#safe read

[cutie-writes]

MARIGOLD PT.II

part I • part II (here) • part III

Warnings/Content: jealousy, unwanted flirting, slight possessiveness

angst & fluff, around 1.5K

Summary: Even though the two of you are just friends, you secretly can’t stand when Dazai goes off to flirt with other women. Things change for Dazai when the tables are turned.

A/N: Yeah it was only supposed to be two parts but… 🫠 I am going to go ahead and post this despite not checking it over, I’ll wait till later.

“What if we changed that?”

The fork in your hand slips out from your grasp and onto the plate, some syrup making its way over your work shirt and hair.

You could not have heard that right. You stare at Dazai with a bewildered expression, irritated that once again his face is void of any hint of emotion. The silence stretches for a moment before it is broken by the same person who started it.

“Just kidding!”

Your stomach drops.

The brunet jeers and sits back in his chair, hand running through his hair. “You should’ve seen the look on your face!”

You feel yourself trembling in utter disgust, watching the man put on another mask. He chuckles for a few seconds until he decides to make eye contact with you.

A very big mistake on both parties.

“What?” You whisper softly. “Why would you make a joke about that?”

It was obvious that he didn’t expect you to question it. “O-oh come on, bella! You know this is how I usually make conversation,” he shakily replies, “it’s who I am!” You begin to grab your things, standing up and looking at him dead in the eye.

His mask crumbles.

“I do know that,” you say slowly, “that’s why I refuse to entertain this any more.” You see another waitress starting to approach your table and withhold the urge to smirk. “How about you entertain that waitress over there coming this way when she gives you the check instead?”

You turn away from him and walk to the door, ignoring any half-hearted attempts of your name coming from Dazai’s mouth. You’re done. To rub salt into the wound you make sure to grab the earlier waiter’s shoulder, leaning towards his ear and saying goodbye to him and that the food was delicious. You swear you can hear something crack.

You take out your phone and call Kunikida, saying you feel ill from lunch and that you plan on working from home the rest of today and tomorrow.

“Very well, rest up. It doesn’t surprise me that the place Dazai picked just so happened to serve food-poisoning as a lunch special.” He scoffs and you say your goodbye’s, biting your inner cheek and going straight home.

A perk about your tiny little apartment? It’s not the shared complex the ADA offers its employees. You won’t run into anyone on your way there.

You slam your door open, no longer feeling the need to hold back. Shoes fly and papers fall as you crash onto the couch. You do nothing but lie face-down, breathing harshly as you try to get a hold of yourself. Reality settles in along with confusion. What made you snap just then? What was the straw that broke the camel’s back? Dazai was right, he did crack jokes like that all the time, so why did this time feel so different?

You slowly piece all the little things that happened at the diner together. From the start with him inviting you to somewhere outside the café, to the waiter showing interest, to his strange attitude, to the personality flip at the end.

Ah.

Yeah, you figure it out— it didn’t exactly require critical-thinking skills. He was— at the very least a little, serious in regards to the waiter setting him off. You’ve never seen him with such a dark expression outside of difficult missions, even then they’d only last a second before he’d shift his face into something more neutral.

Which means he was being possessive, despite the fact that the both of you weren’t dating.

And so you conclude that he was genuine with his question right before the switch-up. Problem is, he was scared, scared of himself and scared of you. The thought of being together with him is a contradicting feeling; you feel like you’re in a light daze floating on a cloud but with a bowling ball inside your stomach. You imagine Dazai feels something similar.

You don’t know much of Dazai’s past but you do know it was gruesome. Agonizing. Terrifying. So while this situation troubles you immensely, you know that whatever he is feeling now is ten-times more intense.

That being said, it’s not like you plan on letting him off the hook. If he wanted your friendship back he would have to work for by himself to fix it.

Your phone starts to ring and you groan at the thought of it being Dazai, only to be surprised at Atsushi’s name on the screen.

“Hello?” You answer the call.

“Oh, Y-Y/N! I didn’t think you’d answer,” he sounds surprised, “Kunikida said you felt really bad after eating lunch with Dazai.”

You try to make yourself sound sick, changing your voice to be low and croaky as though you’d just chugged a shit ton of alcohol. “Yeah…I f-feel terrible,” you lie.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Atsushi says sincerely, “I just wanted to ask you a quick question and then I’ll let you go— I promise,” he tells you. You think it is work-related and tell him that he could go ahead and ask, not expecting him to ask about another employee.

“It’s Dazai” he starts, “when he came back from lunch he seemed a little…off. He didn’t look sick though? I was just wondering if something else happened at the diner that made him upset, he’s actually doing his work and its scaring me Y/N.”

You barely manage to hold back a laugh at that last part and instead stutter out, “Well, did you ask him? He seemed fine to me.”

“I didn’t ask him,” the weretiger admits. “He’s giving off a such a murderous aura it could rival Akutagawa’s, in all honesty.” Yikes. “Oh, before I forget!” He chirps, “Kunikida told me your address so I can bring you some medicine and stuff from the agency. Is that okay?” He asks.

You see no harm in him dropping stuff off at your house, though you do feel bad about the agency spending money on you when you weren’t actually sick. “Sure, I’d really appreciate it. Please tell everyone I said thank you.” You say.

You hear some shuffling in the background, papers rustling and what you guess is a chair screeching backwards. “Oh fuck he’s coming, I’ll- uh, see you later? After work?” He panics and the line goes dead.

Who was coming? You shrug it off and suspect it to be Kunikida throwing a chair at Dazai for sleeping on the job….except Atsushi said he was actually working.

You shudder at the thought of an angry Dazai throwing shit around the office but quickly rationalize that even though Dazai can act immature, he would not physically cause harm to anyone of the ADA.

You think. Probably.

You get off the couch and stumble to the kitchen to fetch yourself some water, head hurting from today’s earlier events. You chug a glass down and see your Marigolds on the window sill infront of you, looking a little worse for wear.

—————

“Y/N! I have a surprise for you!” Dazai sing-songs as he pulls another one of his famous, unnecessary, antics. You turn to him just in time to have flowers shoved in your face, the urge to sneeze violently upon you. You take the bouquet from his hands and lean away to take a good look at the flowers. “Are these Mar-“

“Marigolds, my beauty! Unfortunately, for some reason…none of the flower shops around here sell any belladonna,” he sounds very disappointed and pouts as Kunikida makes a snide comment about how terrible that must be.

“They’re gorgeous but do you even know what Marigolds symbolize?” You ask him. He puts a hand on his chin and pretends to think.

“Don’t care!” He suddenly shouts, “I’ll make it symbolize whatever I want since I’m the one who bought it!”

