#but also they are adults living in an apartment in my brain and they order takeout and watch How It's Made on friday evenings

[mothric]

ever have a blorbo live in your brain for so long they become their own blorbo variant that’s no longer fully attached to their source material and your original blorbo is still beloved and dear to you but now you also have a mutant blorbo clone who is dear to you in a different way? 

#basically if you're persistent enough you can get two or more blorbos for the price of one #tsukishima and yamaguchi are best friends in high school in a volleyball anime #but also they are adults living in an apartment in my brain and they order takeout and watch How It's Made on friday evenings #may 2022

[volleypearlfan]

On Cringe Culture, Kids' Shows, and Elitism

i'M nOt rEaDiNg aLl tHaT" Ok, scroll down for the TL:DR. (Also on SpaceHey and Blogspot)

The now ex-CEO of Disney, Bob Chapek, has stated the animation is only for children. Never mind that this is the same company that owns The Simpsons, and was founded by a guy who said, and I quote "You're dead if you aim only for kids. Adults are only kids grown up, anyway."

Naturally, this has caused universal backlash within the animation community, with many people defending animation as a medium for everyone, not just kids. However, the animation community was also mocked by outsiders for using kids' shows, such as Gravity Falls, to prove that animation is for everyone. In fact, the animation community (more specifically the western animation community) has always been cruelly harassed by outsiders for watching cartoons, especially ones aimed at children.

There is nothing wrong with watching children's shows AT ALL. Watching kids' shows doesn't make you immature, a pedophile, or whatever bullshit that outsiders want to spew. Remember the Walt Disney quote above; many kids' shows are designed to be appealing to multiple audiences, including adults. Kids' shows with adult appeal (or ones that don't annoy the living daylights out of parents, or are legitimately good for kids) are more likely to be praised and recommended by said parents than, say, Cocomelon.

However, because of the stigma attached to kids' shows, many animation fans feel the need to hate on/ignore slice-of-life or comedy cartoons, while only praising plot-driven or "dark" ones like Gravity Falls, The Owl House, and Avatar, and say that they are "not for kids." Again, there is NOTHING wrong with liking kids' shows (these shows do feel more YA-ish though, but that's another subject for another blog). All three of these shows are very high quality, and you don't need to justify your enjoyment of them to outsiders. The constant prioritization of dramatic cartoons over lighthearted ones in the cartoon fandom creates a sense of snobby elitism, and leads to...

...fans of lighthearted shows like Big City Greens and My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic being bullied for liking said shows because they are "childish." Which, in turn, leads to fans of lighthearted kids' shows trying to make their shows seem dark in order to make the elitists like them. Back in the day, many bronies made dark fan works based on MLP such as "Cupcakes," "Smile HD," and "Rainbow Factory" and put them out in public with no age restriction, resulting in a bunch of traumatized children. The bronies also acted like they were the target audience and not children.

Apart from the bronies' fan works, MLP also suffered from exaggerated darkness on TV Tropes subpages. Speaking of TV Tropes, there was a very infamous incident regarding the kids' show "Ready Jet Go!" Aside from the stigma surrounding general kids' programs, you also have the stigma attached to preschool shows that they are dumb and for babies (never mind that babies/infants are too young to watch TV, and if they watch it before they turn 2, it would really hurt their brain. Look up the Baby Einstein controversy for more info), especially with GoAnimate users making it hip to hate on Dora and Barney. Not every preschool/elementary show is the same as Cocomelon. There are many high-quality programs for the little ones such as Arthur, Cyberchase, Sesame Street, Bluey, Mister Rogers, VeggieTales, Oswald, Blue's Clues, LazyTown, Bear in the Big Blue House, and WordGirl. Can you really blame fans for liking them when they’re just so good?

With all this in mind, someone once made a Nightmare Fuel page for Ready Jet Go on TV Tropes in order to make it more popular, because the user felt alone in liking the show and it was a big comfort for them. They also cited the snobbery of the cartoon community as a reason for their making the page on the Nightmare Fuel cleanup thread. The page was eventually deleted because it was mocked cruelly by 4chan. It didn't make the show more popular, it gave it a bad reputation.

The user shouldn't have to had made that stupid page with examples exaggerating the show's supposed scariness. If it weren't for the cartoon community being a bunch of elitists, as well as the kids/preschool show stigma, this wouldn't have happened. The sad part is, even though the page is long gone, the page STILL gets brought up by RJG haters to mock the show, its' fans, and TV Tropes for "pissing their pants over Ready Jet Go" which is beating a dead horse at this point. Seriously, make like Elsa and LET IT GO. Please stop bringing it up, and if you’re reading this blog, please don’t look it up. Please have sympathy for Ready Jet Go fans. We’re actually a very nice fandom.

The 4chan bullying also ties into cringe culture. On sites such as DeviantArt, Instagram, Twitter, YouTube, Reddit, and 4chan, many people are considered "cringe" and cyberbullied for "crimes" like making a colorful character or watching cartoons. The cyberbullies in question are just a bunch of pathetic lowlives who bully people for being happy, because they think that bullying happy people will make them feel better about their disgusting selves.

As noted here, cringe culture affects autistic people the most. Autistic people tend to get really passionate about their favorite things, or "special interests," and like to talk about them all the time and make their own characters. But according to some unwritten rule of society, your OCs have to be as deep as Shakespeare, and you're not allowed to like 'childish' things even a little bit. (I think it's worth mentioning that the Nightmare Fuel person was autistic themselves). Many proponents of cringe culture participate in concern trolling, acting like they don't want so-called "cringe" people to be bullied and want them to be good artists/writers. Cringe culture doesn't make people become better creators, it makes them become boring creators and repressing their true passions.

Every autistic person is different, which is why it's called the autism spectrum. However, it is true that a lot of autistic people enjoy children's media, likely because of how calming and simple they tend to be. For example, Thomas the Tank Engine is very popular with autistics because the engines' emotions are easy to tell, and the show has a chill atmosphere (by the way, the Thomas fandom is a frequent victim of cringe culture). Plus, it legitimately has Tolkien-level lore dating back to the 1940s. I'm not even kidding, look up "The Island of Sodor: Its People, History and Railways." It always pisses me off when outsiders act surprised that "tHOmAs tHe tRaIn hAs A fAnDoM?!?1!" It's based on a book series that's existed since 1945, of fucking course it has a fandom, dumbass.

TL;DR - 'Animation is for everyone' and 'it's okay to like kids' cartoons/lighthearted cartoons' are statements that can and should co-exist. Also, autistic people can like whatever they want and those who harass them are the scum of the earth.

#long post #important #cringe culture #autism #autistic #actuallyautistic #cartoons #animation #Disney #elitism #avatar the last airbender #Gravity falls #mlp #my little pony #ttte #Thomas the tank engine #Thomas and friends #ready jet go #pbs kids #tv tropes #atla #my animation essays

[best-underrated-anime]

Best Underrated Anime Group F Round 3: #F4 vs #F7

#F4: Young boxer in futuristic Japan fights in tournament

#F7: Transmigrator heals a reincarnation revenge story

Details and poll under the cut!

#F4: Megalo Box

Summary:

Follows the story of a young man that only goes by his ring name “Junk Dog”, set in the late 21st century. People live in a large metropolis, those without citizenship forced in slums called the Restricted Area. Junk Dog fights in fixed matches in the Restricted Area in a sport called Megalo Box, which is boxing augmented by metal exoskeletons.

One day, Junk Dog almost crashes into the CEO of the Shirato Company on his motorcycle, and he tries to pick a fight with her guard, Yuri. Yuri ends up fighting Junk Dog in a match, beating him and challenging him to fight him in a tournament called Megalonia. Forging an ID and taking the name Joe with help from his coach, the young fighter only has 3 months to win enough matches to rank high enough to get into the tournament and face Yuri. Not just for his pride, but also because of threats from the mafia, who wants money from Joe and his coach that they don’t have.

Propaganda:

Megalo Box is a series that got some recognition during the Crunchyroll Awards. It even aired on Adult swim’s late night anime block, even gaining a second season. But it seems like after the initial season, all interest of the show evaporated. It’s rarely talked about in fandom spaces or in anime video essays.

Which is a shame! It's a solid watch. The music is stellar. The characters are enjoyable, even if the plot of the main character Joe being a massive underdog that claws his way through a boxing tournament is a little predictable. But to be fair, this show was created to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the boxing manga Ashita no Joe.

