I think some of y'all (people in uni) were never 15 and read, "we accept the love we think we deserve" and sobbed while reading perks of being a wallflower and it shows

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

self care is writing a fic that you’re literally the sole target audience for

100%

it gets better

I need Aziraphale learning very quickly that being kind and considerate gets him nowhere in Heaven, so he tucks away his goofy, big-hearted nature and just turns into a maliciously compliant Bitch™.

This is a man who canonically has "discouraged" multiple mobster groups threatening to burn his bookshop, who has successfully scared hundreds of customers away by being just unpleasant enough and who dropped down three octaves to correct Furfur when he messed up his name.

He swallows his pride, puts on a power suit and starts executing a Corporate Nightmare upon upper management in Heaven.

well, heaven knows

that without you is how i disappear

POV: You can't tell my type and it's definitely not tall dark and handsome men who are filthy rich with the sluttiest waists known to mankind ever

Omg they are 12 years old. Seeing it in live action really makes me realize how fucked up this is. These children are about to go through so much trauma. They are already my favourite people ever I am not prepared for this show

Book one of The Murderbot Diaries, All Systems Red, is a survival mystery as a small team of scientists are faced with an unknown threat while trapped on an isolated, hostile planet, with no hope but to trust their second hand, possibly murderous, robot security.

Artificial Condition, book two of The Murderbot Diaries, is about two robots in a trench coat pretending to be human for a job interview.

i see a lot of posts about letting your autistic partner ramble about something while you touch them/give them head/fuck them/whatever, and i approve of that, definitely. 10/10.

but i would like to propose: autistic dom who infodumps to you while they're making you feel good and makes you pay attention to what they're saying the whole time. they're touching you in all the right places, going at just the right rhythm with just the right amount of pressure and it's driving you fucking crazy, all while they're rambling casually about whatever their current interest is like nothing's even happening.

every time you say something small to acknowledge what they're saying, like "mhm", "right", "yeah," or something like that, their movements get a little more intense as a reward for paying attention. but if you get lost in the pleasure and forget to engage with what they're telling you for too long, they go "sorry, are you not listening anymore? alright, i guess I'll stop then." and you have to beg for it if you want them to keep going.

AAAAGGHGHDSHJHSDFHSJFHDHHJDSFHUJ

IT FINNALLY SNOWWWEDDDD!!!!

(some time later)

Percy, bring raised by Sally Jackson, knows what true unconditional love from a parent is, and what is gods are serving is not it

living weapon whumpees who, during the first few months of recovery with caretaker, are foreign to the concept of comfort‼️‼️‼️

have them flinching away from caretaker's soft touch because they believe they don't deserve it‼️‼️‼️

have a caretaker gently massage living weapon whumpee's shoulders, soothing words further adding to whumpee's overall confusion before they eventually lean into caretaker's warm touch‼️‼️‼️

have caretaker's soft words and hands holding whumpee's face snap them out of their conditioning after something / someone accidentally triggered them, startled at first before recognizing that, caretaker wasn't a threat, they were safe with them and that whumper wasn't here anymore ‼️‼️‼️

MY DEAR VICTOR

“My dear Victor,” cried he, “what, for God’s sake, is the matter? Do not laugh in that manner. How ill you are! What is the cause of all this?”

“Do not ask me,” cried I, putting my hands before my eyes, for I thought I saw the dreaded spectre glide into the room; “he can tell. Oh, save me! Save me!” I imagined that the monster seized me; I struggled furiously and fell down in a fit.

Poor Clerval! What must have been his feelings? A meeting, which he anticipated with such joy, so strangely turned to bitterness. But I was not the witness of his grief, for I was lifeless and did not recover my senses for a long, long time.

This was the commencement of a nervous fever which confined me for several months. During all that time Henry was my only nurse. I afterwards learned that, knowing my father’s advanced age and unfitness for so long a journey, and how wretched my sickness would make Elizabeth, he spared them this grief by concealing the extent of my disorder. He knew that I could not have a more kind and attentive nurse than himself; and, firm in the hope he felt of my recovery, he did not doubt that, instead of doing harm, he performed the kindest action that he could towards them.

Frankenstein; or, the Modern Prometheus, Mary Shelley (CHAPTER 5)

ah, to be cared for! the unconditional depth and gentleness of it. also have you guys ever listen to the ost for the korean frankenstein musical. sometimes I think about how musical!victor uses his henry's (dupre in the musical, not clerval, but henry all the same) head for his creation. that's also an unconditional something!!

ngl I considered attempting a full bernie wrightson homage for this, but then I thought about how I like having fun and that would totally ruin my hands for the week and settled for drawing a bunch of lines until I got tired of drawing lines lmao

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