“You mean you picked them because they were the cheapest flowers in there,” Ranpo points out and the office roars with laughter, you included.

“Either way, I appreciate it.” You’d later tell Dazai.

—————

You give the plants some more water, knowing that they, as all picked-flowers, don’t have much time left. You let out a sigh before leaving the marigolds and head back to the sofa, planning on taking a cat nap until Atsushi rings the doorbell.

It’s dark out when you wake up from your snooze, a constant sound of knocking echoing around the room. You sit up in a huff and quickly make your way over, moody from your interrupted sleep.

You throw the door open, “Atsushi, for fuck’s sake! Stop it already-“

Outside the door isn’t the young weretiger, but instead a tall man with his thin, bandaged hands in his pockets and bangs covering the majority of his face.

Ah… shit.

To be Continued.

#cutie writes #osamu dazai #dazai x reader #safe read #long story #dazai x y/n #bungo stray dogs #bsd #marigold #bsd x reader #anime #bungo stray dogs dazai #bungo stray dogs imagines #bsd imagines #dazai x you

[raynedayys2]

Normalize letting trans kids live.

Every trans child on this planet deserves to be safe & supported.

#text post #lgbtq #lgbt #trans #transgender #nonbinary #queer #gender queer #genderfluid #nex benedict #say their name & the name of every other trans people killed from hate #Nex deserved to grow up. And they deserved to feel safe at school. neither of those things will happen now. #when I first saw this story a couple days ago I was enraged to read that not only were they denied medical care they were also suspended

[butterflyscribbles]

It all started with someone else’s hc that Donnie has an innocent/benign heart murmur on Discord and ended with “what solidified leo as the team medic?” and I have not recovered...

Bonus, after three days of extensive research and not a wink of sleep:

#rise donnie #rise leo #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #disaster twins #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #I think about medic leo sm guys #I love to think leo is a closeted egghead and actually reads a lot but mostly about medicine and anatomy #he just needs to keep his fam safe:’) #if he hadn’t been serious about it before he definitely was after that…..

[kenjakusbraincum]

Sukuna is old. He is also weirdly cultured for the monster that he is. With so much time on his hands, he loves indulging in arts and literature, and as with everything else he tries, he's good at it. You wouldn't know this, of course, you are only his pet. The time you spend with him is limited and hardly consists of intellectual conversation. You are there to serve one purpose and you know that quite well. So when you wake up in his bed one morning, two things come as a surprise. First that you're even here. It's one of those rare occasions when Sukuna couldn't be bothered kicking or carrying you out of his chambers once your time together was up. Second, he's awake, bent over his desk and so concentrated on a little figurine in his hand that he doesn't immediately notice you've shuffled awake. Once your eyes focus, you see that he's holding a tool in his other hand. He's carving wood. You're almost hypnotized by the scene. The scene feels so private that even for a pet like you, who knows Sukuna in the most intimate way, it feels like you shouldn't be watching. But you can't look away.

"Awake?", he asks, without sparing a glance at you. You apologize for staring, and look for your clothes around the bed. You throw them on just precisely enough to cover up until you reach your chambers, just wanting to be as quick and innocuous as possible. You wait for Sukuna's approval to leave. He gives you a simple nod, once more avoiding to look at you. You leave feeling conflicted. Special, because he allowed you to stay and watch (even as little as you did), but saddened because he barely looked at you, once more solidifying in your mind that you're only interesting to him when you're naked and bent over. As long as you've been here, you could never stop wishing for his validation.

Sukuna knows when you get insecure too. He notices the way your eyes droop, the way you close in on yourself and seem absent in his presence. He justifies this excessive worry about you by telling himself he likes to be the only thing that bothers his pets. All the way until he realized he already is the only thing that can make you sad. This realization falls upon him one time he lashes out on you and sees the immediate change of heart on your face. Now, he isn't one to apologize, especially not to someone who is as low under him as his pet. But why does he feel guilty when he sees this one act of his ruin your day? When he catches a glimpse of you sitting in the garden with your head hung low, or leaving more food on your plate than you usually do. If only you knew the way you really made him feel.

He beckons you to his chambers, and you follow three steps behind him like a good pet does. You didn't expect this time to be any different than others. You've become used to serving Sukuna on days you loved him and on days you hated him. But when he tells you to close your eyes, you know something is different. You obey, of course, and listen to his footsteps as he fetches something from the room. His hand takes yours and opens it, placing a piece of wood onto your palm. You already know, but you wait for him to allow you to open your eyes. He lightly presses his thumb on your cheek under your eye, and when you look, you find a small wooden fawn, curled up and asleep in your hands.

"Master!!..", you start, but nothing else can leave your mouth. You turn the figure around in your hand, inspecting and admiring the details. He's given you gifts before, but not ones carved by his own hand. Not ones made with love.

"You don't have to squint anymore.", Sukuna says, almost jokingly. But his face is as serious as ever as he looks at you, his muse. He thinks of the first time he's exhausted you to the point of passing out right after your nightly meetings. You were relatively new and very unsure of your safety. He thinks of your small body curled up in sleep on the edge of his bed, knees pressed to your chest in a primal, subconscious attempt to protect yourself. His little pet, his fawn.

You slur on and on about how beautiful it is, how you don't know how to thank him, the usual when you receive a gift. And as usual, Sukuna shuts you up with a kiss. You welcome it and wrap your arms around his neck, giving yourself in to him and letting him take you to the bed.

And he takes things slow tonight. He's gentle and so, so giving. Every sensation is delicate, prolonged and heightened to exhaustion. You cling to him, pull him impossibly close, and come apart under the comforting weight of him. Afterwards, you hold his hand to your face and kiss it softly. His hands, so large and strong, capable of such violence, yet for you they craft gifts, cradle, caress, love... in a very subtle and distant way, of course. With these thoughts your hands slip away from his, you turn around and quickly drift off.

He looks at you now, sleeping so close to him. Trusting him with your back, and turning your curled up form to the outside world. As if he is no longer a perceived danger. He smiles to himself in victory, and plants a chaste kiss to your shoulder to wish you one final goodnight.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk x reader #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna x reader #this started off w me thinking ab sukuna carving wood #and ended up w me exploring the intimacy and complexity of trusting someone with your uncoscious sleeping vulnerable body #you know sukuna is NOT the person to feel safe sleeping next to but a girl can dream 😭😭 #i didnt read through this twice so excuse mistakes and general language that might not make the most sense cause im a foreigner

[pien-art]

Little Moiraine and baby Anvaere 💫

(click image for optimal quality)

prints available here !