Still, the anime keeps things fresh. It has added political commentary about class and race dynamics. Joe is brown-skinned, looks mixed, and is an undocumented citizen in the city he lives in. He has to fight in illegal fixed Megalo Box matches in the slums in order to make ends meet. Even that provides little protection, as he and his coach Ganbu get threatened by the mob for more money that they can’t produce. It also touches upon how children are abandoned and abused by the system with Sachio.

Joe is the ultimate underdog story. He ends up going by “Gearless Joe” because he fights his matches without wearing any Gear—aka the metal exoskeletons use in Megalo Box. He’s essentially boxing old-school style against others an unfair advantage with tools that augment their punches and movements. Joe did this in the first place because he was too poor to buy a new Gear, his old one falling apart, so he felt he was better off training and using his natural body in matches.

The second season also explores Joe's struggles with depression and drug addiction as he trains another Megalo Boxer, which is interesting and adds another layer to him.

Plus, the show also has racial diversity in the side characters. The English dub cast voice actors of the same ethnicities for Pepe, Chief, and Maria. Also, Kaiji Tang voices Joe, the lead.

Trigger Warnings: Child Abuse, Graphic Depictions of Cruelty/Violence/Gore.

The anime is about boxing, so characters get beaten up quite a bit (even in fantastical ways). However, there’s also some other violence threats (like Joe’s coach Nanbu getting his eye cut and threatened to earn money by the mafia). Also, a kid named Sachio joins the group to help Joe and gets beaten by thugs and threatened a few times through the series.

#F7: There’s a Pit in my Senior Martial Brother’s Brain (Wo Jia Dashixiong Naozi You Keng)

Official English title: What’s Wrong With My Big Brother Alt Title: My Dashixiong Has a Pit in His Brain

Summary:

Dongfang Xianyun transmigrates as the eldest disciple of the Care-free sect. But the only thing that goes through his mind is to make sure he doesn’t end up dying by the hands of the “main character.” He believes he’s just a side character. He just wants to relax and survive all the mayhem surrounding him while dealing with one of his jealous sect teammates, who grew corrupted in the past life.

Propaganda:

This series is kind of insane but also just a lot of fun! The thing is, the shidi (junior martial sect brother), Yin Feixing, felt betrayed by his dashixiong (eldest senior sect brother), Dongfang Xianyun, after he was seemingly rejected for ending up studying the demonic arts. After he dies, he decides to take revenge in the next life, and this is where our story starts off…

The only problem is his dashixiong has been replaced by a transmigrator. And our new Dongfang Xianyun is not as cold or uptight as the past dashixiong (but as the story unravels, was he even that bad?); rather, this version is silly and goofy and fun. And because he believes wholeheartedly that Yin Feixing is the protagonist, he doesn’t act the way a dashixiong is expected to—but it’s in this silliness that one can find sincerity…

So as Yin Feixing exacts his revenge, turning Dongfang Xianyun into a demonic arts practitioner, Dongfang Xianyun’s new soul means he won’t follow the same path as Yin Feixing. Rather than fall to ruins like Yin Feixing, his empathy and creativity means he challenges this entire world by making his fellow demonic practitioners into law-abiding heroes, even as people hate him for the demonic arts. So as multiple plots unfurl, we get a pretty emotional, thematically interesting story, even amidst all the (very funny) crazy comedy, and a clever parody of xianxia* and other transmigration stories. 😆

(*Xianxia (仙侠 xiānxiá) – literally means “Immortal Heroes”. Fictional stories featuring magic, demons, ghosts, immortals, and a great deal of Chinese folklore/mythology. Protagonists (usually) attempt to cultivate to Immortality, seeking eternal life and the pinnacle of strength. Heavily inspired by Daoism. Source)

Oh, and Gong Changsheng is best puppy! He’s such a good sunflower boy with the biggest crush on Dongfang Xianyun, and I love them so much. I think lots of others will love them too if they gave this series a chance. 🥺

The slightly evolving names for each season are fun too:

S1: 我家大师兄脑子有坑 (My Dashixiong Has a Pit in His Brain (aka “he’s really dumb/ridiculous”))

S2: 我家大师兄是个反派 (My Dashixiong Is a Villain)

S3: 我家大师兄有点靠谱 (My Dashixiong Is a Bit Reliable)

(Plus, besides the original manhua, there’s a fun chibi OVA where the cast are like actors!)

Trigger Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Cruelty/Violence/Gore. The donghua isn’t as intense as the manhua, but there is one character who flirts in a somewhat creepy manner.

When reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

If you want to criticize one of the shows above to give the one you’re rooting for an advantage, then do so constructively. I do not tolerate groundless hate or slander on this blog. If I catch you doing such a thing in the notes, be it in the tags or reblogs, I will block you.

Know one of the shows above and not satisfied with how it’s presented in this tournament? Just fill up this form, where you can submit revisions for taglines, propaganda, trigger warnings, and/or video.

#anime #donghua #best underrated anime #polls #poll tournament #tournament #anime tournament #animation #group stage #group stage round 3 #tournament polls #group f #megalobox #megalo box #wo jia dashixiong naozi you keng #what's wrong with my big brother #there's a pit in my senior martial brother's brain #my dashixiong has a pit in his brain

[eoieopda]

hello my dear jade, heard you were summoning the hyung line girlies 🫡 how about 'feel the same' by the millennial club for one mr. kim seokjin?? (and congrats on 1k!!! ✨)

i have ABSOLUTELY listened to this song (and this artist tbh) on loop since you brought them to my attention 💕 also, jin is a doctor for no reason other than “because of course he is.”

listen here

maybe this is heaven, or maybe it’s just you / i don’t trust my judgment ‘cause i’m just 22 / my mind is running circles, my heart’s out in the rain / i know that this is sudden, but do you feel the same?

ft. fluff, seokjin m.d.’s pov, getting together au, and the most rom-com shit my brain worms have likely ever produced

Kim Seokjin was, by all verifiable accounts, an adult.

He could drive, drink, and be reaped by the draft. He had an investment portfolio and a license to practice medicine, for fuck’s sake. So, why did he — an adult man — swoon like a school kid whenever you called?

It was the same every night: Your name and contact photo would pop up on his screen with a chime. No matter what he was doing, he would drop it. Then, he would drop himself onto whatever flat surface he was nearest to. Whether that was his bed, his couch, or his floor, it wouldn’t matter.

Seokjin needed to be horizontal, but he couldn’t explain why. Maybe a cozy position was necessary in order to properly appreciate the warmth of your voice. Maybe his knees — fully-grown and alarming achy, if he was being honest?— got a little too wobbly whenever you laughed at his jokes.

Whatever the cause, he had to brace himself for the effect: when you eventually — tragically — hung up, he had to stare up at the ceiling until his racing heart got a fucking grip.

In his profession, this kind of cardiac event was called tachycardia. Although this occasionally required immediate medical attention, it often resolved on its own. Unfortunately for Seokjin, the fluttering in his chest couldn’t be shocked away with a defibrillator. The prognosis for this mystery condition was bleak.

Your phone call that night produced familiar symptoms, though the presentation felt different. Novel. This time, the two of you talked for hours longer than usual. Chronic, not acute. About nothing, about everything. No obligatory small talk, just any and every thought that came to mind. Generalized.

Most confusingly, when a sudden call from your sister required you to hang up, you sounded as disappointed as Seokjin felt. Communicable? He was starting to get hopeful and that felt dangerous. After all, they called it a crush for a reason. If he was truly out on this limb alone, he’d crumple. Terminal.

Did you feel the same?

Seokjin couldn’t get that question of his mind. He’d spent every minute since you’d hung up pacing in his living room; so preoccupied that he didn’t notice the crop circles he’d worn into the rug. If he didn’t ask you tonight, he wouldn’t know a moment’s peace.

So, he decided, he’d ask.

This could’ve been a simple call back, but Seokjin was nothing if not dramatic. You were you and you deserved a grand gesture. Something memorable, something cinematic. Something he’d figure out on the way, because he was already tugging on his coat and walking out the front door.

Your apartment wasn’t far from Seokjin’s. In fact, his adult knees had successfully gotten the walk down to a cool nine minutes: ten blocks to the North, then one to the West. As he sped down the sidewalk, the restaurant across the street caught his eye. Like he was greeting an old friend in passing, he smiled fondly over at it.

Though it was an eyesore, the hole-in-the-wall ahead served the best fried chicken in Seoul. The two of you often swung by after late nights on-call, swapping french fries and war stories from your night in the emergency room. Part of him felt inclined to stop over there, to incorporate your ritual into his gesture, but he was riddled with doubt:

Did fried chicken adequately communicate I’ve loved you since you sat down next to me in that introductory anatomy lecture six years ago?

