#not sure how much that all applies

[shiftycryptid]

Cons of having a shitty transphobic parent:

Lots.

Pros of having a shitty transphobic parent:

Sometimes you get ominous emails like this.

#not to imply I like getting these emails #but at this point theres not much i can do but laugh about it #tw: transpobia #tw: parental abuse #vent #not sure how much that all applies #but better to be safe than sorry #i'm genuinelly fine tho

[queenlucythevaliant]

Tell Your Dad You Love Him

A retelling of "Meat Loves Salt"/"Cap O'Rushes" for the @inklings-challenge Four Loves event

An old king had three daughters. When his health began to fail, he summoned them, and they came.

Gordonia and Rowan were already waiting in the hallway when Coriander arrived. They were leaned up against the wall opposite the king’s office with an air of affected casualness. “I wonder what the old war horse wants today?” Rowan was saying. “More about next year’s political appointments, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“The older he gets, the more he micromanages,” Gordonia groused fondly. “A thousand dollars says this meeting could’ve been an email.”

They filed in single-file like they’d so often done as children: Gordonia first, then Rowan, and Coriander last of all. The king had placed three chairs in front of his desk all in a row. His daughters murmured their greetings, and one by one they sat down. 

“I have divided everything I have in three,” the king said. “I am old now, and it’s time. Today, I will pass my kingdom on to you, my daughters.”

A short gasp came from Gordonia. None of them could have imagined that their father would give up running his kingdom while he still lived. 

The king went on. “I know you will deal wisely with that which I leave in your care. But before we begin, I have one request.”

“Yes father?” said Rowan.

“Tell me how much you love me.”

An awkward silence fell. Although there was no shortage of love between the king and his daughters, theirs was not a family which spoke of such things. They were rich and blue-blooded: a soldier and the daughters of a soldier, a king and his three court-reared princesses. The royal family had always shown their affection through double meanings and hot cups of coffee.

Gordonia recovered herself first. She leaned forward over the desk and clasped her father’s hands in her own. “Father,” she said, “I love you more than I can say.” A pause. “I don’t think there’s ever been a family so happy in love as we have been. You’re a good dad.”

The old king smiled and patted her hand. “Thank you, Gordonia. We have been very happy, haven’t we? Here is your inheritance. Cherish it, as I cherish you.”

Rowan spoke next; the words came tumbling out.  “Father! There’s not a thing in my life which you didn’t give me, and all the joy in the world beside. Come now, Gordonia, there’s no need to understate the matter. I love you more than—why, more than life itself!”

The king laughed, and rose to embrace his second daughter. “How you delight me, Rowan. All of this will be yours.”

Only Coriander remained. As her sisters had spoken, she’d wrung her hands in her lap, unsure of what to say. Did her father really mean for flattery to be the price of her inheritance? That just wasn’t like him. For all that he was a politician, he’d been a soldier first. He liked it when people told the truth.

When the king’s eyes came to rest on her, Coriander raised her own to meet them. “Do you really want to hear what you already know?” 

“I do.”

She searched for a metaphor that could carry the weight of her love without unnecessary adornment. At last she found one, and nodded, satisfied. “Dad, you’re like—like salt in my food.”

“Like salt?”

“Well—yes.”

The king’s broad shoulders seemed to droop. For a moment, Coriander almost took back her words. Her father was the strongest man in the world, even now, at eighty. She’d watched him argue with foreign rulers and wage wars all her life. Nothing could hurt him. Could he really be upset? 

But no. Coriander held her father’s gaze. She had spoken true. What harm could be in that?

“I don’t know why you’re even here, Cor,” her father said.

Now, Coriander shifted slightly in her seat, unnerved. “What? Father—”

“It would be best if—you should go,” said the old king.

“Father, you can’t really mean–”

“Leave us, Coriander.”

So she left the king’s court that very hour.

 .

It had been a long time since she’d gone anywhere without a chauffeur to drive her, but Coriander’s thoughts were flying apart too fast for her to be afraid. She didn’t know where she would go, but she would make do, and maybe someday her father would puzzle out her metaphor and call her home to him. Coriander had to hope for that, at least. The loss of her inheritance didn’t feel real yet, but her father—how could he not know that she loved him? She’d said it every day.

She’d played in the hall outside that same office as a child. She’d told him her secrets and her fears and sent him pictures on random Tuesdays when they were in different cities just because. She had watched him triumph in conference rooms and on the battlefield and she’d wanted so badly to be like him. 

If her father doubted her love, then maybe he’d never noticed any of it. Maybe the love had been an unnoticed phantasm, a shadow, a song sung to a deaf man. Maybe all that love had been nothing at all.  

A storm was on the horizon, and it reached her just as she made it onto the highway. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. Rain poured down and flooded the road. Before long, Coriander was hydroplaning. Frantically, she tried to remember what you were supposed to do when that happened. Pump the brakes? She tried. No use. Wasn’t there something different you did if the car had antilock brakes? Or was that for snow? What else, what else–

With a sickening crunch, her car hit the guardrail. No matter. Coriander’s thoughts were all frenzied and distant. She climbed out of the car and just started walking.

Coriander wandered beneath an angry sky on the great white plains of her father’s kingdom. The rain beat down hard, and within seconds she was soaked to the skin. The storm buffeted her long hair around her head. It tangled together into long, matted cords that hung limp down her back. Mud soiled her fine dress and splattered onto her face and hands. There was water in her lungs and it hurt to breathe. Oh, let me die here, Coriander thought. There’s nothing left for me, nothing at all. She kept walking.

 .

When she opened her eyes, Coriander found herself in a dank gray loft. She was lying on a strange feather mattress.