#i can just imagine moiraine as the best big sister when they were growing up #protective and patient and eager to do right by anvaere. to keep her safe. to make her laugh and smile. reading to her and playing with her #and teaching her how to survive #and then she learned to channel #and suddenly anvaere was all alone #my art #wot #twot #wot fanart #fanart #the wheel of time #wheel of time on prime #wot on prime #moiraine damodred #anvaere damodred #art

[bitegore]

Zionists want you to conflate Judaism and Zionism. Zionists want you to believe that Judaism cannot exist without Zionism and that all Jews are Zionists. Zionism would have Jews believe that a Jewish state is the only way that they can be safe from antisemitism and will point to any instance of antisemitism as proof that Zionism is the solution- so Zionism wants gentiles to be antisemitic in their support of Palestine. They want you to conflate all Jews with Zionism and the state of Israel, and they want you to treat all Jews regardless of political affiliation as the face of Israel. Antizionist Jews exist, and incidences of antisemitism ostensibly acting against Zionism will not help dismantle the forces propping Zionism up.

Don't do their work for them.

#red rambles #viva palestina #antizionism #i haven't actually seen a lot of antisemitism personally. not recently anyway. but that's more a feature of me not following antisemites #i DO however see a lot of people talking about the people they're seeing throw their support behind antisemites using palestine #as an excuse to conflate all jews with israel #and i cannot stress enough that that is literally what israel and zionist forces abroad WANT. #i am jewish. my entire family is jewish. i want to see palestine free. and i have SEEN how the jewish community gets conflated with israel #both from the inside and out #and i am dead serious when i say that every time someone is antisemitic it strengthens the conviction from people abroad #that it's a terrible sad situation but there's 'no other choice' #if you're being antisemitic you are doing the enemy's work for them. Stop it. #like... look. i am putting this in the tags bc im talking in the tags but i mean this. I do not give a single flying fuck if you personally #are a giant raging antisemite at the moment. Your personal beliefs are your problem and not mine. I do not fucking care. But if you are #being openly and loudly antisemitic *in your support of palestine* you are absolutely not fucking helping. I am so dead serious right now #if you want to raise awareness and you're being antisemitic because of deep held beliefs or whatever i want you to look around and read the #fucking room. Do you understand how much of Israel's international support comes from the idea that they are the only country where jews ar #safe from antisemitism? do you see how every time palestine comes up people point at incidences of antisemitism in anti-genocide actions to #discredit the entire movement? do you not understand how your actions are cutting the movement down at the knees? #i'm jewish and proud of it. i don't like antisemitism. but there's a genocide on and i'd rather work against it than quibble over who i #work alongside. i dont fucking care. you can be as antisemitic as you like in private. stop fucking the movement up. #there are bigger things to worry about here. if i can put aside my own concerns as to who i'm talking to you can hold your tongue #and fight the good fight instead of handing weapons to the people who are trying to fucking flatten gaza.

[lenaellsi]

everyone's posting their angel crowleys and they are all so ethereal and beautiful and i love them all so much but. this is the only way i can picture a pre-Fall meeting going. he has never once been cool

#good omens #good omens season 2 #crowley: hey youre cute. wanna see me do a kickflip off that nebula? also i think we should kill god #aziraphale: he's so stupid. compels me though #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #good omens spoilers #not really. i think everyone's read the article. but to be safe #see yall on the other side

[pollsnatural]

Dean lives but no Cas vs Dean dies but Cas appears in the finale poll

#polls #spn #pollsnatural about destiel #destiel #castiel #dean winchester #supernatural #started discussion heavy poll yesterday but then got sick and now i don't even have strength to read notes on that poll #so today i'm playing it relatively safe #and staying in my bubble lol

[mirusx]

there's nothing I love more about lcf than the fact that almost all of the main characters are survivors and how it seriously engraves into you, again and again, the importance of being alive FIRST. It's so refreshing to see an mc who prioritizes safety more than anything else, who won't push past the limits.. like serious limits of everyone just for the sake of winning(now if cale can also do this and walk his talk, it would be perfect.. but that wouldn't make him the cale that we all know and love). it provides you with this mentality that retreating doesn't mean immediate failure, and that there will always be another chance to try again. that one closed door doesn't imply a dead end but a chance to open an alternative path. it's such a simple message and yet we humans tend to forget it when we're facing adversities, a lot of times we're convinced we're forced to make self-destructive decisions... cale would prob have plans A to Z but there would never be a single one among them that has the possibility of him losing anyone even himself. so yes!! being alive is the best!!

#and it gets even better when you think that theyre all survivors who have lost someone and doesnt want a repear of it #so now they think of everyone's well being first and somehow keep each other alive and safe and taken care of #i was reading some lcf reaction fics and when the scene where cale said being alive is the best came up i suddenly wanted to babble about i #lcf #cale henituse #tcf #lout of the count’s family #trash of the count's family #lout of the count's family #kim rok soo

[cutie-writes]

Shattered Fantasy

Warnings/Content: Ship fic, Agent Twilight/Loid Forger and Thorn Princess/Yor Forger

angst with a happy ending, around 1.2K

Summary: Loid and Yor Forger’s identities have been revealed. Feeling betrayed by the other and on the verge of attacking, they are stopped by one little girl who is desperate to save her family.

Everyone’s worst nightmare came true. The identities of agent Twilight and the assassin, Thorn Princess had just been exposed after being a well-kept but damning secret for so many years.

Yet despite these two working for different people, they couldn’t bear the thought of intentionally hurting the other. Even if they were furious with each other. Thankfully, there was a bigger enemy to face and so they teamed up.

Twilight, who was once known as Loid Forger, throws a grenade at the group of men hurdling towards them. It reminds Yor of when he first proposed to her. While he looks over their makeshift barrier as the smoke clears to find out if anyone is still standing, Yor spots the grenade pin and grabs it. She puts it in her pocket with a heavy, sinking feeling as her husband tells them that it’s best to move now while they’re still down. She agrees, and the spy and assassin dart off into the night.

Heavy tension hung in the air when they arrived back at the house.

Both felt betrayed.

Both felt guilty.

Both felt like they were hypocrites for being so angry at their fake spouse even though they did the same thing.

Both were worried that the other was planning to hurt Anya.

Yor’s eyes are completely black as Twilight opens his mouth to interrogate. They are interrupted by their adopted daughter running into the living room. “Don’t hurt each other!” She screams.

The two don’t hide their confusion as Anya was nowhere nearby when the secrets were revealed. Franky volunteered to watch over her as Loid said he’d be arriving late from work and that Yor had a dinner party to attend to. The blond didn’t expect to later need his assistance on the mission.