You were a reasonable person, unlike him. He couldn’t reasonably expect you — or anyone — to open a take-away container and decode the secret messages written in grease. The risk was even greater than the reward.

Instead, he opted for a clearer metaphor: a single red rose from the florist’s nearby stall. This, he hoped, proclaimed you’re beautiful, even with someone else’s vomit on your scrubs. Or, at the very least, I wouldn’t want to remove foreign objects from a stranger’s rectum with anyone else.

With his heart on his sleeve and his metaphor in hand, Seokjin continued on his mission. He made record time, even with the detour, and walked through the front door of your building a mere eight (8) minutes after exiting his. He made a mental note to brag about this achievement after you each exchanged declarations of requited love.

Too eager to wait on the elevator, Seokjin said “fuck it,” and chose to take the stairs. The first two flights were a cakewalk; the third was pushing it. With four flights down and one to go, he wished he had the schoolboy endurance to match his schoolboy crush.

But he didn’t, so he was both embarrassed and out-of-breath when he finally reached your door.

He didn’t hear any movement after knocking the first time, so he waited and tried again. There was no telltale shuffling of tired feet in fuzzy slippers. Accordingly, Seokjin did what any grown man would do:

He knelt on your doormat, leaned in towards the crack underneath your door, and squinted as he searched for signs of life. Nothing. He groaned with his whole chest as he clambered from the floor to his feet.

Alone on your doorstep, Seokjin was a deflated balloon. If you were home — and you were simply ignoring him — you likely heard his poor heart whizzing and whining down the hallway before dropping unceremoniously at his feet. He glanced down at the flower in his hand and prayed that you hadn’t.

As he turned towards the elevator, Seokjin stole a glance at his watch. With a rueful laugh, he realized that he’d set a second personal record that evening: getting his own hopes up and letting himself down in only thirty minutes. For a hopeless romantic with disappointment in near-permanent deferment, this feat was impressive.

Not one he’d brag to you about, though.

It was dark by the time Seokjin made it back to his own building and he was grateful for that fact. With the sun down, he could convince himself that it wasn’t too early to go to bed — to put this day in the discard pile and draw again tomorrow. And when he went to work in the morning, he’d see you and think of a better way to determine whether this something was mutual.

Turning out of the elevator and into his hallway, Seokjin realized that he wouldn’t have to wait until his sunrise shift to find out. There you were, sitting cross-legged on his doorstep, ten meters away.

“Jinnie!” You called out to him as soon as you saw him at the other end of the hall. The tone of your voice didn’t match the starlight in your eyes when you whined, “I’ve been waiting for half an hour.”

Wearing the cutest grin anyone’s ever directed at him, you lifted a take-away container from your lap, held it in the air, and giggled.

What you said was: I brought you chicken, but it’s probably cold by now.

But Seokjin heard what you meant: I love you, too.

#jade’s requests #1k drabblepalooza #jade’s drabbles #jin drabble #moots #yoongiphoria #mj! #ksj #bts #bts army #bts imagine #bts fluff #bts scenarios #bts jin #kim seokjin #kim seokjin fluff #seokjin #seokjin fluff #jin fluff #jin x reader #jin x you #jin x y/n #kim seokjin x reader #kim seokjin x you #kim seokjin x y/n #seokjin x you #seokjin x reader #seokjin x y/n #bts kim seokjin

[donnerpartyofone]

horrorphones...

Like many of the cretinous shut-ins who follow this blog, I hate phone calls. If you call me on the phone without an approved appointment I will assume that you are experiencing a deadly emergency. You will scare the shit out of me and I may not even be relieved if there is no deadly emergency. For me to talk on the phone, I practically always have to write a little script, even if we are very close personal friends. I must have a physical list of talking points in case my mind goes totally blank from the enormous pressure and I forget my entire life. I usually have to have at least one drink for calls lasting longer than a minute or two. I would probably be most comfortable conducting all social business from behind a Late Show desk on which I could reassuringly tap my stack of helpful cue cards. I will write you very long personal letters. I will text and DM with you at all hours of the night. I just cannot talk to you on the phone. The phone fries my brain. Actually, I feel extremely nervous even after a phone call, even if everything went well, even if it was super fun. I kind of have to sleep it off.

Unfortunately, not all people communicate in non-phone ways. I have one best friend (I'm an adult, I don't put the top people in a hierarchy as if they all serve exactly the same purpose and some are better than others; I have a couple of verified "best friends") who is just too much of a free spirit to be really into the internet, or to be brooding over long written documents. I gotta talk to her on the phone or she won't feel loved, she'll feel detached and isolated. I love to talk to her, but I still need to get in the like phone zone in order to not act like the total fucking outer space alien that I actually am. Being me is very taxing.

But now I have this old friend, see. An old friend and also a friend who is old. Actually I have no idea how old he is, he was old when I met him. He gave me my first post-college job (my first "real job" ever, I was and remain an unemployable mess) at his comic book store, where I stayed for many years. The whole crew there was very tight. He is a cool, smart, funny, cultured, frustrating, infuriating, offensive, secretly caring and wonderful sort of person. We went through a lot together, including several years of a random customer stalking and harassing me. We dealt with the police together. We served the dregs of society together. Sometimes we hated each other. But he is a major reason that I survived my 20s.

Several years ago he was in a freak accident where he was pinned under a heavy piece of furniture in his apartment for days. It could have killed him. He already had a well-developed case of Parkinson's, I don't know if that's related. Through a series of different events, he wound up moving into an assisted living place on the other side of the country, near one of his brothers. I'm sure he hates it. Every year on Halloween, which is a little bit before his birthday, I send him a hand-drawn card featuring classic comics characters doing all sorts of demented things, along with a little update letter. One year I got a letter back asking me to call him. OH NO, I thought. I didn't call.

Yesterday was a big, very challenging, in some ways very rewarding day. When I was finally all out of tasks I decided to turn my brain fully off and become spectacularly stoned. I was well zooted when my fucking phone rang. I quickly Googled the number, and I'm pretty sure it was the assisted living facility where my friend is. I didn't pick up. They called back once, but left no message. I felt pretty bad, though I also knew that in my current state it would have been a huge disaster if I answered. What if he died? I thought, knowing that he has a lot of siblings and I wouldn't have been that phone call, and also if it were important they would have left a message or kept trying. I forced myself not to worry about it by popping a couple of Benadryl and making it an early night.

I think I have to call back though. I might regret it if I don't. I have been thinking about this for a long time. I have all sorts of worries. What if he's incoherent now? What if we can't understand each other? What if I have nothing to say? What if he IS coherent but he wants to say terrible things about politics (a life-long constant for him, I don't know if he even cares as much about politics as he does about trolling people)? But also what if he like dies and I have to sit around thinking about how selfish I am for never calling him for all eternity? I'm sure I'm the only person making him original personalized art for his birthday every year, but does that really get me out of everything else?

So the point of this post is to somehow force myself to call him. I have way too much shit to do and I am preparing for a lot of stressful social things with strangers and I need to stop being unemployed and I am cramping up a storm. But I think I also have to make the phone call. Maybe I will do such a bad job that I never have to do it again! Pray for me, pray for the sweet saving grace of personal failure.

[seeds-and-sins]

The Only Truth Series - Only Monsters

Pairing: Oz “The Penguin” Cobblepot x F!Reader

Rating: T (Curse words, implied sexual relationship, alcholism, adult themes)

Description: You have forced down the implications of your situation for too long. Oz helps the best way he can.

Author's Note: I notice a lot of my shit is very angsty. I plan on softening it up some next part of this series. Also, you do not have to read these in a certain order. They are all one-shots that can come together to create a story, but they don't have to be put together.

First

Second

You flinched when the apartment door swung open. You hadn't expected Oz to be home so early, you had hoped to at least have an hour or two to yourself. He hobbled into the living room, you noticed the exhaustion in his hung shoulders. And you watched the cogs of his mind turn, each thought sliding into place and sifting off another: First, when he spotted your discarded clothes, he thought you were cheating. The rage came and went as quickly as he spotted you. Alone. The second thought entered his mind, something was wrong. Mascara stained your cheeks, your silk black robe barely held to your bare flesh, a glass of whiskey-neat-in one hand as the other held you steady against the island counter of your shared kitchen. The third thought-the front of his phone was pressed to his chest, he was on a call- "Honey, what happened?"

You don't respond. Your brain can't muster the necessary words needed to respond. Because all you had inside you in that moment was shame, guilt, absolute and unadulterated hatred. When he sounded so concerned, a flicker of pain in his eyes at the sight of you in pain, it felt like a dagger straight through you. It was the same dagger that had been lodged in your chest for months and months upon months and months. The months never ended, the days bled together as if connected by veins and arteries, thick with sludge and clotted by your own immorality.