She remained there a while, looking up at the rafters and wondering where she could be. She thought and felt, as it seemed, through a heavy and impenetrable mist; she was aware only of hunger and weakness and a dreadful chill (though she was all wrapped in blankets). She knew that a long time must have passed since she was fully aware, though she had a confused memory of wandering beside the highway in a thunderstorm, slowly going mad because—because— oh, there’d been something terrible in her dreams. Her father, shoulders drooping at his desk, and her sisters happily come into their inheritance, and she cast into exile—

She shuddered and sat up dizzily. “Oh, mercy,” she murmured. She hadn’t been dreaming.

She stumbled out of the loft down a narrow flight of stairs and came into a strange little room with a single window and a few shabby chairs. Still clinging to the rail, she heard a ruckus from nearby and then footsteps. A plump woman came running to her from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and softly clucking at the state of her guest’s matted, tangled hair.

“Dear, dear,” said the woman. “Here’s my hand, if you’re still unsteady. That’s good, good. Don’t be afraid, child. I’m Katherine, and my husband is Folke. He found you collapsed by the goose-pond night before last. I’m she who dressed you—your fine gown was ruined, I’m afraid. Would you like some breakfast? There’s coffee on the counter, and we’ll have porridge in a minute if you’re patient.”

“Thank you,” Coriander rasped.

“Will you tell me your name, my dear?”

“I have no name. There’s nothing to tell.”

Katherine clicked her tongue. “That’s alright, no need to worry. Folke and I’ve been calling you Rush on account of your poor hair. I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but it looks a lot like river rushes. No, don’t get up. Here’s your breakfast, dear.”

There was indeed porridge, as Katherine had promised, served with cream and berries from the garden. Coriander ate hungrily and tasted very little. Then, when she was finished, the goodwife ushered her over to a sofa by the window and put a pillow beneath her head. Coriander thanked her, and promptly fell asleep.

 .

She woke again around noon, with the pounding in her head much subsided. She woke feeling herself again, to visions of her father inches away and the sound of his voice cracking across her name.

Katherine was outside in the garden; Coriander could see her through the clouded window above her. She rose and, upon finding herself still in a borrowed nightgown, wrapped herself in a blanket to venture outside.

“Feeling better?” Katherine was kneeling in a patch of lavender, but she half rose when she heard the cottage door open.

“Much. Thank you, ma’am.

“No thanks necessary. Folke and I are ministers, of a kind. We keep this cottage for lost and wandering souls. You’re free to remain here with us for as long as you need.”

“Oh,” was all Coriander could think to say. 

“You’ve been through a tempest, haven’t you? Are you well enough to tell me where you came from?”

Coriander shifted uncomfortably. “I’m from nowhere,” she said. “I have nothing.”

“You don’t owe me your story, child. I should like to hear it, but it will keep till you’re ready. Now, why don’t you put on some proper clothes and come help me with this weeding.”

 .

Coriander remained at the cottage with Katherine and her husband Folke for a week, then a fortnight. She slept in the loft and rose with the sun to help Folke herd the geese to the pond. After, Coriander would return and see what needed doing around the cottage. She liked helping Katherine in the garden.

The grass turned gold and the geese’s thick winter down began to come in. Coriander’s river-rush hair proved itself unsalvageable. She spent hours trying to untangle it, first with a hairbrush, then with a fine-tooth comb and a bottle of conditioner, and eventually even with honey and olive oil (a home remedy that Folke said his mother used to use). So, at last, Coriander surrendered to the inevitable and gave Katherine permission to cut it off. One night, by the yellow light of the bare bulb that hung over the kitchen table, Katherine draped a towel over Coriander’s shoulders and tufts of gold went falling to the floor all round her.

“I’m here because I failed at love,” she managed to tell the couple at last, when her sorrows began to feel more distant. “I loved my father, and he knew it not.”

Folke and Katherine still called her Rush. She didn’t correct them. Coriander was the name her parents gave her. It was the name her father had called her when she was six and racing down the stairs to meet him when he came home from Europe, and at ten when she showed him the new song she’d learned to play on the harp. She’d been Cor when she brought her first boyfriend home and Cori the first time she shadowed him at court. Coriander, Coriander, when she came home from college the first time and he’d hugged her with bruising strength. Her strong, powerful father.

As she seasoned a pot of soup for supper, she wondered if he understood yet what she’d meant when she called him salt in her food. 

 .

Coriander had been living with Katherine and Folke for two years, and it was a morning just like any other. She was in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee when Folke tossed the newspaper on the table and started rummaging in the fridge for his orange juice. “Looks like the old king’s sick again,” he commented casually. Coriander froze.

She raced to the table and seized hold of the paper. There, above the fold, big black letters said, KING ADMITTED TO HOSPITAL FOR EMERGENCY TREATMENT. There was a picture of her father, looking older than she’d ever seen him. Her knees went wobbly and then suddenly the room was sideways.

Strong arms caught her and hauled her upright. “What’s wrong, Rush?”

“What if he dies,” she choked out. “What if he dies and I never got to tell him?”

She looked up into Folke’s puzzled face, and then the whole sorry story came tumbling out.

When she was through, Katherine (who had come downstairs sometime between salt and the storm) took hold of her hand and kissed it. “Bless you, dear,” she said. “I never would have guessed. Maybe it’s best that you’ve both had some time to think things over.”

Katherine shook her head. “But don’t you think…?”

“Yes?”

“Well, don’t you think he should have known that I loved him? I shouldn’t have needed to say it. He’s my father. He’s the king.”

Katherine replied briskly, as though the answer should have been obvious. “He’s only human, child, for all that he might wear a crown; he’s not omniscient. Why didn’t you tell your father what he wanted to hear?”

“I didn’t want to flatter him,” said Coriander. “That was all. I wanted to be right in what I said.”

The goodwife clucked softly. “Oh dear. Don’t you know that sometimes, it’s more important to be kind than to be right?”

.

In her leave-taking, Coriander tried to tell Katherine and Folke how grateful she was to them, but they wouldn’t let her. They bought her a bus ticket and sent her on her way towards King’s City with plenty of provisions. Two days later, Coriander stood on the back steps of one of the palace outbuildings with her little carpetbag clutched in her hands. 

