#and for another

[sugary-sheep]

just got called a "cis savior" in the notes of a post..... and like... well for one thing I don't think there is a genuine corollary phenomenon to "white savior" for trans people i think you made that one up.

[phi-guy]

Istg if I see another “Anakin kills those younglings” joke about that kid’s Star Wars show. It was funny the first couple of times but PLEASE move ON.

[sugarglazed]

kinda makes me giggle when people get so annoyed/upset abt others viewing or analyzing “straight” media through a queer lens. especially when cast or crew are on board w/ it LMAO

[the-gayest-tree-you-ever-did-see]

I don't know,

I scream,

but you scoff and tell me

I should,

and I cannot,

for the death of me,

understand how to tell you

that I cannot be aware

of the implications

of the implications

of my actions,

understand how to tell you

that I

am

sorry,

but that I do not know

.

why.

- an excerpt from arguments unfinished, by me

[kaylorrehabcenter]

Every time Taylor gets ~canceled~ on twitter I think of a comment someone left on a Tiktok about Marie Antoinette, saying Taylor is the modern day version of her.

Like. The levels of incorrect that is baffle me.

[ihaveonlymydreams]

In case you're struggling with your mental health and wondering why on earth you have traumas or hangups over what "shouldn't be a big deal,” I would like to share some of the things I (a mostly balanced person) struggled and am currently struggling with. Just to give some examples of how you don’t need to have faced some major issue, abuse, or trauma in order to be scarred. Even what seems like a healthy situation or a good reaction to pain can end up causing mental or emotional problems that need to be addressed and taken seriously! 

I grew up in a happy home with parents who legitimately love each other and never raise their voices or argue on any level more than bickering. As a result, I have a knee-jerk response of fear, defensiveness, and even anger when someone gets angry at me. I literally freeze up in the face of conflict and it's been very hard to learn how to move past that even a bit.

I haven't really had any toxic friendships or relationships, but one of my former friends stopped talking to me after I visited her with another friend. Why? Because her mom decided I was "acting like a lesbian" with said other friend and cut off all communication. As a result of which I, a person whose primary love language is physical touch, spent the next seven or eight years totally closed off physically. Plus I have this instinctive fear that my friends' parents will misjudge me and it takes quite some time to get over it with every new friend I make.

I realized today that I have this hangup about speaking Spanish to anyone but my mom? Precisely because in 6th grade or something I had no friends in my class and a girl wanted me to say something in Spanish, but I was really shy and so she told me "I'll be friends with you if you say this in Spanish." And on some level in my soul I just knew that was wrong and got even more stubborn about it. But I've never forgotten it and I only today realized that it's because I've never moved past the hurt of that moment.

I had really bad acne in high school, I've had issues with facial hair that just kept getting worse until very recently (yay lasers), and I had weight issues starting in college, and so I dealt with it by basically ignoring the fact that I have a physical frame. I didn't get body image issues the way other people do: I just got body blindness or something. Which makes it still hard to think of myself as attractive, or to work on being fit, or even just to have a basic awareness of my physicality. I have barely any fashion sense (just ask my friends - I borrow their fashion sense). Theater has really helped me get over that hurdle, but it's still an ongoing struggle to be present in my body and aware of it.

IN CONCLUSION: human souls are fragile and easily scarred and if something hurt you, then don't dismiss by saying it "shouldn't be a big deal." Don't use that language or that attitude even inside your own head or heart. Even people who grow up in the healthiest possible situations get scarred by what might seem the smallest things. And I think it's not until you recognize that, and give those moments their due consideration, that you can hope to move on from them.

[silverskye13]

Hey hey if you need it....AMMY ANGST. There's my prompt :D

“Heaven’s alive, that tent being empty is a plight on the nerves on a dark night.”

Amathea hated being alone. It was probably a side-effect of being raised with three siblings, all rough-housing since birth. The first time she’d felt lonely was when she’d gotten the letter about Irade falling in battle. She’d felt so lonely her bones had ached, hadn’t they? When she learned she’d lost Ghirdam the feeling had gotten worse. Not just her bones, now her organs. Not a creature of blood and flesh but something hollow. Not a sister, to be a sister she first had to have family. Not a daughter. To be a daughter she had to have parents.

Of course she’d always had Thetis, though the lass was ever moving with the King’s entourage and never had time to write. And Amathea tried to remember that. Remember that if nothing else she had Thetis. But it was hard to remember when she was alone in a tent, surrounded by haggard soldiers and rain and dust. It was hard to remember when there were miles between them.

When she’d lost her arm? Amathea had felt empty with loneliness. Her own foolhardiness had caused this, hadn’t it? Thought she could take on a mage, daft lass. Amathea the Brave her unit had laughed. Never Amathea the Wise. That was Thetis with her head for maps and planning and puzzling. Never Amathea the Mighty, that was Ghirdam with the strength to take the mage out with him. Never Amathea the Relentless, that was Irade and his blaze of glory of no man left behind and for heroic saving no matter the personal cost.