He squinted at you, then brought the phone to his ear again. You knew it wasn't Falcone when he abruptly cut the person off.

"We'll talk later. Just get it done." Oz hung up, he tossed the phone haphazardly onto the couch. You hated that he was so willing to drop everything to attend to you, to make you happy, to keep you safe. The nausea thickened in your stomach, you gulped down the entirety of the crystal glass in your hand. "What are ya' doin'?" You sniffled, when he stepped toward you, you stepped away. The bar was between you, but Oz was still too close for your liking.

You wanted to be left alone. You came here to be left alone. He shouldn't be here.

Oz's eyes narrowed on you, dark and unending pools, filled with worry. Everything paused completely when you met them, you didn't look away when you poured yourself another glass-messily so, you were drunk-bronze liquid droplets spattered across an obsidian countertop.

"You should be working. You should be back at the club. What happened?" There was an edge there, your lack of words was getting to him. Although you knew if you spoke anything meaningful now, in this fragile state, it would be too much said. He gritted his teeth, jaw shifting from side to side. He tried to step to you again, a little faster this time, and you immediately stomped away.

"Fuck off." You turned your back to him because looking at him was too much. As you fled to the lengthy window that travelled the expanse of the apartment, you found you had made a mistake: the moment you saw yourself in the reflection, you broke down all over again. The alcohol hadn't done a thing to mute your pain, it only made it worse.

You didn't recognize the person staring back at you. Who was that? The messy, crazy looking shell of a soul, a pretender, a liar, a criminal. Sometimes you couldn't even remember your name, your real name.

Today it had been at it's worst. Why were you even here? To what means did this story have an end?

And when you saw yourself in the window, you didn't see yourself-not really-you didn't see a proud GCPD police officer, you saw a monster. The burn of whiskey was nothing compared to the burn of not recognizing the thing you had become, the thing you once were. Not even human. Not even deserving of a life.

You cupped your palm over your face as tears ran down your cheeks, a hard sob shook you. You felt Oz closing in, there was no bar to force the distance anymore.

"Baby..." He called, soft, soothing, he only wanted to help you.

But how could he help you when he didn't even know who you were.

"I said, fuck off!" You hissed, swatting your arm out behind you and he barely missed the impacy. You stumbled, stablizing your wet palm on the glass.

"Ey, what the fuck is going on 'ere?!" He really didn't want to be angry with you, not when he didn't know what was wrong with you to begin with, but he wasn't going to let you walk all over him either. "Look, I understand you're upset, but you don't fuckin' talk to me that way."

"I'll talk to you however I want." You growled, storming off again. He wasn't able to snatch you in time. You were already speeding down the hallway and into the bedroom, your silk robe flowing out behind you. You could hear his awkward gait pressing after you, footsteps echoing off the narrow walls of the hallway.

You chugged your drink, falling into the doorframe.

"Don't you dare fuckin' close that door!" You thought about it, but in your enebriated state you were more focused on the bright lights of your vanity. It left an orangey glow throughout the room, you must had left it on earlier. Your footing was off, your struggling to keep upright, but you somehow made it to the tiny chair. Your torso sprawled across the surface, several makeup products dropping to the floor. You released the whiskey glass, allowing it to roll off and drop onto the white pillowy carpet. You caved your arms in and dropped your head into their protection. You peaked up to stare at yourself in the mirror, hunched over yourself and huddled in a black robe like a turtle in their shell.

Oz entered the room, he flicked the light on. The room exploded in white from a diamond chandelier hanging above. It blinded you more than the vanity lights had and you tucked your head in.

"Will you talk to me? Hmm?! I can't help if you won't talk to me."

"I just..." You wiped your face, snot running from your nose, you sniffled again. "I want to be left alone."

"I can't leave you like this. Did someone hurt you?! Did I do something wrong?! Is there a reason you're fuckin' drunk?! Give me something." You heard him stop right next to you, he grunted as he bent down to lift the crystal glass off the floor. You jolted upright, forcing him to jump away from you.

"Does something have to be wrong?!" You yelled, your entire body was taut like a spring and you wished for a moment that your heart might just stop beating altogether. Oz was furious, but you hated yourself even more when you saw the tension leave him completely. He inhaled a deep breath that rose and fell in his burly chest, he licked his lips. It didn't go unnoticed that he had a patience for you that he held for no one.

"No." He answered in the calmest tone, much unlike what you expected by that sharp glare he was shooting. "Nothing has to be wrong." His voice turned into gravel, breath heavy from the effort he had made in catching up with you. "But you're pushing me away, and for what?" Fresh hot tears trickled down your cheeks again, you aggressively rubbed them away-annoyed with yourself now more than ever. Why couldn't you just be stronger?

Hang on a little longer, they told you, We almost have all the evidence we need to put him away forever.

But you didn't want Oz to go to prison. You didn't want to put him away. You loved him. Why did you love him? You hated yourself for loving him. You wanted to die for it. You deserved the worst of punishments. You deserved this horrible pain, this suffering.

"Why are you still here?" You asked angrily, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

What hurt the most was that he didn't even know who you were. All this time spent together and he would hate the real you over this false identity any day. If he saw the real you on the street, he wouldn't recognize you, he wouldn't even spare you a glance. In this reality, in this identity you had made for yourself, this mask, you had become his queen. He would do anything for his queen. He would do nothing for you. Nothing.

"Why do you love me?" He snorted in disbelief, flinging his hands up in the air.

"That really a question?"

"Don't fuck with me." You were about to bury yourself again, but he grabbed your wrist and forced you to face him. In your seated position, you were looking up at him, he was like a beacon to you-brighter than any light in that stupid room.

"Why do I love you?" He repeated, his Gotham accent molding the words to fit around his tongue. "Because you're beautiful. Because you're smart. Because you're perfect." You tore from him, standing abruptly and swiftly gathering out of reach.

"I'm not perfect."

"Neither am I, but you're still here." You crossed your arms, biting the inside of your lip until you tasted copper. "You're my kind of perfect, alright?" You could see his expression behind your eyelids, you didn't even have to be looking at him to know he was defeated. He was never the best at comforting anyone, but he would do his best for you.

"You don't even know me, Oz. I'm..." Your breath hitched, the tears kept rolling, a ball formed in your throat. "I'm a monster."

"Well, then you're my monster." He spun you toward him, gently trapping you in his embrace.

"You don't get it, Oz!" You would have shoved him had his grip not held you so tight it left you immobile. "I'm a horrible person!"

"If you're horrible, honey, then I'm the devil." You sighed, dropping your forehead into his shoulder. He cupped the back of your head and lightly swayed from side to side. "You're wrong. I do know you." He continued, his minty breath hot at your cheek, his ring fingers rubbing the nape of your neck. "I know how you like your coffee. I know your favorite movies. I know that-despite how fuckin' annoying it is-you never fold your laundry." You couldn't help but huff a laugh into his suit jacket. Your small crack of amusement, made him tilt his head down to stare at you. He had a heart breakingly tender smile on his lips. "You're the only person I know that wears socks to bed, how 'bout dat'? Granted, there are very few people I share a bed with, so..." Your raised brow made his chest reverberate with a chuckle and he shook his head in jest. "I'm jokin', I'm jokin'. You're the only person I share a bed with."

"I better be." Your smile was sad, the pain was coming back all over again, no matter how greatly it subsided in his hold. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his suit and you buried your face into his neck. "What if you get sick of me one day? What if I'm not good 'nough?"

"You kiddin'?" He held you tighter in return. "That would never happen. Why would you say that?"

"I don't deserve to be happy, Oz."

"Who told you that?" He spat through clenched teeth. "You deserve everything, babydoll. Everything." He punctuated this by drawing you back enough to look at you again. All serious. "Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise." Your cheek leaned into his palm, you cupped his hand to your face.

"Do you ever feel like..." You whimpered, "Like you don't know who you are anymore?" His eyes scanned your face, mind searching his brain for an answer. His lips pressed hard together and then he nodded.

"Yeah. Sometimes."

"What do you-" You gulped, his thumb spread across your cheek to wipe away a stray tear. "What do you do?"

"I come back to you." He admitted lowly, his nostrils flared with a long inhale, his forehead met yours and his eyes slid shut. "Because you remind me of who I am. And you remind me of who I want to be."

