tv taught me how to feel

🐺 DJ // They/Them // 26 🐺

[klausie]

<panini>

‌<sourdough>

‌<sauce style=" type:mayo flavor:cranberry"></sauce>

‌<cheese style="type:swiss"></cheese>

‌<meat style="animal:pig, cut:bacon"></meat>

<deli style="animal:turkey, cut:slice"></deli>

‌</sourdough>

</panini>

[wizardshark]

Missing comma in the sauce style bro our panini has a syntax error

[martindykewood]

theres some stuff im rather abnormal about

[nonlynear]

[suddenly disillusioned] my illusions..

[burdenofsin]

"project your pain onto your favs"ok

[real-horse-facts]

just saw a horse scurry under the fridge

[dreamcallers]

a dream of winter's fury // book one // a hunt of stags

Averil II

summary: averil is chronically ill and jaime is very unhelpful about it

warnings: blood, descriptions of infection

word count: 1017

ao3 link

He was bleeding again. Another damned wound under his arm. Whatever blasted disease had begun cursing him at thirteen had not ceased no matter how many tonics he took. And it always came at the worst times, it seemed, whenever he had to pretend he was not in constant pain. At least he had his milk of the poppy. Sometimes he wished he could take enough of the stuff that he’d lose his mind entirely. Better to be mindless and painless than the alternative. 

In his tent, he wrapped bandages around himself, watching them soak up with blood and purulence. His nurse rushed in and out, fetching his medicine from one of the supply carriages. Silently, the nursemaid crafted a pot of tea that Averil could savor. He wished it could be paired with pastries and other sweets. That would certainly make him feel more at ease. 

The life of a knight means a life without indulgences, Averil thought, before he snorted at the very notion. How many knights had sired bastards, he wondered? The man that trained him had three, after all. Averil’s stomach twisted at the thought of his siblings. And the man who fathered them. In his dreams, he could see Jaime’s golden hair falling in his bliss-stained face. 

Averil grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut as his memories began to transition to Jaime’s bedfellow. There was once a time that he thought his mother could do no wrong. The perfect, blonde-haired lioness with fields of blazing Wildfire in her eyes. Oh how things have changed. Averil wished he had different blessings from his Targaryen ancestors; perhaps he could have saved his relationship with his family. And saved his title of Prince of the Seven Kingdoms.

“Here you are, Ser,” the nursemaid said, handing over a cup of medicated tea. She was a pretty woman, with round cheeks like apples and soft, golden-brown eyes. She had her hair up in a cap, but sometimes an auburn curl would fall from the back. She was kind, and treated Averil with great respect.

A rarity, Averil thought, sipping the hot, herbal concoction. She always made it with sugar, just how he liked it. It was kind of her to make treatment more palatable for him. Another rarity, he surmised. A gem in the tangled web of King’s Landing, and, then, the Kingsroad. 

Am I not still a spider amongst those threads? He pondered, thinking of his father’s master of whisperers. Varys is the real spider. I am just a stag surrounded by hungry lions.

Like it was on queue, a shadow appeared in front of Averil’s tent. His nurse helped him put his shirt back on, before greeting the guest with a curtsy. Averil looked up, his raven waves falling loosely into his eyes. He winced as he adjusted the fabric around his body, the sleeves rubbing against the bandages and therefore the wounds. Just because he was used to it didn’t make it any more pleasant.

“Your condition never gets in the way of things,” Jaime said, almost in a way that sounded like a compliment. He had his golden armor on, and his hand rested on the hilt of his sword. “It’s a wonder.”

“Spare me,” Averil said, leaning back on his cot. “I don’t need your encouragement or lack thereof.”

“You’re in a particularly foul mood it seems,” Jaime teased, crossing his arms. His white cloak billowed slightly, the evening wind from outside carrying into the tent. 

“When am I not?” Averil groaned, kicking his black boots off of his feet and sending them to the ground. 

“Whenever you’re on duty. You’re always too focused to be in any particular mood. And when you’re alone with your nose in your books.”