Amathea the Brave and the Foolhardy. Amathea the Brave and Never Knowing When to Quit. Amathea the Brave and Lucky she Only Lost her Arm and Not her Life.

Amathea the Lonely, so utterly abandoned she couldn’t even keep her unit. It made sense, she knew it made sense. How long would it be until she was back in fighting shape again? She’d lost so much blood, she’d lost half of her fighting power, she’d lost… she’d lost. It surely made sense she’d lose her unit to some commander more able. Her unit had bid her a fond farewell with wishes at her swift recovery. But they saw her hollowness. It was hard to hide being so empty.

It seemed only natural then that in her misery Amathea made her way to the closest water she could walk to - albeit with difficulty. She was… a bit off balance now… much to her chagrin. Walking was made that much more difficult. And she was left so weak from the recent wound that she couldn’t even form a flickering spear to lean on. She just staggered and insisted she didn’t need help and growled and snapped at anyone who told her to lay down. She didn’t want to lie down. She didn’t want to admit defeat over something so simple as finding water on her own. She was Amathea. She was Amathea.

She was… thinking that much less wholeheartedly than she probably should.

Amathea staggered and shuffled her way to a lake. Not that it was hard. They’d camped by it for a reason - every hospital outfit needed tons of water. Lots of things to wash lots of mouths that hungered and thirsted and couldn’t rightly travel to find this stuff themselves.

Amathea hated it. She hated looking at it. A lake, all flat and murky, reflecting the sunset like pale obsidian. Its banks all pebbles and mud, its water stinking of trees and muck. It hurt the eyes. It hurt the soul. She hated it. It was so finite and small. She could feel where it’s banks ended like she could feel the edges of her own teeth. She hated it.

“Beautiful isn’t it?”

Amathea’s earfrill twitched and she jolted a bit. Whatever monster was approaching her had been quiet enough she hadn’t heard. That was unnerving. 

He rounded to the side of her, obviously not paying attention to her face or he’d notice the scowl. A skeleton monster, all bandaged across his head. Amathea imagined he’d once had the bandage wrapping both his eyes, but he’d since teased the rough fabric away from one of them to let him see. The other was still hidden behind cloth dyed in splotches of bruised purple - bleeding magic.

“Peaceful,” he prompted again, obviously waiting on a response. Amathea narrowed her eyes at him, trying not to choke on the feeling of her soul curdling. She’d wanted to be alone, for once as alone in body as she felt on the inside.

“Its ugly,” she answered finally, spitting and easily missing the lapping water. Gods, everything about her was off wasn’t it?

“Ugly?” 

“Aye,” Amathea grumbled, “And small. It’s hardly a puddle isn’t it?”

The skeleton flashed her a side-long glance before sinking to the ground with a sigh. He seemed content to sit here and watch the sunset with her - annoying. His movements were all wincing and stiff, and he moved his head and shoulders sluggishly as if constantly afraid he’d hurt himself more.

“So why come out here and look at it if you hate it so much?” he asked, flashing her another side-long glance, “It’s a long walk for someone fresh off the operating table.”

Amathea snarled, “And what, you’re here to coddle me back then?”

He laughed, and then his whole body winced, “Ow. Uh… no. Not here to take you back to camp.”

He paused and then amended, “Not yet anyway.”

Amathea let out a huff.

A tense silence passed. Tense for Amathea anyway. She felt watched and she hated it. She hated everything.

She hated the lake. She hated this bone-headed follower of hers who’d stalked her out here. She hated herself.

“So we’re just out here to sulk then?”

Amathea scowled. There was another pause. She muttered, and tried to make it sound like she was talking to herself.

“Water’s the closest thing to a holy thing this world has left.”

“Holy?”

“It’s in everything. Tch, half the time it’s on everything. Travels everywhere. Doesn’t really begin and doesn’t really end, does it?”

The skeleton stole another of his side-ways glances.

“My family used to believe we’d always be connected through the water,” Amathea felt something tense in her chest and she didn’t like it, “You know, how it’s everywhere. ‘S bound to be some wherever my sister is. Maybe even some in the after you know, where the rest of them are.”

He nodded as if he actually understood, “It’s a wise thought.”

“Tch, its stupid,” Amathea crossed her a – … she… Amathea fumbled with her one arm and her side, pretending she could cross her arms and only really managing to hug herself pitifully, “Worship it all you want its still just a dumb thing. Couldn’t save a soul if it wanted to. Can’t fix anything. Can’t heal anything. Can’t let me see my sister, or my brothers. Can’t give me back anything I’ve lost. It just sits there and looks pretty. Years of watching the water, taming it, for what?.”

Just for it to sit there and look like burning oil on a setting sun. 

She was so angry she wanted to cry. She was so angry and she hated that this monster was here when she just wanted to be alone. 