"I feel like I'm wearing a mask, all the time." You whispered, thinking that maybe it was too much. Maybe that your statement would throw him off. Maybe he would start to suspect. His eyelids fluttered, lips close enough that he was pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"Don't be afraid. I know who you are. You're my girl." He said it with so much certainty, brushing his nose against yours. "You'll always be my girl." You blinked at him, the fondness in which he considered you didn't make your stomach turn this time, you melted completely into him. "And you can always take off your mask when you're with me."

"I love you." You uttered.

"'Love you too." Your lips molded with his in a slow and fluid motion. Through parted lips your tongues washed over one another, dancing in understanding and grace. After a few beats, you reluctantly withdrew. Your kisses traveled across his jaw to just below his ear and they would have kept going had his meaty hands not grabbed your waist and squeezed.

"I hate to do this to you, honey, but I have to get back to work." Your arms wrapped around his neck and latched on, locking you to him.

"Please. Don't go." He frowned, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry. I just have a few things to take care of and then I'll come right back." He saw your apprehension and immediately reacted. "I'm not leaving till you're all comfy, baby. You think I'd just ditch you like this. Never." He directed you toward the bed, to ease your doubts. "Let me go get you some tea. We'll get the tv going with your favorite flicks. I'll even have one of the boys bring you up some ice cream, yeah?" You nodded, but as he let go of you, your grip on him tightened. "I'll be back in no time, really."

"You promise?" He pecked your lips.

"I swear it." He caressed his fingertip in place over your lips and sent you a warm smile. "When I get back we can even have a nice bath together, hmm? With that favorite scented soap you like?"

"'Sounds good." You forced a smile, which was convincing enough for him to go on his way.

"I'll be right back with the tea, babydoll." As soon as he was out of sight you found yourself disappearing into the sheets, your body ached, your heart pounded hard and fast, you frowned, it was difficult to stamp down your tears.

You lived a life of lies.

#oz cobblepot x reader #oz cobblepot #the batman 2022 #the batman #angst #the penguin

[depizan]

While I’m definitely not the minimalist sort, I’ve known for a while that I need a relatively uncluttered place if I’m going to have any hope of keeping it clean and tidy. Knickknacks and art on the walls and stuff is fine, but I need space around the things I need to clean around. If I have to move things very far or it’s hard to shift them, cleaning is too hard (too many steps). This is very hard to accomplish in an apartment.

Also, the more of a mess my place is, the more of a mess my mind is, and vice versa. It’s one of the reasons I can fake being a competent, organized person at work (or as a kid, at school)—I always keep my desk/locker/or other workspace organized. I have to or everything will disappear and so will my focus. (Certain kinds of “disorder” like a stack of things I’m working on or the like are fine, but I need a visible calendar, just like I need the things I’m working on to be findable.) I have to put things away, but not away, if that makes sense. (Out of sight really is out of mind. Rather like how time is now, the past, and oh shit why is that tomorrow?! I thought it was in the future!)

I have to find ways to keep order that don’t hide things, but I also need space to work in. It’s just this really weird balancing act because what “tidy” people (like my parents) do doesn’t really work because I can’t find anything and no object permanence sets in. But I can’t keep living in a disaster, because that also hides things. (And means I can’t have people over and am constantly terrified that my mess will get me in trouble with the landlord.)

I need a new brain. Or else I really do need to figure out if I’m neurodivergent in some fashion. Or I just need to keep checking “how to be a functioning adult if your brain is weird” books and websites until I find a method that actually works for me. Regardless of what’s going on in that gray goo I call a brain.

This post brought to you by my latest attempt to bring order to my apartment.

#mac's real life #Mac vs their brain #how do you make order when you need to see everything???

[djsherriff]

I should really start posting more about my ocs/original ideas instead of fanart (maybe it’ll stop my brain from having Rayman brain rot) so uh, have some short plot descriptions

Untitiled magical girl isekai

Current progress, not much but currently the one I’m most likely to do something with

Stella Cross is an ordinary teenage girl who finds herself transported into another world full of mythical creatures and magic, Stella learns she is one of 7 chosen to awaken the world’s sleeping princess and unify this divided world.

Of cause, it’s easier said than done

Agents of Wu Xing

Current status (inactive) work in progress

Inspired by 2000s cartoons such as Xiaolin Showdown and Jackie Chan adventures, as well as the Adventure Bros, Agents of Wu Xing is an adult action comedy focusing on five young adults as they train to master one of five elements (Wood, fire, earth, metal and water) and hunt down mythical keys to ensure that Xiangliu is never free to unleash unspeakable evil upon the world. Of cause as all 20 somethings do, they get up into various hijinks, friendship dramas and debates on internet memes.

Also there’s a group of villains with a Chinese Zodiac theme, idk how else to add that.

I did a blog for it back in 2021 for a uni project you can find here and had a Google slides for it but I accidentally deleted it and I’m forever heartbroken over it ;-;

Little Pink Magical girl hood

Current status, just an excuse to draw fairytale girls?

Little Red riding hood but she wears pink instead and the big bad wolf was actually just a socially awkward gremlin GF, also Pink has magic powers maybe?

Debating if there be a larger plot involving other fairy tales/folklore characters or just make each one a separate plot unrelated to Pink Hood, perhaps all set in the same world though?

Palette Witch

Current progress, 🤷‍♀️

Iris is the guardian witch of a small town called Inksmouth which is home to toons of various kinds, though her closet companions is Julius the cat, a street wise feline who smirks to hide his fears, and Fanny the rabbit, Mayor of the town who worries for everyone’s safety.

Inksmouth is surrounded by an ocean of darkness and the town folks has lived in darkness for so long they don’t remember what natural light looks like. The town is repeatedly under attack by disfigured monsters from the sea, which Iris must destroy with her paint brush in order to protect her home.

But when a glowing light falls from the skies, Iris’s perspective of both herself and the world begins to shatter

Frame by Frame /Toon mates

Current progress, just a concept

Cartoon and anime characters from various genres find themselves as apartment roommates due to the difficulty of paying rant on their own, but can they learn to live with each other’s differences or will tensions rise between them?

#Ocs #character design #concept art #story pitch #artia #artists on tumblr

[awrldalone]

8th September 2023, 11.16am

I have a headache. Still, I am listening to music. I do not have wifi at my place yet, nor data on my phone, so I am spending the morning at the Bibliothèque de France, reading e-mails, reordering the files of my laptop in an attempt to put some order to my mind too. It's all so messy in here. For months I just ignored it all. I threw worn but not dirty clothes on my chair until the pile of t-shirts and pants fell to the ground, I left so many empty cups and glasses on my table that it took me multiple trips to the kitchen to clear out the space, I dreamt about dying every night for a month. There's some terrifying words hiding in my notes app; I would wake up as my heart stopped beating, as the poison kicked in or the knife slashed through my skin or the hands closed in around my throat, I would walk down the stairs of my bunk bed to make myself coffee, and as the coffee percolator mumbled I would write down everything before it all faded away.

Up until a couple of days ago I had not dreamt in weeks. I dreamt of crying, I could not stop, but when I woke up my face was dry. I dreamt I was with K., a friend from Twitter, and I cried in her arms and I cried and I cried. We have never met in real life, despite the fact she used to live in Belgium during the same time I was living in the Netherlands. Now that I think about it, I don't think I have ever seen her body, the way she looks like. My brain just made her whole appearance up. I did not tell her about my dream, I never will.

Since I moved here I have been completing so many tedious, bureaucratic, adult tasks. There's still so much to do. So much cleaning, so many memberships and contracts, and it's all for such a tiny life. I dread these things, they're like lint on a sweater. 

M. came visit. He arrived on Monday and left this morning, early. We slept in my small bed, close together, every night I was so tired I barely felt his breath calm down before I fell asleep. He told me he realizes when I'm not awake anymore because my body relaxes and I let go some small spasm. 

I keep telling myself he's the best thing that has ever happened to me - because he is, he is a golden person and he has stood by my side and helped me immensely - but something does not feel right anymore. I keep telling myself he's the best thing, and that I cannot fuck it up. I have the instinct to drown myself when I see myself sinking. Everything tells me to be impatient, reckless, but I am trying to improve my self-control. I will be more disciplined, I will think more, and then act more too.

I met a few people. Some were at the pré-rentrée for my degree, but we have yet to go out. They all look so young, inexperienced. Was I like that a year ago? Am I still like that, perhaps? The way they dress, the things they talk about, their instagram profiles.

M. and I also had dinner twice with a friend of his. Apparently he used to like M., years ago, when they went to high school together. The first time we met, we got drunk on Carrefour wine in his apartment. His place is even smaller than mine, but he has a bed like I did in the Netherlands, so the space is better used. We were supposed to make pasta but we ended up forgetting, talking and talking. Going back home in the metro with M. was hard. 