Twilight, now acting as Loid, tries to console her. “Anya, everything is just fine. Why don’t you head off to bed-“

“No!” The child interrupts, “it’s not! I know papa and mama are really angry at each other. But don’t be! Both of you are the same! You did it to protect everyone…including me.” Anya begins to twiddle her thumbs, eyes donned with unshed tears. “I….I know who papa and mama really are.” She stutters out.

“You do?”

“How?”

The couple both question her at the same time. The small child starts to cry, her hands shaking as she holds her favorite stuffed toy. “N-no one in this family is normal,” she weeps, “even Bond isn’t normal.” The dog trots over to her and brushes against her side, offering her to lean on him.

“Your real name isn’t Loid,” she points at her father. “You’re Twilight, the best spy in the WISE organization.” Before the spy can interject, Anya moves her finger over to Yor. “Your real name is Yor but you are an assassin. A really good one, too.” She says.

Silence fills the room.

Twilight asks the question Anya had been afraid of since the moment he met her. “No one ever said anything. How do you know that?”

She takes a big gulp, hands clutching at the hem of her nightgown. “I always knew,” she whispers, “I…I can read people’s minds.”

She refuses to look up at her parents, hearing their thoughts jumble with all sorts of questions and accusations that she was lying to them.

One of Yor’s thoughts are louder than the rest and Anya calls on it, “you were thinking about how you just realized Franky was gone when you two came home.”

Yor stutters. “I-well…” she looks down at Anya with a tired expression, “you’re right, I was.”

The telepath looks over at her father, his jaw dropped and eyes practically bulging out of their sockets.

“So…you’re saying you knew since the orphanage that this was only for a mission?” He carefully asks. She nods tearfully, “you called it Operation Strix.” Now well-aware that the wonderful family she’s come to know for the past year is now nearing its end, she doesn’t see the need to hide anything anymore. “I didn’t say anything because all I wanted…was a family,” Anya admits. She hears another set of sniffles and looks up to her mama, whose eyes were bloodshot-red as she hiccups.

“Oh, Anya!” She rushes over to the child, despite now knowing that she lied and was never Loid’s real kid, either. She wraps her arms around the little girl and rests her chin on the top of her head, full-on bawling. “I-I’m so sorry…” she says.

I really wanted to be your mama, Anya reads her mind. “I wanted you to be my mama too!” The girl cries.

Twilight watches from the doorway Yor hugging his fake-daughter, feeling a strong, tight pain in his chest. Right there, Yor truly looked like Anya’s mother.

He gasps as he feels something wet roll down his face, slowly realizing he is crying for the first time in over many, many years. All of this was for the sole purpose of a mission to save Westalis. To make the world a better place. But as he stares at his false wife and daughter…

Nothing has ever felt so real to him. He silently starts to breakdown and jerks when he feels a tug on his shirt. He looks down and sees Bond pulling him towards the two. He pats the dog on his head, sighing before he slowly makes his way over.

Anya hears him approaching, “please don’t hate me,” she mumbles.

“Anya…I could never,” Loid- Twilight, admits.

He drops to his knees and wraps his arms around the both of them, happy that Yor doesn’t seem angry at him anymore. If anything, she was as heartbroken as he was.

This stupid family fantasy ended up becoming a loving reality for everyone.

“I can’t…I won’t, leave you Anya. I give you my word,” he promises her with every sincerity. He turns to the woman beside him, finding her sobbing, tomato-like face to be more beautiful than ever. “And Yor…if you’ll have me…”

His wife nods rapidly, letting out another cry as she buries her face into his shoulder. “I would like nothing more,” she tells him.

—————

A week later, it dawns on Loid that he never properly proposed to Yor. He gets off the sofa and plans to head into the kitchen where she’d been, to talk to her about what she would like to do regarding their marriage. He is stopped by the woman in question holding something in her hands and wearing a flush on her face. “Loid…” she starts— they both agreed to keep on using his pseudonym, “I would like to ask you something.”

“What is it, Yor?” He smiles gently, only to once again have his jaw drop as she opens her palm.

In her hand sat the same grenade pin from seven days ago, cradling it with such fondness. “Since this was how you proposed to me…I thought it would be nice to go ahead and redo it…but for real this time…Loid will you-“

She’s interrupted by her lover slamming his lips against hers.

“I do.”

#cutie writes #long story #safe read #spy family #spy x family imagines #spy x family #sxf #agent twilight #loid forger #thorn princess #yor briar #yor forger #twiyor #spy family fic #spy x family fanfiction #sxf anya #anya forger #spy x family fic #loiyor #spyxfamily

[littleoddwriter]

this is exactly why it's so important to educate. this is why we "police" language and tell you what words to use instead. because this is how you actively perpetuate stigmas and demonise a whole group of people. and this is how it keeps spreading because within three days this first comment has received 25 likes, which may not seem like much now, but those 25 people spread this "knowledge" to 25 other people and so on and so forth.

again: narcissists are people with narcissistic personality disorder. a cluster B PD that is usually developed through abuse trauma (and genetic predispositon). gaslighting is a term used for the act of knowingly making somebody doubt themselves and their sanity (how they perceive events, their memories, etc.). being self-absorbed and not taking responsibility for certain behaviours is something every person is capable of. it's not "narcissistic abuse". it's emotional abuse. every person is capable of it.

stop calling everybody a narcissist because they've done something like this. it's not right. it's just another term y'all picked up on the internet without ever doing research about what it means or where it really comes from. and of course it's just another way for y'all to demonise people and stigmatise mental disorders you think make somebody abusive and unworthy of being part of disability and mental health activism...

#stumbled across these comments while simply scrolling through reels and stupidly enough i always read the comments... #this was one of the very top comments like the fifth or so maybe so it's safe to say that more ppl will read and believe it. #narcissistic personality disorder #npd #npd safe #ableism #cluster b #stigma #i love my NPD siblings (i have BPD with maybe some narcissistic tendencies) #jesse.talks

[faeriekit]

I was so caught up in the euphoria of librarianship I forgot that a) there are active communities of haters now and b) reading rec culture is NOT what it used to be

#booooo we need more public and loud reading recs #even if they're from anonymous and faceless alt accounts. like be safe but support authors if you actually like a fic #ao3

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

the green in your eyes (makes me feel warm inside) ; megumi fushiguro

synopsis; in the comfort of a familiar bookstore, you find a boy. a pretty boy, who’s always reading, who doesn’t speak unless he has to. you’d like to get to know him — and maybe you will.

word count; 4.6k

contents; megumi fushiguro/reader, gn!reader, fluffy!!, lots of pining from afar, bookstore au, no curses au, reader is an overworked student bc uni is beating my ass, gumi is kind of awkward but hes cute <3, gojo mentioned twice (stay safe), can u tell im excited for christmas … :'3

a/n; bookstore employee gumi who hates every single customer except for you is so real to me

(@riaki its here …🙇‍♂️)

he’s there again. 

with a decisive step forward, you drag the door open, and the flutter of a bell resounds throughout the bookstore. a precious little jingle, alerting him of your presence. 

the boy at the counter gives you a glance. his navy eyes settle on your bundled up figure, and a flicker of familiarity blooms in the scope of his iris, a kind of recognition. something that makes your heart feel like a clumped up little ball of snow. 