“How would you know what I was like when I was alone?” Averil asked, bristling, his brow furrowing.

“I know everything about my former squire,” Jaime said. 

He’s just taunting you, Averil told himself. He’s looking to get a reaction out of you. It took him a long time to realize that was something his uncle liked doing. It took him less time to realize that people in general liked doing it to him. Perhaps it was some sort of game to everyone, to see just how far Averil would go without falling apart. No one had seemed to find his limit yet— at least not in many years. He wasn’t looking forward to the day that someone finally could break through his barriers.

“What do you want from me? It’s almost bedtime. And I’m on reprieve anyway,” Averil questioned, crossing his legs at his ankles and settling into his cot. It was certainly less comfortable than his bed. He could only hope they’d choose to stay at an inn at some point and not just camp. 

“You were dismissed rather unceremoniously,” Jaime said. That smile never left his face. It was irritating. “I came to make sure no one had your head.”

Averil blinked. “Is that supposed to be a joke at my expense?”

Jaime scoffed. “You’re not as fun to tease as you used to be.”

“I’m not a boy anymore, you mean. Not innocent and gullible.”

His uncle shifted his weight. “You’re still a boy, Averil. Compared to all the men around you.”

“I’m seventeen. I’m of age. I’ll be eighteen on the eleventh moon.” 

“And it is the third moon. And just because you’re ‘of age’ doesn’t make you a man.” 

Averil huffed. “And what exactly makes one a man? Bedding a woman? Killing a man? Some divine wisdom?”

“You’ll know when you get to that point,” Jaime said, turning on his heels towards the tent. “Do get some rest, will you? You’re a growing, healing boy.”

Averil would have thrown something if he had the strength in his arms. He would have to settle for a glare, and for falling into his cot. Perhaps the path to becoming a man meant getting some good rest. Gods knew he had never gotten the chance before. He just had to pray that his night was dreamless. And bereft of pain.

[fallout-lou-begas]

i want a Superman story about Superman realizing she's a trans woman. how would she tell people? who would she tell? how could she tell them? through what possible ways would she transition? Kryptonian biology may not necessarily be compatible with human hormone replacement therapy and needles are certainly out of the question. if she figures it out, at what point does her presentation change? superman can't take a break, people need her, even if her haircut is getting awkwardly long and her body is uncomfortable to be in. everyone on earth knows who Superman is, knows her face. is her secret identity threatened if Clark Kent mysteriously starts to transition at the same time as Superman? if she only lets one be publicly out, which one? and what would it feel like to put on that costume -- in either case -- if so? if someone tries to attack her on the street, as Ms. Kent, how does she hide her secret identity? how would the world itself react to someone with the strength to juggle planets being a tranny? with her super-hearing there's nothing she wouldn't know about what people are saying, nevermind what's being written in the press. how does SuperMAN, one of the most definitive icons of masculine indomitability and resilience, cope with changing? would her strength, her confidence, her ability to do anything suddenly be used against her? why can't she be more like wonder woman? why is voice training so hard even for someone with super-ventriloquism? does anyone know what it's like to be able to run faster than a speeding bullet and leap tall buildings in a single bound but to not be able to find a cute pair of shoes that fits? to be indestructible but afraid to use a public bathroom? would even the most powerful person on earth not feel just as helpless as i do?

[fallout-lou-begas]

i want to stress that it is crucial, like genuinely imperative, for this story in my mind that magical super special magic sci-fi kryptonian HRT that instantly rewrites Kent's DNA does not exist. it is not on the table. the entire thing is that Kent would have to transition slowly and awkwardly just like everybody else while also bearing the nonstop pressures and responsibilities of being "The Man of Steel" to literally every single human being on the planet. she doesn't have time to agonize over whether her shave was close enough before leaving the house if a plane is about to fall out of the sky