Then, yesterday we went to Louvre. There's an exposition in collaboration with a museum from Napoli, and I saw some Caravaggio I had never seen in person. For dinner we made sushi at my place, and it came out ugly for the most party but it still tasted good. 

-c.

#diary

[darklordofthesimp]

You're so right. I feel like at this point everyone just shares the same kinks and brain cell. I just want to be manhandled sometimes, y'know? So what if they're not human?

Growing up, I always thought I was weird for being interested in that kind of stuff. There was a feeling of shame I associated with it. Look at these creatures that are varying degrees of humanoid and my unexplainable attraction to them. I was prepared to die (metaphorically) before letting anyone find out about it.

I definitely felt better about it when the Venom movie came out and suddenly there were all these people who are just like me. Cue to me discovering Predator and falling down that rabbit hole lol.

I totally get the primal play. Like the adrenaline? The blood pumping through your veins as you're running from someone or something? Knowing they could completely overpower you and possibly tear you apart. All that power hanging over you. And you know they could destroy you. Your entire fate lies with them. But instead, it's endless mindblowing pleasure and lots of tender affection. I also adore the concept of prey fighting back, just a little to keep things interesting, before ultimately being put in their place.

Don't even get me started on the mask kink😫

I'm tempted to join the Gremlin Discord but I am incredibly shy and crippled by social awkwardness. Maybe someone can bully me into it?

Have you considered making an 18+ channel (if it doesn't have one already) in the server for all the adults to share their smut ideas and writing? Although I understand if you don't want to risk it as it's not hard to fake your age when making accounts.

-🐄

MOO MOO YOU LISTEN TO ME.

You just described every fucking crumb of thought i own with that primal play description I swear to fucking God. Like the thrill of knowing that they have the capability of destroying you and them teasing you that they just might (enemies to lovers) but then they're so fucking tender despite how nervous you are and they're careful and they hold you like you're a glass treasure. Or when things get intimate, not even sexually but like they just boost that tension and there's the thrill of not knowing what they'll do next, they could fucking destroy you and they love how nervous you are but ito3pwowowow

They would fucking never hurt you.

But the submission just gets them going ya know??

OR LIKE YOU SAID THEM CHASING YOU DOWNSV3O2KWOWOWLW FIGHTING BACK AND JUST BEING FUXKIN PINNED AND TOLD TO BREATHE LIKE BROOOOOO

Ugh join the fucking discord. There's an 18+ channel. If a minor wants to fake their fucking age that's on them, they wanna be traumatised that's on them but if they do that then they can live knowing that I think they're an absolute piece of fucking shit should they break those boundaries on MY channel.

But the minors are pretty good here and understand that in order to make it safe for them to interact they need to work with us.

SO JOIN THE FUCKIN DISCORD BRO THERES NOTHING TO BE NERVOUS ABOUT THERES LIKE 55 OF US TRUST ME YOU WONT BE SINGLED OUT

[findingmypeace]

6/5/2022

A side note before I write my post: I’ve received almost 20 asks in the last 48 hrs. I’m a little overwhelmed with that number so it might take me a little while to answer them.

But now that I’ve sat down to write a post I almost feel like there is nothing to say that hasn’t already been said. I’m trying to keep myself distracted today in order to keep my mind off of things. However, I am having a hard time concentrating on anything. I need to write a discussion post for school but in order to do that I need to get some reading done and I also have chores to do today. And yet, I’ve done nothing but watch The Great British Baking Show. I just don’t have the motivation to do anything. I finally put my laundry in the washer.

I think I might call LS. I need to talk to someone about my Mom and she’s been there with me through it all. She will understand. She was part of the group of adults that encouraged my parents to get me help when I was in middle school. My brain is telling me to shut up. I’m just so sick of things and sick of myself.

On Friday, when I had ect my psychiatrist told me he wants me in at least iop asap. His reasoning is that the sooner I get in the less likely I will have to go to php or even res. But I’ve pretty much given up. I wouldn’t be surprised if the treatment centers I talk to this week recommend res. I realize I’m pretty much shooting myself in the foot. I’m making things worse and almost ensuring that I need a higher level of care than iop by giving up. But I can’t get myself to care anymore. I don’t know what I’m doing other than completely messing up my life.

In the summer of 2010 everything in my life came crumbling down. I couldn’t find a job. I applied to over 50 jobs got none of them. I had a bachelor’s in psychology which essentially meant nothing and absolutely no experience. I was living in another state (the state where I went to college) and at the end of the summer, being completely broke and hopeless, my parents moved me home. That was actually the fresh start I needed. I got a job as a nanny. A year later I started grad school. I became financially independent. Eventually I graduated with my master’s and started my career. My parents didn’t make it easy. My Dad was furious with me for having to move home and I was essentially ‘grounded’. Until I found that job as a nanny my ‘job’ was to do chores around the house. I wasn’t allowed to hang out with friends. I was basically confined to the house until I found a job.

I feel like that is where my life is headed. Everything is going to fall apart and I’m going to have to move back in with my parents. I do not want to go through that again. During the summer/fall of 2010 I felt subhuman. I felt like I was of lesser value than everyone else and I felt like it was my own fault for being an irresponsible idiot who couldn’t find a job. This time I’m the irresponsible idiot who can’t stop engaging in her ed long enough to live a life. WTF am I doing?

#personal #ed treatment #bulimia #eating disorders #depression

[giselberts]

HI i'm going to ramble about a little brainworm thing heehee

it's based on this stupid little dream i had about barbie 12 dancing princesses but my brain made it into its own thing which i think is just a more adult/serious version of it and it was kind of cool which is why it lives on in my brain ANYWAYS

there's 16 princesses this time (and maybe even a 17th one on the way) and the king just fucks. a lot. homie went through 3-4 wives at least i'd say?? he's chill with his daughters and encourages them to do their own thing, but deep inside he's absolutely seething and crying because he's got no son. he's very mildly coping with that by being happy his own eldest daughters have sons of their own but he hates their husbands too. he should go to therapy i think

the princesses all have their own little talent thing going on, like in the barbie movie, but they mostly keep themselves in groups divided by whoever they have in common as their mom. they have no names yet i just give them letters heehee :) they go from A to P

the first batch of princesses (B to E) are all married off, living their own lives with their own kids and shit, which makes A very lonely since her closest sisters are away and she sees how much she's missing out on since she got in an accident when she was 12ish which killed her mom too, and has had fucked up health ever since, which makes her definitely not the most eligible bachelor in town despite of who she is 😔 instead she just… mildly takes care of her other sisters and makes sure they don't grow up all fucked up from how the royal court treats them

the eldest daugther (F) from the second batch of kids has unrequited beef with ms A for no reason at all. she's jsut a little hater but also she's 17 i think you're legally required to be a hater at that age. ok i lied there's a reason as to why she's a hater, and it's bc A kind of babies her sisters?? which is for a valid reason (the accident she almost got killed in + knows how ruthless the court can be), but A refuses to elaborate on that because she doesn't believe in clear communication and would rather die than sit down and have a conversation (/hj on that, she just doesn't want to relive the accident by speaking abt it)(she should go to therapy) with her younger sisters. her bodyguard that she definitely doesn't have a mutual crush on is okay though he should be paid extra for being her therapist.

F also lowkey manages to rally her other sisters (G to N, the last two are too young) to be against A, but in more subtle ways. A doesn't notice because she's too used to being gossiped about to care which pisses off the other sisters 😭

one of the themes i really want to explore in this lil world is parentification of siblings/eldest daughter syndrome + sibling dynamics + personal identit!! for personal identity it's more of a "i am a member of a royal family, i am expected to act this way and do these things in a very precise order but i am not allowed to explore who i am outside of these things" aspect of things + "i am surrounded by sisters who all have found their own interest that makes them unique, how do i find the one interest that sets me apart" (though that one would apply more to the youngest princesses, who are a bit too young to be affected by that first part of personal identity)

i am so normal abt this. if you ever ask me anything about this i will kill for you

#meja's ocs #update i have found a temp tag!! its #meja's princesses #yes very original. thank you

[dragonsatmidnight]

CN: SI

I'm very tired of my brain. And being disabled. And bureaucracy.

I got a car recently because I haven't been able to reliably get myself to medical appointments using the Idaho medicaid transportation system, thinking that because my section 8 benefits would allow me to get an apartment at 935 rent and my current apartment is 795 a month, I could budget for and shop for a car. Except apparently the 935 also has to include all of the utilities they expect me to pay, so they're denying my application because I can't pay enough of a percentage of the rent to qualify for the voucher program.