She didn’t even know why she was angry.

“Well,” the skeleton breathed after a long moment, “It was raining two nights ago.”

He looked up at her, “Kinda funny that coincidence huh? You and your holy water ready when someone needs it the most.”

When she didn’t respond, a look of surprise lit up his face - as best it could under the bandage anyway, “Oh! You don’t remember, do you? Well-”

He made a stiff movement with his hand, “-of course you don’t. Your fever was so bad - I’m sorry.”

He smiled at Amathea, something so whole and genuine she wanted to punch it, “You saved me two nights ago. The camp was raided - obviously. You’ve seen the mess that’s still being repaired.”

His smile shrunk a little, giving way to a much more tolerable, dismal sort of stare, “I was uh… trying to protect my patients. Didn’t work. But… you woke up before they could kill me. If it weren’t for your help, a lot of lives would’ve been ended.”

Amathea looked away from him and back out to the water. She scowled hard at the slick and darkening surface.

“You’re a bit of a hero, you know?”

Gods, she hated the sound of his voice. So kind, so pitiful. Like he was trying to make her feel better and she hated it. She didn’t want this right now. She didn’t deserve this right now. She just wanted to sulk and be rightfully bitter.

“Have you ever had to deal with something like this before?” the skeleton asked hesitantly while ushering in her direction, and Amathea’s gut twisted angrily at the sound of his voice.

“I’d have a few more holes in me if I did, don’t you think?” Amathea snarled, then her voice dropped sharply lower as she muttered, “They took my unit. They took everything.”

She felt a weight settle on her shoulders, heavy and relentless.

“I’m useless.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Amathea saw the monster’s face twist and soften with pity and she hated it so much she wanted to puke.

“You’re not-”

“And how would you know, lad?!” Amathea shouted over him before he could finish, wheeling to tower over him, “You ever lose your arm before? Your entire command?! You ever made so weak you can barely stand? You ever been abandoned by everything?”

Her voice cracked on the last word and she hated it. She hated that her voice shook. She hated that she could hear the tenseness in the back of her throat with every bellowed word. She hated how much it stung her pride and her eyes and how much she wanted to break down bawling where she stood like some kind of brokenhearted child. With a bitter growl she kicked at the bank beneath her feet, meaning to send a spray of dirt into the water and only managing to nearly knock herself over. She seethed, and she tried not to cry.

After a lot of heavy, angry breathing Amathea managed to tame the writhing fit of emotions in her chest and keep herself from breaking down in front of this inconvenient monster who’d followed her out here, “Just leave me alone lad. I need some time to think.”

“I… yes… I’m sorry,” he stammered awkwardly, shifted to maybe scramble to his feet only to sink right back down into the sand again, “I’m… sorry. Sorry I uh…”

Oh gods above.

He laughed an incredulous, regretful sort of laugh, “I’m sorry I can’t stand.”

“You’re not serious.”

“It’s… a pretty new wound,” he said apologetically, “I just… it must’ve… taken a little more out of me than I thought to follow you out here. I’m… sorry.”

“Of all the cumberground dalcop pain in the ass -!”

Amathea took his hand to help him roughly to his feet– only to go completely off-balance herself as soon as she made to pull him up. Her feet slid on the mucky lake beach, and together they toppled to the ground. Amathea’s shoulder throbbed from the impact, and she felt a jolt of pain through her side that paled in comparison to the wound in her pride. She was so angry.

And while the monster burst out into a fit of nervous laughter, Amathea sobbed. Angry, hot and bitter tears. Curled on her side. She hated everything. She hated that the world was so different now. She hated that her body didn’t work the way she wanted it to. She hated him. Though… that last one passed quicker than the others.

It took Amathea ages to realize he’d been talking to her through her entire break down. Mostly apologizing like some idiot. But other things too. Asking if her shoulder was alright, if she was bleeding, if she could hear him, if she was okay. Of course she wasn’t okay. At that moment, she wondered if she would ever be okay. But at the very least, after all that mewling and sobbing and daft stupidity, she felt less angry. Bitter still. But it was hard to be lonely when some doting prat was hovering over you and making sure you weren’t dying on the ground after knocking yourself over.

Eventually Amathea calmed herself enough to answer and say she was alright. And with a lot of cursing on her end and a lot of wincing and fumbling from the skeleton, they managed to stand each other up. Leaning against each other awkwardly, they stumbled back towards the camp.

“Alright, daft lad,” Amathea grumbled as they walked, “They call you by anything?”

“Gaster,” he answered her with what she was sure was supposed to be a pleasant smile, but kind of just looked painful with the bandage, “Wing Ding Gaster.”

“That’s tragic.”

“Family name,” he chuckled, “How about you? They call you by anything, Commander?”

Ouch. That still stung. She tried not to show it.

“Amathea,” she answered, and then sighed and added quietly, “the Brave.”