(oh. it’s you.

you can almost hear the silent words fall past his lips.)

it only lasts for a second, barely even that, your gazes overlapping — then he’s back to reading. 

today, you recognize the book in his hands. the hardcover looks just a tiny bit worn, but still well taken care of. well-loved. and it’s a pretty rendition; a butterfly just above the title, snakes crawling on either side, vines stretching out across the scope of the image. there’s a kind of mystique to it. pretty.

wuthering heights, you read off the cover.

a little odd, in hindsight. you’ve only ever seen him read nonfiction. maybe he decided to broaden his horizons?

after a brief moment’s contemplation, your feet begin to move. taking another small step forward, inching closer, while the door falls shut behind you. blocking out the snowfall and colourful lights illuminating the street. 

mitten-clad hands go to brush stray snowflakes off your shoulders, as you shift from foot to foot, halfheartedly attempting to warm up your numbed toes. wallowing in the atmosphere of the cozy little bookstore; breathing in the smell of peppermint, the hint of freshly brewed coffee. from the boy, you assume — he’s got his usual mug on standby, a cute little black dog etched into the ceramic. steam rises from it, floating up into the air, and a fragrance of espresso wafts throughout the store.

low christmas music plays from the speakers, barely audible. pleasing to your sensitive ears and tired mind. it’s the usual mix of well-loved songs, for the most part, but then some you haven’t heard before. you can only assume he picked them out himself; pretty instrumentals, or low, gravelly voices, adding to that particular atmosphere simmering around you. nostalgic, a little melancholic.

the boy behind the counter looks angelic. 

he always does, when he’s reading — and he usually is. gentle, in the way he turns the pages, awfully delicate, keeping them still between his thumb and forefinger. lips pursed, brows just a tiny bit furrowed. concentrated, immersed. dark eyes trailing over the tiny letters, scanning the ink of the paper, twisting the syllables inside his mind. almost tasting them on his tongue, with the way he wets his lips. they look a little chapped.

for some reason, the sight seems to render you sort of speechless. frozen. like he’s a pretty bluebird seated on your windowsill, chirping softly in the wake of morning, and you’re afraid of scaring him away.

— his eyes meet yours, and you visibly stiffen.

it’s smooth, the motion of his hands. how swiftly he flicks the book shut, placing it face down on the counter with a twitch of his lithe fingers. not before slipping a pretty bookmark in between the pages, lilac-coloured, with flowers embroidered into the silky texture. you wonder if he made it himself. 

his voice spills out into the air, a little raspy. deep, but velvety, sending shivers down your spine. he clears his throat, and you watch his adam’s apple bob. ”do you need anything?”

a second passes. 

it catches you off guard, the mellow sound of his voice. when you’re so unaccustomed to hearing it. excluding the brief words you’ve exchanged paying for your novels, you’ve only heard it a select few times — mostly from afar, not-so-sneakily listening in on his conversations with the pink haired boy and pretty girl who sometimes come in and never look at any of the books. 

(there’s the tall guy with the not-so-seasonal sunglasses, too. but when he enters the store, all you pick up on are usually grumbles and threatening hand gestures.)

but now, that low, low voice is directed at you. 

it can’t be good for your physical health. or mental, for that matter. you’re not sure you remember to properly breathe, and you’re almost certain hearts aren’t supposed to flail the way yours is right now. 

when the boy behind the counter tilts his head, just by a hair, you’re finally snapped out of your little trance. stumbling for something to say, stuttering out a response, your hands grip at the insides of your pockets.

”well, um — i’m looking for a book.”

a moment passes. the song coming from the speakers changes into an instrumental, kind of jazzy. it’s nice.

”… a specific book,” you elaborate, under your breath. gnawing at your bottom lip, feeling a bit of heat on your ears. clearing your throat, as you step forward, tearing your mittens off with your teeth.

searching for a certain image, your numbed fingertips begin to tap at the cold screen of your phone. the warm air of the bookstore envelops your chilled knuckles, and a shiver runs through them.

the boy watches, silently, as you get closer. 

you don’t notice him glancing at your reddened hands, and when you look up to see a glimmer of something displeased in his eyes, you only assume it’s because you’re taking too long. speeding up slightly, you hear a low click of his tongue. his back straightens.

when he gets up from his chair, you notice that he's tall. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him do anything but sit behind the counter with a book in hand, either reading his own or scanning a customer’s. 

and, upon closer inspection — he’s maybe just a little bit too pretty for words. smooth, pale skin, a sharp jaw and defined cheekbones, dark eyes that hide a subtle kind of softness. pierced ears, a glimmer of silver on his earlobes, same as the rings on his bony fingers. his nails are painted black, a little chipped. and he’s wearing a big, bright green christmas sweater; one you really can’t imagine him picking out on his own, if his previous all-black turtlenecks and gray sweaters are anything to go by. 

while you fumble with the phone in your grasp, the pads of his fingers go to silently tap at the edge of the counter. a rhythmic motion; forefinger, middle finger, ring finger, over and over again.

it’s a little bit distracting. when he moves his hand a certain way, his big sweater sleeve rides up just a tiny bit, showing off the blue veins of his inner wrist. you think you catch a glimpse of a mole or two on his pale skin, and you swallow down a gulp, feeling a little like a victorian man seeing a girl’s ankle.

and then finally, you locate the image in question. swiftly showing him the cover of the book you were assigned to read. he squints a little, blinking drowsily, a flutter of his pretty eyelashes that has your heart skipping a beat. 

you clear your throat.