I've been told there's no way to appeal, and no way for me to reapply with a higher income. So either I try to think of ways to appeal, or ways that I can try to find loopholes, or whatever else, and maybe make headway and get my section 8 benefits, or maybe I just end up putting in a ton of work only to need to subject myself to several months of deeply crushing poverty. Or I don't try and subject myself to deeply crushing poverty.

Which is making me struggle with SI, because poverty that crushing is exhausting, dehumanizing, and you know, miserable. One of the biggest things that can trigger my SI is shit like this. I was living in an abusive situation for literal years, because I didn't think I could tolerate the financial instability of living on a fixed income, unable to have enough money to comfortably feed and clothe and toiletry myself without massive amounts of stress. I got evicted, I went through apartment hunting and moving, I spent months trying to get everything sorted, and I thought I had gotten a handle on things, gone through all of the social programs, and put my brain and body through fucking hell, to realize that I probably needed to move out years ago, and I was in the process of getting my social assistance programs moving, and I could see the light at the end of the jumping through flaming hoops stress tunnel.

Only to get denied based on an overestimation of the utilities I pay, and not being able to just pay another 72 dollars a month so I'm not relying on my parents temporary help to have housing security.

I'm tired of fighting, I'm exhausted, every single thing about being disabled is turning life into this massive fight.

I want to sleep indoors, have a nice computer, have enough clothing to get by, have the accessibility equipment I need, and have enough to eat. The fact that I have to fight like hell in order to get these very, very basic things is exhausting and it makes me want to give up on life. But I can't even do that, because trying to kill myself has mostly resulted in more chronic health issues. And I can't handle any more chronic health issues without shattering the rest of my sanity.

I'm tired of obstacles making me want to die. I'm tired of obstacles. I'm tired of having a brain and body that barely function, only to have to somehow force my brain and body to function if I want to have anything in life.

I don't know if anyone in this void I'm shouting into would have constructive feedback, or how I would feel about it when all I want to do is lie down and give up.

I'm waiting on emails tomorrow to see what's going on, and I'm going to continue to try to talk with the woman at HUD to see if there's anything I can do here.

I may be able to try to apply for adult disabled child benefits when my step dad applies for benefits come July. I may be able to get an increase allotment because I need a ground floor unit and I couldn't find any in my town.

Do I have hope? Not currently. Do I want to try to force myself to have hope? Not especially.

I know I want to be done. I know I want to lie down and not worry about anything. There's a voice whispering in the back of my head that if I died, my partner would have a bunch of their debt forgiven. I would want them to have my car, but honestly I don't know what happens to a car you're making payments on when you die. Does the bank get it?

I know they'd rather have me. I'm just so tired. And I'm exhausted. and I'm tired of having to deal with all of the hoops, and the SI on top of the hoops.

I'm sleep deprived and rambling now, so I'll try to call it there. This is just depressing and demoralizing.

#suicidal ideation #section 8 #idaho #low income woes #disability

[inherstars]

Easy Company

Oh hey, it's my Gears of War squad.

I decided to recycle Daisy into this universe. I'll repurpose Candle somewhere else, I've always liked the idea of a kindergarten teacher who became a soldier.

Sergeant Cole Valorant

“Val” to his squad, although he’ll permit “Sergeant” when higher-ups are in evidence, or if the soldier in question has been recently dressed down for being an idiot.

Just a big fucking dude.  I kinda picture him like Alan Ritchson, so sand-brown hair and blue eyes, he can be both intimidating and personable.  Has a fairly dry manner overall, but there’s no one else you’d want in your corner more.  Soft-spoken, staid, prefers not to raise his voice unless he has to, and you definitely do not want to be around when he does.  He likes to command with a light touch, and to trust his soldiers to know when to cut the bullshit and when bullshit is an entirely appropriate response.

After his entire squad is wiped out in a Locust attack, he’s given the task of hand-selecting  a new one.

Corporal Christian Vriess

“Christie” to the squad.  Just a very well-rounded Gear.  Excellent tactician and statistician, and a superb short-range fighter.

Not surprisingly, also a big dude, but Valorant still has a full head on him. Black hair -- true black -- flecked with silver, though he’s barely old enough to have any.  Unnervingly, strikingly gold eyes.  He heard a lot about his eyes as a boy, to the point where he became uncomfortably self-conscious about them.  As an adult he has a scar that runs from temple to mid-cheek, and while it didn’t affect his vision it seems to have stopped all the comments about his eyes.  He considers that a win.

Seems completely and utterly humorless, although occasionally Sorrow will get a small smile out of him if they’re alone, or he’s really relaxed, or drunk, or possibly all three.  At all other times his face is fixed in a perpetually vague glower that  rarely wavers.

Christie has known Valorant for years, having worked with him when he was still green, and he was the first person invited to join the squad.  Christie said he wouldn’t join without Sorrow, and Valorant agreed, asking if he knew anyone else.  He then recommended Eames as a good candidate, but warned that he could be a bit much, and would be a hard fit into any squad.  Valorant took his recommendation and tagged Eames in as the third member.

Specialist Sorrow Hulme

Just “Sorrow” to everyone.  Long, dark hair, brown eyes.

Sorrow was the third-born daughter of a civilian couple, and the only one who didn’t die in infancy.  The naming convention, in birth order, was Joy, then Hope, then Sorrow.  Apparently they didn’t expect her to live either.

She’s of somewhat small stature even for a female Gear, and is thus outfitted with slightly more lightweight armor and a custom Lancer.  In all other respects she’s a standard soldier, and good with electronics and communications.  She and Christie have been professional “partners” since they went through boot together, and she is madly, desperately, secretly in love with him.  Well, probably not so secretly; she is convinced that everyone knows except Christie.  Everyone else is also convinced that Christie has no idea, if he is even capable of loving anything, or feeling any particular human emotions.

In truth, he is just as deeply in love with her, and ensuring that she survives the war, even if at the risk of losing his own life, has been one of his greatest motivators since he initially developed feelings.  He seems mostly immune to Eames assholery, probably because they have an unspoken understanding that if Eames hassles Sorrow he will rip him apart at a cellular level.

Sorrow is a romantic at heart, but also pretty resigned to the fact that she is in love with an emotional brick.  A girl can dream, though.

Corporal Isaac Eames

Just “Eames”, “asshole,” “fuckface,” “cunt for brains”, depending upon who he’s pissed off.  He is the one whose physical appearance I can’t seem to pin down in terms of hair and eyes.  He’s smaller than Valorant, but about even with Christie, although he holds himself up taller just to get an extra half-inch.

Just an asshole. Not a likable person at all.  Dry, acerbic, barely tolerant of other human beings.  He’s a Locust-fighting machine who seems unhappy to be alive and takes it out anyone unfortunate to get in his way.  With all that said, once you’re “in” with Eames he is a loyal companion, and tirelessly protective of anyone he perceives as smaller or weaker than himself.  If asked, he will claim to hate everything, but he seems to have an endless amount of stoic patience for children, and a fondness for cats.  Everyone else can go to hell, and he will detail the exact ways they should get there.

A well-rounded soldier, overall, but he has a particular skill with the long-range rifle, or any weapons designed for accuracy from a great distance.  Incredible visual acuity.

Easy Company is his fourth squad, having been kicked out of every one previous.  They all say the same thing: he’s an amazing soldier, but fucking insufferable to be around for any length of time.

Although Eames’ service record is -- apart from his behavior -- spotless, there’s little information available about where he came from or his upbringing. Valorant suspects he was probably abused as a child, and everything else is just a defense mechanism.  The one time a COG Psychologist attempted to dissect his behavior, he made the man break down crying.

Private Daisy Lambert (Medic)

“Daisy” to Valorant and Sorrow, “Lambert” to Christie and Eames.

Short, petite.  She literally cannot even lift a Lancer except possibly to hold it with both arms against her chest.  She relies mostly on a Snub Pistol.  Brown eyes, blond, she is as cheerful and positive as her name would suggest.

Daisy is the last person in the world who should ever be a Gear.  She didn’t even want to be a Gear, but agreed to join the Medical Corps in order to get permission from the Coalition to start a beekeeping operation in Jacinto.  When she’s not fighting or working in a field infirmary, she’s tending bees.  

Daisy’s family farm survived the Hammer of Dawn attacks when the beams criss-crossed in such a way that spared the house.  Her elderly parents died in the weeks following the attack, and Daisy made her way to Jacinto.

She was too small to be considered a candidate for the reproduction initiative.  The Coalition agreed to let her start an apiary if she served a 3-year tour as a Gear.  She joined the Medical Corps, became a medic, and then did her tour.  She enjoyed the work so much that she decided to stay on, even after she was offered an honorable discharge.