Stuffing down the fear of being recognized, Coriander squared her shoulders and hoped they looked as strong as her father’s. She rapped on the door, and presently a maid came and opened it. The maid glanced Coriander up and down, but after a moment it was clear that her disguise held. With all her long hair shorn off, she must have looked like any other girl come in off the street.

“I’m here about a job,” said Coriander. “My name’s Rush.”

 .

The king's chambers were half-lit when Coriander brought him his supper, dressed in her servants’ apparel. He grunted when she knocked and gestured with a cane towards his bedside table. His hair was snow-white and he was sitting in bed with his work spread across a lap-desk. His motions were very slow.

Coriander wanted to cry, seeing her father like that. Yet somehow, she managed to school her face. Like he would, she kept telling herself. Stoically, she put down the supper tray, then stepped back out into the hallway. 

It was several minutes more before the king was ready to eat. Coriander heard papers being shuffled, probably filed in those same manilla folders her father had always used. In the hall, Coriander felt the seconds lengthen. She steeled herself for the moment she knew was coming, when the king would call out in irritation, “Girl! What's the matter with my food? Why hasn’t it got any taste?”

When that moment came, all would be made right. Coriander would go into the room and taste his food. “Why,” she would say, with a look of complete innocence, “It seems the kitchen forgot to salt it!” She imagined how her father’s face would change when he finally understood. My daughter always loved me, he would say. 

Soon, soon. It would happen soon. Any second now. 

The moment never came. Instead, the floor creaked, followed by the rough sound of a cane striking the floor. The door opened, and then the king was there, his mighty shoulders shaking. “Coriander,” he whispered. 

“Dad. You know me?”

“Of course.”

“Then you understand now?”

The king’s wrinkled brow knit. “Understand about the salt? Of course, I do. It wasn't such a clever riddle. There was surely no need to ruin my supper with a demonstration.”

Coriander gaped at him. She'd expected questions, explanations, maybe apologies for sending her away. She'd never imagined this.

She wanted very badly to seize her father and demand answers, but then she looked, really looked, at the way he was leaning on his cane. The king was barely upright; his white head was bent low. Her questions would hold until she'd helped her father back into his room. 

“If you knew what I meant–by saying you were like salt in my food– then why did you tell me to go?” she asked once they were situated back in the royal quarters. 

Idly, the king picked at his unseasoned food. “I shouldn’t have done that. Forgive me, Coriander. My anger and hurt got the better of me, and it has brought me much grief. I never expected you to stay away for so long.”

Coriander nodded slowly. Her father's words had always carried such fierce authority. She'd never thought to question if he really meant what he’d said to her. 

“As for the salt,” continued the king, "Is it so wrong that an old man should want to hear his daughters say ‘I love you' before he dies?” 

Coriander rolled the words around in her head, trying to make sense of them. Then, with a sudden mewling sound from her throat, she managed to say, “That's really all you wanted?”  

“That's all. I am old, Cor, and we've spoken too little of love in our house.” He took another bite of his unsalted supper. His hand shook. “That was my failing, I suppose. Perhaps if I’d said it, you girls would have thought to say it back.”

“But father!” gasped Coriander, “That’s not right. We've always known we loved one another! We've shown it a thousand ways. Why, I've spent the last year cataloging them in my head, and I've still not even scratched the surface!”

The king sighed. “Perhaps you will understand when your time comes. I knew, and yet I didn't. What can you really call a thing you’ve never named? How do you know it exists? Perhaps all the love I thought I knew was only a figment.”

“But that’s what I’ve been afraid of all this time,” Coriander bit back. “How could you doubt? If it was real at all– how could you doubt?”

The king’s weathered face grew still. His eyes fell shut and he squeezed them. “Death is close to me, child. A small measure of reassurance is not so very much to ask.”

.

Coriander slept in her old rooms that night. None of it had changed. When she woke the next morning, for a moment she remembered nothing of the last two years. 

She breakfasted in the garden with her father, who came down the steps in a chair-lift. “Coriander,” he murmured. “I half-thought I dreamed you last night.”

“I’m here, Dad,” she replied. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, the king reached out with one withered hand and caressed Coriander's cheek. Then, his fingers drifted up to what remained of her hair. He ruffled it, then gently tugged on a tuft the way he'd used to playfully tug her long braid when she was a girl. 

“I love you,” he said.

“That was always an I love you, wasn’t it?” replied Coriander. “My hair.”

The king nodded. “Yes, I think it was.”

So Coriander reached out and gently tugged the white hairs of his beard. “You too,” she whispered.

.

“Why salt?” The king was sitting by the fire in his rooms wrapped in two blankets. Coriander was with him, enduring the sweltering heat of the room without complaint. 

She frowned. “You like honesty. We have that in common. I was trying to be honest–accurate–to avoid false flattery.”

The king tugged at the outer blanket, saying nothing. His lips thinned and his eyes dropped to his lap. Coriander wished they wouldn’t. She wished they would hold to hers, steely and ready for combat as they always used to be.

“Would it really have been false?” the king said at last. “Was there no other honest way to say it? Only salt?”

Coriander wanted to deny it, to give speech to the depth and breadth of her love, but once again words failed her. “It was my fault,” she said. “I didn’t know how to heave my heart into my throat.” She still didn’t, for all she wanted to. 

.

When the doctor left, the king was almost too tired to talk. His words came slowly, slurred at the edges and disconnected, like drops of water from a leaky faucet. 

Still, Coriander could tell that he had something to say. She waited patiently as his lips and tongue struggled to form the words. “Love you… so… much… You… and… your sisters… Don’t… worry… if you… can’t…say…how…much. I… know.” 

It was all effort. The king sat back when he was finished. Something was still spasming in his throat, and Coriander wanted to cry.

“I’m glad you know,” she said. “I’m glad. But I still want to tell you.”