”i’m supposed to read it before christmas break, but i couldn’t find it at our library…” you tilt your head, a little sheepish. ”do you have it here?”

he stares at the screen for just a second more. then he’s angling his head to the left, finger pointing towards a corner of the store. ”it should be over there,” he hums. monotone.

a tentative smile forms on your lips. you thank him, and his eyes find yours.

all he does is shake his head, softly, brushing you off — a silent don’t worry about it. maybe a tad gruff, but you sense an acute gentleness to it. something tender, kind of. or maybe you’d just like to believe the kindness you sense in his eyes is real, more than just a delusion. 

but you don’t have time to dwell on it. the boy behind the counter goes back to reading, cradling the spine with his pretty hands. when he tries to grab the handle of his mug, one of the rings on his fingers knock against the ceramic, and he clicks his tongue in annoyance. 

you go to hunt down your own book, still thinking about his voice, how it trickled like honey from out his lips. 

the bookstore is entirely empty, tonight. no loud noises drilling into your groggy brain, no people to chatter amongst themselves and disrupt the illusion of peace you gain when you spend time here. a tiny respite, from your studies, from the stress and fatigue that you’ve come to associate with winter. hunting for christmas gifts, finishing late assignments, trudging through the snow. pretending that you have it all together.

but here, none of that matters. 

a sense of calm washes over you, as your eyes trail over the books by the science fiction section, and a soft sigh tumbles from your throat. gradually, your hands begin to warm up, and you look out the window.

outside, the world is blanketed by a veil of snow and frost, pure whites and murky grays as far as the eye can see. falling down to earth, smothering everything in a bitter chill. a cold, cold embrace. but when looking at it like this, from inside a cozy bookstore, with a pretty boy by the counter…

it's a breathtaking sight. 

little snowflakes descending, dancing in the wind. desaturating your world. if you close your eyes and focus, you think you can almost feel the wind nip at your fingertips, almost taste the fragrance of dried tea leaves and caramel fudge from the tiny shop across the street. almost bask in the green and red of the decorative lights in the skeletal trees, illuminating the city, buzzing with artificial warmth.

(your heart feels light.)

it doesn’t take long for you to find the book you need. keeping it safe and warm between your arm and torso, you walk back to the counter, gaze still lingering on the windowpane. the little snowflakes fluttering about, the glimpses you catch of passerby and their knit scarves in the darkness of the winter evening.

the boy behind the counter is as efficient as ever. he takes the book, fingertips resting exactly where yours just were, and scans it in a matter of seconds. you pay, and he puts it in a plastic bag, handing it to you — all while his copy of wuthering heights sits on the counter, pointedly, as if beckoning you to mention it.

before you can think to stop yourself, you’ve parted your lips. 

”is it good?” you ask. finger pointing at his book.

the boy blinks. eyelashes fluttering. once, then twice. he seems a little caught off guard, but still speaks within a split second. almost like he doesn’t even think about the answer. ”yeah.”

a hum buzzes in your throat. you shift a little, from foot to foot, plastic bag in hand. ”i’ve been meaning to read it,” you say, desperate to prolong the conversation, ”but i haven't had much time lately.”

a chuckle slips from your lips. it comes out sounding just a little exhausted. 

(he glances at the dark bags beneath your eyes, but you don’t notice.)

”i think i might buy it in time for christmas break, though…” you lift your gaze to meet his own. showing the briefest glimpse of a smile, polite. 

he doesn’t return it. lips pursed, silent, gazing at you with slightly lidded eyes. a navy blue, little splotches of a murky green blooming in the corners of his iris. they only appear when you’re this close. soothing, somehow. they’re pretty.

he isn’t saying anything, not a single word, and some part of your heart clogs up like a clump of wet snow. subconsciously, you trap your bottom lip between your teeth, digging into the soft flesh before letting go. cowering a little under his intense gaze.

did you annoy him? 

(he probably doesn’t want to talk to you. maybe he thinks you’re hitting on him, or something. are you hitting on him? that doesn’t matter. he must be stressed — it’s holiday season, after all. the last thing he needs is some annoying customer taking up his precious reading time. 

gosh, what were you even thinking?)

you’re just about to excuse yourself, mentally berating yourself for forcibly striking up a conversation with an obvious introvert — 

when the sound of something sliding against wooden material catches your attention.

you blink.

the boy behind the counter does a little cough. under his breath, clearing his throat. he wets his lips, in what you immediately recognize as nervosity — absentmindedly fidgeting with the rings on his fingers. 

”here.”

when you look down, a certain book is placed on the edge of the counter, right in front of you. wuthering heights.

another blink. you look down at the hardcover, and then back up at him, but he’s not meeting your gaze. if you look closely, you think you see a slight flush to his neck, red like a candy cane. 

”you can borrow it,” he says. a pause. then he continues, clearing his throat again, a hint of hesitance in his raspy voice. ”… if you want to, i mean.”

”… ah.” is all you can answer. barely a word, more of a weak little hum. an absent tremble of your voice.

outside the comfort and warmth of the bookstore, the wind whistles, digging its claws into the city. tiny whirlwinds of snowflakes dance from street to street, fluttering about joyously. you vaguely pick up on the song from the speakers changing, into a poppy christmas-themed kpop song.

a moment passes.

your muddled mind finally reacts. on instinct, sending little instructions to your frozen limbs. to your heart, face down on the floor, completely useless.

”oh — no, there’s no need!” you blurt out, putting your hands up hastily. waving him off. ”it’s fine, i can just buy my own copy!” 

but the boy only clicks his tongue, with that signature furrow of his brows. ”you’re a student,” he states, just a little gruff. but then there’s that kindness. ”you shouldn’t waste your money.”

you’re just about to protest, when he continues. ”besides,” he sighs. ”i’ve already read it. you can just bring it back whenever you’re done.”

and again, your instinctual desire is to protest. unsure of what to say, somehow exasperated by his trust. that’s what it is, isn’t it? trust. trusting a stranger, a customer he’s barely even spoken to, not to just take his book and then never return. trusting you to be a decent person. a good person.

isn’t that naive?

something sprouts like a snowdrop in a ridge between your ribs, though, and you know that it’s happiness of some kind. you’re glad, that he has something even vaguely similar to trust in you. 

glad that he’s acknowledging you, in a way. your presence, the sneaky glances shared between you. the comfortable feeling that sleeps inside your veins when it's just you and him, silently passing each other by, in a quiet bookstore that feels a little like heaven on earth. a safe haven, of sorts, with no incompetent professors, tight deadlines or numb fingers.

it’s just him, and cozy christmas music, and a pitter patter rhythm of your heartbeat that sounds a little like jingle bells to your muddled mind.

a lump forms in the back of your throat. you gulp it back down, and part your lips. an unsure question spills into the open air. 

”are… you really sure?”

”yeah.” he doesn’t even skip a beat. fingers tapping at the edge of the counter, over and over again. another slow moment passes. ”we can… talk. about it.” he coughs into his closed fist. ”once you've read it.” 

with a soft furrow of his brows, he averts his gaze. his voice comes out sounding soft, albeit a little rough around the edges. ”if you want,” he adds.

you’re so distracted by the flutter of his long eyelashes that you barely even feel your lips stretch into a smile. your hearts skips around happily within the confines of your ribcage, and you’re worried that you might look a little too excited — but how could you ever hide your joy, when he’s acting so dangerously, uncharacteristically cute?