Daisy’s first squad was lost when they encountered a Berserker.  In the ensuing battle she was pinned in place by a partially collapsed wall, and couldn’t free herself for fear of drawing the creature’s attention.  One of her squad mates deserted, and the other two were subsequently ripped apart, all of which she heard while she was trapped. She wasn’t discovered until almost 48 hours later, in fairly rough physical and psychological shape.

When she was released from the infirmary, she was approached by Valorant, and convinced to join the newly-formed Easy Company as its final member.

Daisy has a good rapport with most of Easy Company.  She and Valorant have a deep, unrequited fondness for one another, complicated by the disparity in their rank.  For now they remain close but professional.  Sorrow and Daisy have a sisterly closeness, while Christie is as companionable with her as he is… well, anyone.

Eames unfortunately seized upon Daisy as a living “weak link” the instant he met her, and the squad’s inaugural mission was nearly derailed as a result.  Despite multiple warnings from Valorant, Eames continued needling her mercilessly, eventually making a comment related to the death of her prior squadmates that was…  beyond the pale.

Upon seeing Daisy’s reaction, Eames realized immediately he’d gone a step too far.  Valorant sent the medic for a walk, and promptly decked his sergeant.  Although Eames wasn’t unaccustomed to getting punched in the face, this time he seemed to understand he’d gone too far.

On a subsequent mission, Eames and Daisy were cut off from the rest of the squad during a bridge collapse, and forced to find a way back.  While passing through an abandoned apartment block, they discovered another Berserker being kept in the ruins.  They didn’t have the weapons to fight it, but through some quick thinking Daisy drew the creature away from Eames while he was in a vulnerable spot, manipulating it to launch itself into a sinkhole.  They were eventually reunited with the remainder of the squad.

No one else is aware of what happened while they were “missing”, following the bridge collapse, only that Eames’ behavior towards Daisy changed dramatically afterwards.  While it would be hard to call him nice to her, at least not in public, he is dry and sarcastic versus outright mean.  Further, Daisy takes it all in stride.

In private, however, Eames is far more subdued with Daisy, and -- even at worst -- gently teasing.  He is an absolute sucker for any sort of kind or gentle attention or affection that she gives him, the equivalent to an irascible lion rolling over for a belly rub the instant someone scratches its ears.  Eames is vigilantly and fiercely protective of her, even when he’s being a jerk.

Daisy can’t quite explain why he is the way he is, so she doesn’t try.  She suspects that she’s one of the few, if not the only person who’s shown him any genuine kindness or softness.  She sometimes suspects that he might have a crush on her, but he is always unfailingly chaste in all his interactions with her, with no romantic overtones whatsoever.  She doesn’t return any romantic feelings he might have, but it’s nice to be unselfconsciously soft with him.

Eames is also actively teaching her how to use the long-range rifle, which is perhaps the most dangerously intimate time they spend together.

#character profiles #gears of war

[hellchilde]

so story about this cat

in order to have an animal living in my apartment, they have to be some kind of service animal. bare minimum is to be an emotional support animal. so i'm like, okay, i'm seeing a therapist for my anxiety (and other brain baggage), i can have her write this letter, boom i can get a cat

i procrastinated for a while. it never felt like the right time, i wanted to get myself all set up and prepared and ready to care for an animal in my apartment. then i decided it would be my christmas gift to myself to bring home a cat - not on a particular timeline, but that i would start looking.

i went to the local cat shelter. i knew i wanted an adult, not a kitten. i knew i needed a cat who could handle being alone while i'm at work, and not a super energetic animal who would require a lot of attention. my first visit to the shelter, it was incredibly busy, and i felt overwhelmed and overstimulated and had to leave pretty quickly before connecting with any of the cats.

i went back a week or two later. i was alone in the shelter except for the employees and a parent and young child who were looking at kittens. immediately i gravitated to a cat named Yin, who had a plaque on her cage identifying her as flawed, neurologically damaged. she was sleepy and remained essentially glued to her little bed. she had no interest in being out of her cage, and one of the employees said that she had never even seen Yin jump up to the little hammock in her cage. she had been there for two months.

despite the fact that she barely opened her eyes, i felt a connection. she was sleepy and lazy, but she pushed her head into my petting. i was in love. i agreed to bring her home. i signed her papers, went to get all of the cat supplies, decided on her new name (Nebula), and came to collect her. she cried the whole way home, and when i let her out, she immediately hid at the back of my closet or under my bed. for a couple of days i tried to tempt her out with food and treats, but i barely saw her.

then she started sleeping in a container of off-season clothes, close enough to be close to me while i slept. she jumped up on my bed, when stories from the shelter had convinced me that she was too flawed to jump that tall. she started jumping up on my couch to sit in my lap, barely giving me enough time to sit down in her enthusiasm to sit with me. she started jumping up on my bed while i was asleep, curling either against the backs of my thighs or tucked against my stomach.

i had been having issues sleeping due to some extreme anxiety around the possibility of mice in my apartment or the crawlspace above. Nebula is not a mouser as far as i know, but having her sleeping against me is so reassuring. the way i described it to my therapist was that it's as if she's protecting me, and i'm protecting her, and that makes the anxiety so much more manageable. i also love her with an intensity that is kind of startling, considering how short of a time i've known her.

despite the letter that my therapist wrote, i didn't fully anticipate how it would feel to have this emotional support from this cat who nobody else wanted. she shows her care for me with her entire body tucked against mine. she trusts me to take care of her. and now i'm striving every day to take the best care of her that i can, and i think that's making me a better person.

#personal #emotional support animal #ESA #cats #this post got longer than i anticipated it would

[brownelorentzen37]

Minecraft is a Way to Provide an Education for Students

Recently, we discussed the Oregon Trail of our youth and the benefits of gaming, however, Minecraft is going much farther by bringing games to the classroom. Minecraft is a huge hit for children across the world. The game that started as a small two-person business in a small French town has blown up and consumed millions of tiny brains with more than 200 million copies sold. The almost prehistoric boxy and blurry graphics make Minecraft apart from any other blockbuster game. The game is about mining and crafting. First, you search for resources, then use them in order to construct other things. The first task is to build a shelter to secure yourself during night time, which occurs every four hours. If you fail then zombies, spiders, and skeletons will eat your brains. Your character will be killed. Parents, don't be worried there's no blood or gore in Minecraft monster-fighting. Although the description above sounds very educational, researchers have discovered that Minecraft can teach children how to respond to real-life situations. It's an "open-ended game sandbox" which means that there are no instructions, and it can be difficult initially. Kids and adults alike are required to investigate and try to determine what is going on in the game. There are sites like Minecraft Wiki designed to help curious little minds navigate the game. For instance, I spotted my seven-year-old daughter watching videos on YouTube that she had sought for Minecraft assistance. Children can also get assistance from their friends who are also Minecraft players who are aiming to achieve the same goals to learn tricks and tips. Minecraft resources are extremely useful in game. Other players can attack a player, end their lives (remember there isn't blood) and steal all their possessions. To avoid conflict, players must be aware of how to safeguard their possessions from other players. When players work together there is always the risk that one of the builders will get angry and destroy the hours of hard work. In other words, it is an animal-friendly world within Minecraft. Although it may sound cruel, children are still attracted by the game and will spend hours building their own town, historical monument, or anything else they can imagine. In Minecraft there are no limits and there is no limit to the creativity you can build. It is easy to see how Minecraft can be used to solve real-life problems. https://minecraft-server-hosting.net/ This can be accomplished by collaboration, social skills, and security awareness. This is the reason why many educators have opted to use Minecraft to use as a tool in their classrooms. Minecraftedu.com was created specifically for teachers and children working in a classroom. Through the provision of thousands of licenses to teachers Minecraft has enabled children to learn important life lessons in a stimulating environment (what child doesn't like to play games?) The foundation features lessons plans that are updated by educators every day to function as a collective group or community.

As the video clip shows that digital citizenship is becoming increasingly crucial as technology grows more dependent on it. Children are required to be aware of the importance of online safety, ethics, bullying and etiquette at an increasingly young age. Minecraft creates a platform that is fun for children and encourages them to take on digital citizenship concepts in a controlled environment.

We are a significant supporter for STEAM education (science technology engineering, arts, and math). We encourage our youth to explore technology as early as they can and see where their imagination takes them. Read more about our STEAM initiatives here. We take an elementary school and a plethora of awesome gadgets like the Raspberry Pi to see what we can learn together.

#Minecraft Server Hosting #MINECRAFT #SERVER #Hosting