Love was effort. If her father wanted words, she would give him words. True words. Kind words. She would try… 

“I love you like salt in my food. You're desperately important to me, and you've always been there, and I don't know what I'll do without you. I don’t want to lose you. And I love you like the soil in a garden. Like rain in the spring. Like a hero. You have the strongest shoulders of anyone I know, and all I ever wanted was to be like you…”

A warm smile spread across the old king’s face. His eyes drifted shut.

#inklingschallenge #theme: storge #story: complete #inklings challenge #leah stories #OKAY. SO #i spend so much time thinking about king lear. i think i've said before that it's my favorite shakespeare play. it is not close #and one of the hills i will die on is that cordelia was not in the right when she refused to flatter her dad #like. obviously he's definitely not in the right either. the love test was a screwed up way to make sure his kids loved him #he shouldn't have tied their inheritances into it. he DEFINITELY shouldn't have kicked cordelia out when she refused to play #but like. Cordelia. there is no good reason not to tell your elderly dad how much you love him #and okay obviously lear is my starting point but the same applies to the meat loves salt princess #your dad wants you to tell him you love him. there is no good reason to turn it into a riddle. you had other options #and honestly it kinda bothers me when people read cordelia/the princess as though she's perfectly virtuous #she's very human and definitely beats out the cruel sisters but she's definitely not aspirational. she's not to be emulated #at the end of the day both the fairytale and the play are about failures in storge #at happens when it's there and you can't tell. when it's not and you think it is. when you think you know someone's heart and you just don' #hey! that's a thing that happens all the time between parents and children. especially loving past each other and speaking different langua #so the challenge i set myself with this story was: can i retell the fairytale in such a way that the princess is unambiguously in the wrong #and in service of that the king has to get softened so his errors don't overshadow hers #anyway. thank you for coming to my TED talk #i've been thinking about this story since the challenge was announced but i wrote the whole thing last night after the super bowl #got it in under the wire! yay! #also! the whole 'modern setting that conflicts with the fairytale language' is supposed to be in the style of modern shakespeare adaptation #no idea if it worked but i had a lot of fun with it #pontifications and creations

[snekdood]

yall are willing to die for trans women and not trans men and we should talk about it actually

#transandrophobia #you'll do anything to protect trans women but dont have that same energy for trans men. interesting. #anyways i think the reason this is is bc ppl like this think bc we're men we dont need to be helped or protected #that somehow we should have figured out how to do this on our own. that we dont need community bc we're already solid and tough enough #which is weird like. how are you trans friendly but then you dont do any other basic progressive shit like #getting rid of gender roles entirely instead of now instead applying them to trans people also? ?? #like you dont get to be all 'men should express their emotions and be vulnerable' and then reinforce the traditional gender roles on- #trans men still. like have you or havent you decondtructed that shit in your head or did you iust see someone reblog something that seema #correct w/o even doing any critical thinking or self reflecting or anything on your end at all #i didnt suddenly become made of rock and become invulnerable when i transitioned. bc that narrative for men in general is inaccurate- #and harmful. and even if i did become super buff and capable of mowing down my enemies that wouldnt mean i dont suddenly need community #that doesnt mean i become immune to bullets or that i dont need a space to express my emotions regarding being trans n shit #like yall really just want to leave us out here to die it seems like. we have nowhere to go. no real community bc yall wont give us the #time of day or compassion or anything. you think 'men bad' and thats the deepest your political analysis goes as far as im concerned. #and if thats the case how much better are you than a terf who just decided they were 'okay' with trans women? #p sure this post was inspired from a trans guy literally being a meat shield for other trans ppl and no one gave a fuck.

[fallout-fucker]

More fanfics about the first day(s)/weeks of travelling with a new companion because that's got to be awkward. Sole just picks everyone up off the street.

The Mayor of a town finds out you almost accidentally rob him and decides to follow you. A BOS soldier trusts you enough to sleep next to you as you lie awake at night hoping he doesn't find out one of your best friends is a synth. How are you supposed to relax when Piper was adamant about coming along, and Deacon's cracking spy jokes whilst the only fucking reporter in the Commonwealth is eating her breakfast across from you both.

'Cause those first few days with a complete stranger as you're still getting used to the idea of no running water and regular showers has gotta. Frustrate you. Like Sole is stronger than me because I'd go insane. I love the companions with all my heart but if we get trapped in a single room for the entire night when my social battery is low. I'm going to lose it.

More awkward, early days fics where Sole and their companion(s) are getting used to each other's routines. What the fuck do you talk about when there's no new shows or movies or books? How does Sole set boundaries to a companion who doesn't get the hint that Sole needs...Alone time, some nights.

I want Preston getting up when the sun does at 5AM and being like 'Morning! 😁' And Sole throws a fucking pillow at him and goes back to bed.

Like imagine travelling with someone 24/7. And a stranger you found in a bar? Bet, I want a million fics stat. You gotta trust that fucker with your life and you don't even know how old they are. Let me read about it. I bet MacCready fucking snores.

#Fallout 4 #This applies to all the games tbh but yeah #Like. If they’ve grown up with it then sure. But Sole is Pre-War #Idk if they're comfortable being open about everything just yet #Like. What do they do when they need the bathroom #Or a wank #I just think about so much stuff when it comes to how it would actually be to live like that #Like bro. If we've had a long day walking in the cold or heat. And I can't go decompress and recharge in privacy. I'd die.

[justafriendofxanders]

i go back and forth a lot on my interpretations of ats s5, ie. what parts of spike are 'in character' or not, but the one thing that stays constant is my belief that spike and angel fucking would have fixed most of this.