”yeah!” you blurt, teeth peeking out when you flash him a bright smile. and finally, he meets your gaze. pretty eyes fixed entirely on you.

at your evident enthusiasm, his shoulders seem to relax. the rapid tapping of his fingers ceases, and he opts to simply bite down on his lip — attempting to obscure his own smile. but you see it, anyway; a tiny, tiny smile. the softest little curl of his lips. you’re entirely mesmerized, all the same. 

a hand goes to rub at the back of his neck, and he does that cute little cough again, and you wonder if the warmth sprouting in your chest will be enough to protect you from the snowfall on your way back home.

angelic; that’s the impression he always seems to leave you with. you wonder if he has any idea just how pretty he is. if he has the slightest clue. you wonder if you’ll ever be able to tell him, yourself.

you wonder if you’ll get to know him, someday. if you’ll ever get to know the pretty, quiet boy behind the counter of your go-to bookstore, who radiates a softness so palpable you wish you could stay there until spring blooms beyond the windows and melts the frosted glass. 

with tentative hands, a little shaky — not from the cold, but the anxious and excited tingle of your bloodstream — you reach for the book on the counter. taking it into your arms, cradling it gently, like it’s so fragile the pages could scatter away if you aren’t careful. with a steady hand on its spine, you begin to flip through the pages, until three little words on the first blank page catch your attention. 

without thinking, you repeat the little scribbled down sentence under your breath. hoping for something. more lulls of his voice, maybe, mumbling to yourself but hoping he’ll hear.

”happy birthday, tsumiki…”

the boy stiffens. 

a silent beat. then he clears his throat. ”my sister,” he explains, and you hum.

so he has a sister. a tiny fragment of his existence, now known to you, a little piece of trivia. you want to collect them, want to put them all in your pockets and carry them around, like little precious bells. 

”megumi,” he blurts out, sudden, and you look up from the book to meet his gaze. ”my name,” he elaborates. and then a pause. ”i work here.”

…

in a matter of seconds, his face reddens. ears and neck slathered over with that sweet cherry hue, blooming across his pale skin. a soft giggle slips from your lips, before you can think to bite it back, and that red hue exacerbates. 

”mm,” you hum, an amused smile on your face. eyes crinkling as you look at him, book safe and secure in your arms. ”i've seen you.”

megumi looks a bit like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. squirming slightly, shifting from foot to foot, tugging a little at the sleeve of his sweater. looking into your eyes, and then back at the counter.

it’s sweet. it makes you feel closer to him, somehow. like you aren’t the only nervous one here. like you aren’t the only person in this city who’s a little bit of a mess. 

(it makes the sludge piling up inside your brain feel just a little more bearable.)

”… thank you.” you smile. ”i’ll take good care of it. and i’ll bring it right back when i finish it.”

a low hum. megumi brings a hand up to fix his bangs, nimble fingers running through dark locks. absentminded — a nervous habit, maybe? ”don’t worry about it,” is all he says. 

again, that sweet dichotomy; a hint of something gruff, hiding an unmistakable softness. a little like snow. cold to the touch, enough to make you want to stay away, but then it melts on the skin of your palm. turns soft and warm beneath your touch.

unable to fully hide the smile still lingering on your lips, you allow yourself one final inhale — letting that scent of peppermint and espresso invade your mind, soothing every frazzled nerve inside your brain. then you put wuthering heights in your bag, protected and snug, and get ready to leave. 

it’s still snowing. if anything, it seems to have gotten worse, enough that all you see when you glance towards the frosted windows are little clumps of snowflakes. obscuring everything else.

just when you’re about to speak, say a little goodbye, a voice spills out into the air.

”… the snow’s supposed to get worse. apparently.”

his navy eyes carry a gentle hue, as they look into yours. maybe a little worried, like a protective mother wolf towards her cub. you blink, and megumi sees it as his cue to continue.

”you can stay until it gets better.” 

a brief pause. his signature cough reaches your ears, and it’s enough to have you smiling, even before he adds a tiny if you feel like it. nonchalant, or at least you think that’s what he’s going for. he mostly just sounds like an awfully caring person trying awfully hard to appear uncaring.

and again, a little smile slips itself into the curl of your lips. all giddy and nervous, a little flustered. but happy. now you won’t have to walk through the relentless snowfall outside, feel the wind chew at your reddened cheekbones. now you can spend just a bit more time with him, bask in those quiet, drawn out moments of pure peace, browsing through books while he sits and reads behind the counter.

”thanks,” you breathe. adjusting your knitted scarf. ”i think i'll look at the books a little more, then.”

megumi’s eyes soften. relieved, you think. hope. it’s a subtle shift, but still enough to notice, enough to see. little splotches of a mossy green sinking into that sea of ink blue.

you think he must feel a little embarrassed, though. like he’s gotten too close to broaching the line he’s set up between the two of you. because he quickly fixes his gaze entirely on a book in his hands, a new one — was it just waiting beneath the counter? 

you don't think much of it, but you note that he's back to his usual nonfiction. something on astronomy, you think.

and with one final glance at his tousled hair, you begin to stroll through the store. languidly, walking to whatever spine captures your attention. savouring the tiny words on the back of the books, wallowing in the peppermint and espresso that wafts through the air, only growing heavier while you’re busy admiring the white opaque frosting of the windows’ glass. 

at some point, the low whirring of a coffee machine buzzes from afar, and when you turn to the counter megumi isn’t there. 

a little later, when he comes back, he’ll be carrying two mugs — matching dogs etched into the ceramic, one black and one white. he’ll put one of them on the edge of the counter, closest to you, and then meet your eyes. give a vague nod towards it, but nothing else. you’ll notice the red tint to his ears, though.

and when you do, a warmth will blossom in your chest, enough to chase away the phantom ache of the winter chill soon to envelop you.

when the little bell of the bookstore jingles its jolly tune, and the door shuts itself as you cross the threshold to leave, megumi lets out a barely audible sigh.

he thinks his heart may be beating just a smidge faster than usual, a little out of rhythm. palms against the counter, he allows his eyes to flutter shut — trying not to acknowledge the heat he feels on his face when he finally begins to process your interaction. 

he smooths a hand over his face, skin just a little sweaty. chewing at his bottom lip with two sharp teeth.

god.

really, it was no more than a stupid twist of luck. that you happened to come in just when he started reading it, that you noticed and didn’t question him on any of the contents. that you believed him when he said he’d already finished it.

and, sure, maybe he was secretly really hoping you’d come in. really hoping you’d notice it, that it’d be enough to make you strike up a conversation with him, something, anything. 

he happened to see you eyeing it once, that’s all. twice, and then thrice, each on different occasions. tsumiki’s old collection came in handy, rotting on the dusty shelves of her room — although he has no memory of her ever reading it.

