to him for how to put it in gear so he won't get fired. he's the new to town fireman that's looking for a fresh start who takes a flower from the free vase every day only to bring it inside and give it to the guy who's prettier than all the other flowers combined.
the idea that they can find each other time and time and again and the love story feels right. the idea that they can be two strangers or best friends or enemies or teammates and let whatever blossom between them until they're madly in love. the idea that eddie is eddie and steve is steve and that they are a match no matter the circumstances.
1K notes
·
View notes
yes buck and eddie's popularity is totally down to their fun energy, the fun energy of clawing at the ground with your bare hands trying to dig your friend out from under 30 feet of mud, the fun energy of being splattered with his blood, the fun energy of futilely trying to haul up his lifeless body -
346 notes
·
View notes
the issue with the current fallen london event is that it lets you choose the difficulty (or rather, the quantity of explosives you are willing to pack onto your ship) and that's very hard for me, because even though it would likely be much more profitable overall to go on any difficulty but the hardest (which is comically, punishingly difficult) i am incapable of such WEAKNESS. what am i, a COWARD??? pack every last inch of this zubmarine with explosives, lads!!! we sail into the mouth of hell!! DEATH OR GLORY!!!!!!!
153 notes
·
View notes
Your art has awakened something within me
Never have I looked at Xisuma and went 😳 but now……….
Xisuma kinda….
YOU AND ME BOTH BROTHER!!!
just wait til our fearless leader of hermitcraft, the man full of smiles and derpy energy, is scared witless with a rampaging murderous android on his hands!
177 notes
·
View notes