#not that it would have fixed their problems i just mean it would introduce new problems that i would find entertaining as a viewer #anyways i don't like saying a character would NOT say/do that but sometimes i'm not sure if he (spike) SHOULD do that #in terms of showing off the more interesting parts of a character while also carving out a unique arc/dynamic for him on a new tv show #ats rw #i think what's misunderstood about spike is that he's NOT a solo sigma male lone vigilante bad boy action hero #like i think angel is actually the one who has a history of isolating himself #but spike is your friend who always has to be in a relationship (which i think btvs got correct with harmony) #idk. i think oz has that line in btvs where he's like 'i gotta go do that guy thing where i isolate myself now' #and i think that gets transposed onto spike when he goes on the 'guy show' doing 'guy things' #and then kinda blended up with the tension that many of the guys on ats experience between #being a tough guy capable of doing things on his own versus the desire to belong in a crew #but like. that's not a 'guy' thing that applies to all men. that's a thing that certain individuals experience. and spike is not one of the #like i don't think spike cares about how he fits in with society or the collective but i think he DOES care about how individuals #he's close to perceive him #anyways. today on 'reading too much into a tv show that stopped airing 20 years ago' #i gotta make a separate post about this #buffyposting

[i-just-needed-a-place-to-ramble]

One of the best things about the various iterations of tmnt is how different yet similar each variation of the brothers is. None of them are better than past or future versions, they just go about the same things in their own way. None are abusive, none are perfect, they’re all brothers with their own set of weaknesses and their own set of strengths.

Each variation has some eye brow raising moments where you’re like “hey that one went a little too far there-“ but nothing makes them irredeemable or bad brothers. They’re just brothers - and family isn’t perfect.

#tmnt rant #tmnt #LUCKILY the rampant accusations of the 2012 bros being abusive has died off some but it’s still annoying #no guys none of them are abusive they’re just different dynamics #and tbh!!! not even super different at that!!! #lol I remember seeing so much stuff for how the 12 bros abused Mikey but nah guys #my guy was a MENACE he provoked it a good 80% of the time and also often fought back too #did they sometimes go too far? sure. still not abuse #I’d argue rise leo gets about the same treatment as 12 Mikey did or even worse in some aspects but no one’s saying THATS abuse #because it’s not #sometimes brothers pick on each other #sometimes brothers push and push until another one snaps #sometimes brothers go too far #and sometimes ragging is just the way the group works #it doesn’t automatically make it bad #or abusive or terrible #and something to make note of too is that #for all the focus that goes onto the bad there seems to be a lot of sidestepping the good #i mainly talked about 12 and rise in the tags but this applies to each variation #families aren’t perfect and an imperfect family isn’t automatically bad #actually tagging this one bc I feel it’s less rant and more just stuff I feel like sharing lol

[puhpandas]

Evan Afton is genuinely SO Norman Babcock. like his whole family doesnt understand him and in fact dislike him and actively tell him so and act callous around him (save for Norman's mom)? his family treats him like hes different or weird and excludes him? hes bullied at school and is small for his age? he keeps to himself and has unique interests that everybody ridicules? he actively tries to stay out of peoples way because hes seen as a burden? he spouts on about 'fake' visions he has and people think hes crazy for it (Evan with the nightmares, Norman with the ghosts and prophecies)? he gets dragged into some decades long tragedy and has to deal with it? they share the same role, but Evan is the beginning while Norman is the end? come on man

#obviously their stories are very different so not everything will apply #but like damnn #also pretty sure norman is kind of a gay allegory so do with thag what you will #its not that i think Evan is gay #jts that i think he probably feels disconnected from masculinity because of how much he isnt manlg #hes a boy who should be starting to grow up at his age who instead has really intense emotions and anxiety and nobody to help him with it #and of course his two manly family members will probably be telling him all about how he needs to toughen up and act like a 'real' man #when he isnt really kike that #he'll face different treatment than what girls his age will face #but thats just what i think #thoughts #evan #afton family #ALSOOO norman is probably the number 1 voice claim i have for evan #for these reasons i just listed and also because he just sounds how i think evan would sound #go search his voice up if you dont know #i think he fits really well for evan

[sisterkosho]

Do you think Illuso gives off Himbo energy and why?

He is big, hot and dumb. Need I say more?

Ok but no in all seriousness, I am in fact a himbo Illuso truther. It mainly started off as a joke because of the fact that all of the Illuso bots on character ai have absolutely ZERO brain cells whatsoever and it’s funny, but the more I thought about it, the more I could see the vision. He definitely isn’t a character that would normally be considered a himbo, but the energy… the vibe… it’s there if you squint hard enough. He has potential.

For starters, this man is 🅱️ig. Like… really 🅱️ig. Even bigger than Risotto according to some inconsistent information on the wiki. He’s a whole 6'2, has giant honkers, 6 pack abs that the animators went out of their way to include in the Blu-rays and he’s absolutely gorgeous. So already, he’s got some points. But on top of that… my god is he stupid. Not the unintelligent kind of stupid, but the kind of stupid that makes you wonder “sir, why are you the way that you are?” He just really gives off the vibes of someone that acts all cool and confident, but in reality there isn’t a thought behind those eyes most of the time. All of his brain matter went straight into his honkers, and believe it or not, there are some canon examples of him being an absolute idiot with the attention span of a goldfish. Such as the MULTIPLE instances where he very easily could’ve won the fight but didn’t because he 1: spent way too much time monologuing about how cool he was, and 2: didn’t deal the finishing blows when given the chance because he kept getting distracted by something else at the last second. Sure you could probably just chalk this up to plot armor, but it does make me want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him around a bit. And while I know that silly doesn’t necessarily equal stupid, I also have to once again point out his goofy ah dub lines because they do make me question if perhaps he’s lacking a few brain cells.

I also feel like he’s the kind of person that gets progressively dumber the more you get to know him. He’s smart when he needs to be, especially on the job. But when you’re hanging out with him in a casual setting? You will very quickly realize that this man does not think before he speaks or does literally anything. So while he isn’t unintelligent by any means, he IS an absolute idiot which I think counts for something. However, there is one thing that he lacks in terms of himbo qualification. Kindness. Illuso is pretty much La Squadra’s resident mean girl, which would mean that he may qualify more as a jock than a himbo. HOWEVER! We all seem to have collectively agreed that his attitude is just a front to cover up his insecurities, which implies that he’s a lot more emotional than he lets on. And the fact that he actually cried in canon may actually be evidence of this. Which leads me to believe that perhaps he’d be a lot nicer towards people he feels he can trust and open up to.