[fallout-lou-begas]

again i think some people are fundamentally missing a key point. this would be a story about how violent of an idea it is that a woman cannot be "Superman" and "Superman" cannot be a woman, and the myriad social forces that actively and passively enforce this ideology on everyone, including the very real and very strugglingly transgender Kent. it's about the vulnerability and frustration of it all, it's about secret identities and shame and choice and the unfair burden of tact, and all the superheroics stuff would just kind of a framing device. i swear to god give me a two week vacation from work and i'd have a script written

[pronouncingitwang]

at some point in your life you will be boiling fruit, water, sugar, and lemon juice in a pot to make a syrup or jam. the instructions will tell you to simmer for a certain amt of time. your timer will go off and you will look at the pot and go, "hm, this doesn't look thick enough. maybe i'll let it go for another 10 minutes." this is the devil speaking. it's only so liquid right now because it is at boiling point. it will thicken when it cools down. learn from the follies of my youth and do not let this happen to you

[yokowan]

at some point in your life you will be making a sauce or a stew in which you need to add cornstarch to thicken it. and you will prepare a slurry of starch in cold water and think "this looks like way too little starch to thicken this amount of liquid." this is the devil speaking. cornstarch instantly polymerizes at 95°C and if you add too much it will turn into an impossibly thick goop.

[le-jardin-inculte]

at some point in your life you will be making some sort of cream based dessert that requires gelatin to thicken it. and you will soak some gelatin sheets in water and think "this is too few gelatin sheets for this amount of cream." this is the devil speaking. it will thicken in the fridge and if you add too much you will end up with milk jelly

[shithowdy]

at some point in your life you will be baking cookies. you will take the sheet out after twelve minutes as the recipe instructs and the cookies will still be glistening and soft. "these don't seem cooked enough," you will think to yourself, "i should place them back into the oven until their edges are nice and golden." this is the devil talking. this is how you get dry, overdone cookies. the cookies will continue to bake on the warm sheet for several more minutes and then harden up after sitting on a rack for a while. trust the process. trust the process.

[whitachi]

at some point in your life you will be adding a small pasta to a soup and you will think "that is not enough small pasta." this is the devil talking. the pasta will absorb the stock and expand. this is how you end up with a soup that is a solid mass of soggy ditalini.

[araceil]

At some point in your life you will be adding garlic to a dish and you will think "that is not enough garlic." These are angels speaking. They are correct. Add more garlic.

[spin-the-wheel-polls]

you are now a cat in the warrior cats universe! Spin these wheels for your name!

Do you like it?

YES!!!

yes

eh it's okay

no.

IM MOON MOON

results/other

Remaining time: 1 day 4 hours

note: I (the owner of this blog and maker of wheels) am not into warrior cats! I just thought this would be fun to make

(prefixes and suffixes from @yarrowleef)

[lemmmmmmmmmmonade]

HELP HELP HELP HELP HELP

[gawkinggeek]

the greatest line delivery of all time

[softheartedbrat]

[felisdown]

🥀 I will not bow ⛓️

[gondorrevealparty]

Polycules should be able to trade people like sports teams do

[gondorrevealparty]

Listen -- you're a good defender and your pussy is fantastic, but that's not what our team needs right now. We're trading you to Greater Boston in exchange for someone who has a car.

[ranni-thewitch]

thou hast tee'd thy last hee

[loreweaver-universe]

One of my favorite tidbits about Oblivion is that, when Bethesda brought Patrick Stewart in to play Uriel Septim, they gave him this big 90-page booklet detailing the character’s history and background and motivations, and they were really worried that they’d gone overboard and given him too much.  Meanwhile, Stewart was delighted–he’s said that it was the best character prep he’d ever been given, and he wished more people would do that.

[corsairesix]

It’s worth noting that this character dies in the tutorial

[crabussy]

when you get crazy enough about The Character you'd think the situations you imagine them in would get more elaborate and lore intensive. but no. imagining my wizard pacing around huffily being slightly peeved at a mild inconvenience. I don’t even know what the inconvenience IS. and it's giving me enough joy to power a city for a month

[crabussy]

you understand this post more than anyone else

[pseudosoviet-deactivated2025060]