Omg Im Going To Cry Because Of This. This Right Here. This Sentence Means So Much.

Omg I’m going to cry because of this. This right here. This sentence means so much.

"the trauma made you kind" fuck that. no. i am kind because i cannot allow anyone to go through what i did. i am soft because i chose to be.

Omg OMG omg this idea is so amazing and such an interesting way to look at things!!! I- *screams*

[ The Time Engraver AU Prologue : Time make no exemptions ]  

— They say that time waits for no one… but one time engraver begs to differ —

-Shen Wei x Zhao Yunlan -Canon Divergent (coz all #WeiLan AU is canon) -Slow & Sporadic Updates -Kinda short -Based from this beautiful ad of Zhu Yi Long

A/N: Hi guys! I’m finally posting this lol this AU is an attempt to try out various stuff. Storywise, I apologize if it’s boring. The Main Story will be divided into several parts. Then, there will be some Side Stories afterwards. Hope you guys enjoy this journey w/ me!

Wow, I’ve never actively noticed this pov. It scares me to read it, but it’s worth it to know. As a female writer, I’ve never written anything like this, but I realise as a reader I haven’t paid attention enough

Sometimes I’m reading a short story that features a cast of a dozen or more characters, in an open setting—they interact with society—and not one woman. Not even a passing mention of a woman existing somewhere. It always takes me out of the story as I reflect on how disorienting it feels. Short stories usually try give you a good sense of place, time and genre within a few pages, and in such a setting the conclusion I reach is “this story is sci-fi and takes place in an alternate male-only dimension.” It feels like reading an experimental work like Perec’s A Void, a story written without once using the letter e, to see if he could. By which I mean, to me it feels like some effort is being put into this; like the author is conducting a thought experiment—alright, let’s write this story in a world without women, what is it like? What are the repercussions? But there are no repercussions, the story continues in a seemingly normal, inexplicably functional society, which indicates that the author is not putting any thought into this, to him nothing is amiss.

I’m used to the average level of male solipsism that gives us countless books featuring ghostly female characters who exist only in relation to a man but have no name, no agency, no influence on the plot—but I’m so disturbed by fictional universes in which women are not present. In these stories men are born and raised and implied to have families, and still no women are mentioned. Does the reverse even exist? Female authors who set their story in a world without men do so deliberately, often as actual scifi. What disturbs me is how men, as they establish their story’s setting, will unthinkingly start writing a detailed, realistic world that’s expunged of all women. Then (maybe) remember to add (or mention) one or two women later, if their hero needs a girlfriend, prostitute, dead mother or some other appendage. I always wonder what these authors’ worldview must be like, what kind of mindset a man like this operates under as he goes through his life (occasionally interacting with women, maybe even cohabiting with some)—for him to set his story, without realising it, without putting any effort into it, in what to me amounts to a disquieting alien society, and to him is just the world as he experiences it.

Omg these words hit. Like. I’m gonna come back and reread this shit.

Artist, Jeff de Boer, Creates Cat And Mice Armor Based On Different Historical Eras

I’m absolutely in love with this idea✨

Mr Singh works at an office that is also the mind of a certain Alvin Weber. It needs to be understood here that the office itself is the mind of Alvin, and not a representation or epithet for it. Alvin Weber’s mind really does exist in a 55-year-old office building in South Mumbai.

Mr Singh mostly works at night, as Alvin is awake at that time for him. Alvin is not aware that his mind exists as an office on the other side of the world, but who can blame him? Even you don’t know something like that.

So without ever having met Alvin, Mr Singh stamps papers, taps on a keyboard, prints documents, and fills in forms with block letters, all of which is what Alvin thinks and doesn’t think.

Sometimes, Mr Singh takes the time to call his family. His wife lives in the suburbs, and she is employed as a receptionist at a bank. They talk about their relatives, and the neighbours, and sometimes even politics. Mr Singh spends little time reading the news, so it’s up to Mrs Singh to update him on what new scam or scandal has broken out in the country, what politician has switched parties, and how many soldiers have died on the front lines.

Mr Singh, for his part, keeps her updated on what’s going on in the USA. He isn’t allowed to tell anyone about what Alvin does or thinks, but he lets a few details slip nonetheless.

“They have their elections coming up soon,” he says on the phone, his bare feet resting on his desk. “It’s looking like a mess.”

Mrs Singh is well-informed, and she rattles off the names of candidates and political points. Mr Singh listens with arched eyebrows.

“I wasn’t aware of all that,” he says at last. “Alvin doesn’t care much for politics, you see.”

Then, Alvin wakes up in the night. He needs to take a piss, and Mr Singh hurriedly hangs up the call. He begins processing the thoughts that Alvin needs to think. Some of them come on the small, flat LCD screen that Mr Singh has in his office: it tells him that Alvin dreamt of a caveman chasing him with a cudgel.

Mr Singh walks up to an olive-green metal shelf and pulls out a file. Opening the file on the desk, he thumbs down the papers until he finds some words of reassurance stashed away in a paragraph.

With careful, error-less typing, Mr Singh types these words into his computer. He repeatedly looks up at the screen to check if he’s got the spellings right. By the time Alvin is in the bathroom, the reassurances are done, and Mr Singh prints them out, then files them away in another, green-patterned folder.

After a stamp and date, Mr Singh puts away the folder and decides that he won’t have to do any more work for a few hours still. He signs away a document marking that Alvin is okay to sleep now, and he photocopies it for the archives.

Then, he picks up the phone again and calls his wife, because he wants to tell her about how in American schools, you don’t have to wear uniforms.