TLDR: Illuso is not your typical himbo, but the energy is there. He isn’t necessarily unintelligent, but he’s definitely an idiot that doesn’t think before he does things. And while he isn’t necessarily kind, I like to think that he’s a softie at heart.

Look at him. Look at his stupid face.

#illuso #la squadra di esecuzione #jojo’s bizarre adventure #vento aureo #golden wind #jjba #va #gw #I mean all this affectionately btw #I love men who are idiots #also keep in mind that this only applies to anime illuso #manga and pa2 Illuso are too much of tiny little freaks to be considered himbos #I also mean this affectionately #why did I put so much thought into an inside joke #what is wrong with me #I also feel like I didn’t even explain my points well because I’m not quite sure how to put the himbo illuso agenda into words #you just gotta try and see the vision #imagine him with a girlboss gf

[questing-wulfstan]

@disc0bandit said 'what if Dream owned a comb ?', my brain replied 'you know what would make a great comb ? Hob Gadling's hands !!', inspiration struck and 1380 words ensued ...

Their noses met and slid along one another, the tips of them sinking in the flesh of the other’s cheekbone as their lips collided ; the mechanism of it precise as one engineered for centuries, in spite of the novelty of it between them. Sighs barely escaped the interstice of their mouths, drawn together like lodestones. Their eyes had fluttered shut, leaving it to touch and taste to lead them.

The rest of Dream’s shape remained unmoving, but he did not recoil as Hob tentatively set one hand on the collar of his cloak. Cautiously, considerately, his digits glided up, pluricentennial calluses ー from wielding the guard of a sword to the shaft of a fountain pen ー meeting the unblemished flesh of Dream’s nape. He held it for an instant before venturing higher, until the base of his skull, and the tip of his fingers met the end of hair as soft as a dormouse’s fur.

Dream tilted his face, allowing more than the sole tip of Hob’s tongue into his own mouth, and the mortal took it as an invitation to frankly bury his hand in the dark mane and mold the shape of his skull with it.

They explored each other’s mouths for a moment longer before Hob decided to further his ー so far successful ー tentative exploration of Dream’s figure. He enjoyed his hand where it was, but he enjoyed even more that the other wrapped around Dream’s middle and cradled him against his own flesh, so this one had to ruefully withdraw from his hair, and even more ruefully ー though inadvertently ー pulled Dream’s head back and away from the kiss.

Their eyes thrilled open. Hob curled his fingers and found himself inextricably tangled in the tight knots of Dream’s hair, a meddlesome roly poly caught in cobweb. Hob blinked, Dream mirrored him.

“... well, I would have expected the King of Dreams and Nightmares to have bed hair but you don’t actually sleep, do you ? How is it, your hair is as tangled as if you did ー and did not comb for several nights ? And how does it not look remotely the part ?”

Dream’s response was an enigmatic smile.

“Appearances are in the eye of the beholder, Hob Gadling, mine above any else.”

“Are you saying, that I am actively ignoring the state of bundle of knots of your hair for the sake of my sense of aesthetics , or that I chose for my hand to stay trapped in it ?”

Meanwhile, Hob was cautiously and unhurriedly withdrawing his fingers, detangling the knots in Dream’s hair as he went. The concerned party solely smirked.

“Perhaps you wished for the opportunity to comb my hair and created it for yourself, as I do not innately require it.”

Had he ? Or was it Dream who had created the opportunity ? It mattered little to Hob eventually.

“May I, then ?”

“You may.”

𝄽

They sat on the stairs that led to the throne of the Dreaming, Hob a couple steps above Dream, feet on both sides of him, knees framing him like the armrests of his seat of power. Lucienne had come, bringing with her a bound volume and a task that demanded being seen to by the Sovereign of the Dreaming, and her Lord was now absorbed in reading. Meanwhile, Robert Gadling was carding through the hair of his lover with his bare hands as sole comb, minutely and unabatingly unravelling the knots in it.

“... How ?” came the puzzled exclamation as he let the strand he had been laboring over flutter free of his grasp, now untangled and lithe, and it settled down Dream’s neck and down further in between his shoulder blades. “Are all the knots truly storage for the actual length of your hair when you wish to wear it short ? Is that all the hair you’re allotted for the entirety of your existence and it won’t grow back if you cut it ? Or …” An impish smile stretched his lips and he seized the strand of hair again, pulling it almost taut as he angled himself to whisper directly into the pinna of Dream’s ear. “Or is that really where your power lies ? Would a haircut depose the King of Dreams and Nightmares ?”

Dream emitted something between a huff and a scoff, head briefly tilting back as he found the suggestion both amusing and ridiculous.

“The story of Šīmšōn has already been told, Robert Gadling. It is not mine.”

“No ? Truly ?”

“No.”

Dream’s tone was conclusive, and fleetingly silenced Hob. He straightened up again, eyes riveted to the handful of raven's feather-spun filaments he cradled.

“Has your hair grown long in my hands because I envisioned you with your hair long ?” There was wonder, and reluctance all at once in Hob’s quiet enquiry, as two fingers tackled a new tuft of Dream’s hair.

They fell away as Dream turned to look at him, features a mirror of Hob’s unease. But that fell away also, his expression morphing into reassurance.

“It is my very essence not to possess an appearance of my own, but to reflect what dreamers need come face to face with. I am seldom perceived at all by your kind when walking the Waking. I have no will on the matter upon which you might be infringing, Robert Gadling.”