(he remembers some, though. remembers her reading a few of them to him, on nights he couldn’t sleep. remembers the soft lull of her voice, how the whole world seemed blanketed by a wool of safety.

he wonders if he’ll ever get to hear it again.)

megumi’s heart feels warm. despite everything. 

even though he didn’t even get past the first half of wuthering heights, and has no idea what the hell he’s going to be able to talk to you about. even though he thinks heathcliff is a dick and catherine is a brat, and wishes they could save everyone else the trouble and just talk to a psychiatrist.

even with the cold baring its fangs outside, and the cup of espresso sitting right in front of him, still untouched, made with the store’s shitty coffee machine. even in the ugly sweater gojo forced him into. even though he doesn’t even really know you, not even at all, and still somehow feels certain that you’ll come back with tsumiki’s book in tow.

trust. 

megumi thinks it’s a little weird, how just that single overlapping of your gazes when you first stepped in seemed to solidify such an abstract notion. he’s always had a sense of it, though — a sense of goodness. an ability to seek them out, those good people, bubbly and cheerful and so tragically hard not to love. 

no matter where he goes, he ends up finding them. like tiny sunflower seeds persisting beneath the winter snow. blooming when spring comes around, in a burst of golden vermillion.

resting his jaw on the heel of his palm, megumi allows himself to wallow in the solitude of the bookstore. tired eyes soaking up the words on the pages he flips through, slowly, utterly at ease. drinking his shitty coffee, trying to ignore the itchy feeling of the sweater on his skin, unable to forget the memory of your stupidly pretty smile. 

so pretty he thinks it might just keep him warm, all throughout winter, until you return once more. bringing with you the glimmer of snowflakes on soft skin, and a pleasant fragrance of tea leaves from the cozy shop across the street.

a single sunflower, persisting even through the cold. 

megumi smiles. a tiny curl of his chapped lips, while he flips the pages of his book. content in the knowledge that this won’t be the last time he speaks to you.

(now he just needs to read up on some good papers on wuthering heights.)

#im just thinking abt ….. bookstore gumi who goes out of his way to only work the quiet lazy shifts . and all he does is drink coffee n read #so its like his selfcare time and he hates customers n gets annoyed when they come in PHDJD…. acting like he owns the store #but then u come in !! :< n ur presence is just so gentle and soothing . n the more he sees you the prettier u get in his eyes. #so he tries to silently impress u </3 reading ur fave books even if he doesnt like them <//3 cutie #just to be clear if a bookstore employee randomly offers u a cup of coffee Do Not drink it . even if hes hot. stay safe ✌️ #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #megumi x reader #megumi x you #megumi fluff #megumi fushiguro #megumi x y/n #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x gender neutral reader

[beescake]

Sorry for the spam (^o^;) I just really like your blog

no need to apologize ayy!

in this corner we welcome all forms of enjoyment, regardless of whether you're a

happy to have yall here w me,

headin into homestuck 2024 :^)

#was debating if sollux truly was lurker type but then i rmbr'd him quietly reading all of karkat's memos for a good laugh HAHAHAHAAH #ask #aleemie #homestuck #karkat vantas #sollux captor #solkat #2024 #vioart #but o. regarding the etiquette learned frm other socmed #spamming here is safe+good! it does not harm the op by shadowbanning like instagram #and its not 💀 like twitter where ur likes/following are permanently set to public #ur tumblr experience is within ur control it can be as free/empty/curated as u want!! #((tho ofc i do encourage rbing for ppl who've been hoping to start that habit!! #s'cool to slowly work ur way up from the extra special posts that hv lingered longest in ur heart and quietly build ur cache trove :-) #for example back when i was struggling to rt on a new twt acc i just started setting nonsense criteria for myself LOL #like “breaking this void is scary holy fuck ok i shall start by rting posts w brownish/reddish clrs bcs its inspo vibes for my art” #and gradually after a while of deliberate sharing i gained more confidence to share a larger variety of posts that make me feel things!!!! #no more training wheels i may be scared but i love loving more!!!! #same goes for engaging w fics too it takes energy to think of how to comment and thats ok‚ do ur best to explore what works for u!!!! #take screenshots of ur fave paragraphs & start annotating in gallery/notes app if that helps!!!! #also tumblr's customizable queue means u can stack posts and bolt hgehehe. my preferred form of existing on the net))

[butchazepam]

updated radical feminist library

the radical feminist library, by aggrolesbo/ladielabrys, is great. but it has a lot of repeated and illegible files, and without the proper authors so it gets difficult to search for things. I cleaned it put and then added a lot more books recommended across the internet. Plus very good releases by suny press and routledge.

i separated the trans folder from the rest of the library so you can send it to people who would otherwise be turned off.

If you have any recommendations i would be glad to add it!

spread it far and wide please

#i have been working on this since november when i should have been reading dissertations for my internship #feminist literature #books #research find download convert to pdf write author and name check if repeated find the best folder now do that 1100 times #radblr #radical feminists do interact #radical feminist safe

[sysig]

Recently had a silly Handplates dream where Papyrus was trying to snoop around Gaster and Alphys’ lab, but didn’t know who Alphys was and so was trying to pass it off as his own lab lol (Patreon)

#Doodles #Dream log #UT #Handplates #Papyrus #Gaster #Sans #Alphys #And also he was Big Brother Papyrus to a babybones Sans lol #I doodled them as close to the dream as possible so if it's silly or doesn't make sense take it up with my subconscious lol #I remember Gaster had a reputation for being very charming and charismatic which ?? Sure okay lol #He was also quite smiley - personally I read that as him putting on a face to the public but even that seems out of character for him lol #Everyone else was pretty much as usual - Alphys small and nervous and Papyrus loud and bombastic #I don't remember what exactly he was looking for - doubly weird 'cause I hadn't reread him and Sans exploring yet! :0 #Just of them moving into their house - though I did read a bunch just before sleeping so safe to say I can attribute that lol #This was the only really clear part of the dream - the rest was just scrolling scrolling scrolling pages and pages of comic panels #Can't imagine why lol #Also intercut with some of the poses I ended up doodling before - surprise! They were dream doodles lol #Also in case it's not clear - Alphys was Very Much Present while Papyrus was trying to pass himself off as the name on the door lol #Oh yeah I'm pretty sure he was also speaking in WingDings thus why Alphys didn't immediately call him out lol #The room was quite cute actually - not at all the sterile grey of the True Lab #Warm and wooden with high windows nearly covered in clutter and paperwork with a desk in the middle lit by yellow light #Cozy #Barely evil-looking at all