Hob plucked the instant to scrutinise it : Dream’s cast, and the echo of his words. It was a rare occasion, overlooking the King of Dreams and Nightmares from a raven’s eye as he was now. Dream towered above all and any as a rule, Hob included. That he willed. Hob supposed anybody looking upon Lord Morpheus, whosoever they might be, ought to envisage him with might over them. Perhaps the sole significance to Dream’s appearance was ascendancy.

“You did not choose the visage you were born with either, beloved.”

“Aye, but I am merely human, barely more than mortal. You are Endless.”

“Yet I have no more and no less authority over my own appearance as those under my dominion over theirs. I would have thought you rather fond of the notion …”

Hob laughed. Dream smiled, and took hold of the hand that had been in his hair to bring it up and press lips delicate as moth wings to it, sealing the end of the conversation. Hob dipped to plant a sonorous kiss on Dream’s cheek in retaliation. Then he resumed his task, diligently unravelling the raven-hued strands of hair.

Dream returned to the bound volume in his lap, but the fixity of his neck and the loud absence of pages being turned betrayed his distraction and the shutting of his sight in favor of savoring how tender Hob’s digits in his hair were.

A long time elapsed thus. At last, Hob gazed upon the whole of Dream’s hair rid of knots, supple and silken, and combed his digits through it with as much ease as he would through a lilting brook. As he beheld the completion of his work, he registered that Dream’s attire had morphed the austerity of his customary black robe into lush dreamt velvet, ornately embroidered of black silk. Thicker matt fabric overlay the outline of his cleavage and extended into épaulettes upon his shoulders, leaving vast expanses of Dream’s unblemished neck and chest and shoulder blades exposed.

Hob deliberately draped Dream’s hair over one shoulder and, deliberately still, dipped until his lips were mere inches from the ivory skin, letting his breath warm it before he eventually closed the distance and kissed the offered flesh. His pupil were just above the horizon of his shoulder, and embraced the delight that graced Dream’s traits at the gesture.

The Oneiromancer stood then, escaping Hob’s lips merely to turn back and extend an inviting hand. His new attire was ampler than Hob was used to see him wearing, concealing most of his shape even as it unveiled much of his shoulders and cleavage. A spur to embrace him and regain through touch what had been removed from his sight pricked Hob. His gaze enfolded Dream’s and fettered it as he took hold of the offered hand, was hauled to standing and led out the throne room to wheresoever his lover might wish his presence.

#the sandman #netflix the sandman #dreamling #hobmurphy #écrimûre #< this is my writing tag I've decided #hey you know what everyone says about reblogging art here ? #do apply it to fanfiction as well :) #please PLEASE let me hear all your thoughts either in the tags or the comments !! #I lost so much sleep chiselling this I'm not even sure of how I feel about it anymore but it's #complete #and squirming to be released into the world #I do sincerely hope you enjoy it !! #I may or may not post this to AO3 later #... that would be my longer work published to date lol #I am writing other stuff !! #longer stuff that shall one day be fit to be posted as well !! #so stay tuned for more écrimûre !! #< it's fine if I'm the only one to get the pun in this tag #EDITING THIS BECAUSE I FREAKING FORGOT TO BOLD DREAM'S LINES NOOOOO #an idiot I am

[littlecutiexox]

.

#your number one priority as an employer should be making sure your employees are happy and work is being done #how do people think its okay to start a meeting with ‘due to everyones paycheck not being certain next month’ #like #fuck #thanks thats not putting any anxiety on to me at all #they started going on about redundancy #i think you don’t qualify for redundancy unless youve been there for 15 years #the oldest member of the team has been there for 5/6 years max #how is everyone in the team not meant to freak out exactly? #people have rent to pay #sorry besties im freaking out #mega sucks too because i was massively enjoying this job and finally found myself excelling expectations #like really i live month to month and i am not the only one #how are we meant to live? #i better start applying to jobs #this makes it soo much worse that i refused the other job offer i had 2 months ago because i was most likely going to get promoted soon here #noww theyre most likely shutting the entire business down #sheeeesh #update i was wrong #redundancy pay is if youve been employed for more than 2 years #so thats 4/9 team members that can get redundancy pay #ive only been there 8 months #but at least others can get redundancy pay for a couple of weeks

[simelune]

💭 hmmm venting in tags.

but im very curious what you guys think about the phrase/idea "you can't love someone else until you love yourself"???

#this guy i was in a vc with earlier tonight said he ended a “relationship” with someone bc it seemed like they didnt care abt themself #theres obviously a lot i dont know about the situation so i cant comment on it too much #but there was one thing he said that i have always hated #'you cant love someone else until you love yourself' #i ended up having a whole journal session abt this phrase lmao #it's strange bc i dont believe that idea at all #i have loved people with my whole being who have in turn made me love myself more/want to take care of myself #i also feel like it's like......... it furthers this idea that u are undeserving of love? #im not sure how to properly explain it LMAO #like. there are things about myself i dislike... but i see them in other people and i think oh #maybe i will like these things abt myself #and maybe the idea applies differently in terms of when wanting to enter a relationship w someone #but hes also studying to be a therapist so. idk #no further comments on that #ANYWAY!! #personal #if anyone reads all this im curious to know what you think abt the phrase

[anachronistic-falsehood]

oh my god dude. sorry i'm gonna have a homestuck interlude to classpect qpac and his role in the narrative because i'm thinking about him

he's. SO Page of Hope coded. he's so page of hope fr. his class being a Page makes so much sense because throughout homestuck, every single Page are all people pleasers. they're walking doormats who rarely stand up for themselves. they feel like they can't do anything right, so they sit down and shut up half the time so they don't do anything wrong. and his aspect being Hope makes so much sense because like. Hope is about optimism and doing right for right's sake and helping those who are down. he holds optimism as his greatest shield even when things are crumbling around him. it's so important to him!!!!

but also being a Page means that he lacks his aspect in a way, and his journey will be long and arduous before he can see the fruits of his labour, and when his efforts pay off, MAN it will pay off. there are so many times when he has just seemed to have completely given up hope. he's been broken down again and again and again and you can see the peak of that during the risus pills arc, when he was so out of it he was actively suicidal. but somehow he keeps bouncing back!!! he found the cure anyway, he left it for Cellbit, the guy he's terrified of, and he saved himself and Forever. he will step between something that scares him and something he wants to protect even as he cries and shakes and sniffles the whole time.

the thing about Pages is that it takes a long time for them to reach their full potential, and there will be so many bumps in the road before he even comes close. but when a Page finds that potential, they can be one of the most helpful, powerful, and dangerous members of their session. Pac is an extremely useful member of the server, he's extremely skilled, he just doesn't see it, and he can't reach his full potential as a Page until he can recognize his own accomplishments. the only problem is that when Pages reach their full potential, they have a tendency of dying right away. when Jake faces Aranea in Game Over, when Tavros stands up to Vriska, they both die almost immediately.

Pac and Jake "yes and" everything because they don't want to be a burden, and Pac and Tavros don't know how to face the people who traumatized them. the inaction of Jake and Tavros is what ultimately leads to their deaths at the hands of the Light players who hurt and manipulated them. (coincidentally, i also see Cellbit as a Light player, a Prince or Bard of Light, but that's for another post!!!) Tavros didn't stand up to Vriska sooner, Jake couldn't say no to Aranea, and Pac folds as soon as Cellbit, one of his greatest fears, is in front of him with a knife.

Tavros and Jake forgive people who hurt them no matter what they've done. Pac has faced his own Light Player and died multiple times at his hands in both Purgatories, and now after a brief interrupted apology, they're supposedly just fine. Cellbit doesn't mean to be, but he is Pac's own personal Serket.

the difference with Pac though is that he is like if Jake or Tavros got a well-rounded continuation to their character arcs. his story isn't done!! it's still going!! he's getting there!!! he's getting more confident, he has support from the people around him, and i think eventually he can break this doomed-by-the-narrative cycle that fully fledged Pages seem to have.

#qsmp #mcyt classpects #sorry. i got carried away. u know how it is with classpect brainrot i'm sure <3 #so sorry for putting homestuck shit in the tag bro (<<is not sorry whatsoever) #i get very carried away with classpect analysis i just think about it way too much #rotating classpects in my head all the time always #anyway. it's bedtime. buenas noches <3 #edited bc i had things to add GIRL I WASN'T DONE!!!!! #of course part of the doomed by the narrative themes pages have is a result of hussie's biased writing against jake and tavros #but in a meta sense it also applies to qpac because ccpac loves making his cubito suffer <3

[zo1nkss]

I forgot a very important option which a kind viewer alerted me to in the tags, SO! Lets try this again :)

As always, RB for sample size and add your reply in the tags if ur inclined!

Disclaimer: not for science, just for sillies! I like hearing ppls little things 🥰 But we should all get to have fun with it 💙

#I also slightly altered wording bc someone else made me realize this can apply to all forms of communal travel #neisvoid #neurodivergent #silly things i do for connection #i think #no i'm sure #its fun and i like to see how much i have in common with u all

[bogkeep]

i saw the new ghibli movie yesterday, an experience that was a lot like seeing the green knight, very "that was cool but i have no idea what happened just now." except i think rewatching the green knight would let me connect some more dots, while rewatching heron movie would be purely for enjoying the animation and the vibes and not even try to grasp the plot because i think it would be detrimental to my enjoyment of it.

#i Enjoyed the sensory experience of watching this movie #but the plot feels like alice in wonderland in that things just happen and there's not much rhyme or reason to it #ive seen some people praising the themes and having readings but im not seeing it sorry....... #it's vague enough to function as a horoscope. u can apply any reading to it and surely it'll make some sense #it feels fake deep in the way that it brings up a lot of interesting concepts and doesn't extrapolate on any of them #and i don't really appreciate that? it feels like it's tricking me into applauding how it says so much when it hasn't said Anything #a story doesn't HAVE to explain everything but i appreciate at least a foothold #ALL THAT ASIDE i think it's worth watching if u like animation and Vibes #there's a part with a butch. we all love the scenes with the butch

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

not sure if I personally agree with Aristotle about friendship tbh

#or maybe I'm just misunderstanding him? or not fully embracing all the ways that his views on friendship could be applied? #our professor went over it in class today and then also showed us how it can be reworked into a christian conception of friendship #via augustine's ordered loves #and like... I *get* that. #but I'm not sure that someone has to have that many similarities to you and also the friendship has to be fully reciprocal for it to be #a friendship? #I'm starting to feel like friendship isn't meant to be just about 'hey we like the same things and therefore we hang out together' #it's supposed to be more about choosing to help and lift up people again and again #and that (in healthy people with healthy support systems holding them up) flows outward from family relationships #your family knows you in the most intimate and personal way #your friends are the people who you are surrounded with who you lift up again and again when they need support from #outside the sphere of their family #idk maybe that's not how it works. but that's how it seems to me. #maybe I'm just tired of constantly second-guessing everything about everyone and all my relationships with everyone I know #maybe that's where the real truth here lies. I'm tired of being afraid and worn out from trying to ensure that I'm not taking too much from #anyone without giving back #both because I don't want to lose them and because I don't want to make them an idol and sin. #gurt says stuff

[boomerang109]

i don’t understand why communication classes are all normies i literally brought up gaylor as an example of a concept we were talking about (because it applied) and NO ONE in the room had any idea what i was talking about

#im struggling so much with the paper im trying to write cause i keep just making it about tumblr #and then im like no my professor wouldn’t get it this will be too complex to explain #but like goddamn if it doesn’t all apply to tumblr #cause like we’re doing media studies and tumblr is fucking media studies #my professor said in class today #‘people don’t know how to describe how they interpreted the text’ #(as a reason certain studies are hard) #and i was like. these studies would be so much easier if you could just collect data from tumblr cause those guys know how to share their #thoughts on the text for sure