If You Figure Out How To Do It Let Me Know.

If you figure out how to do it let me know.

me trying to explain to my therapist why i have indeed chosen to be obsessed with a neurotic sad hologram with daddy issues

The child came on stage and she was struggling to hold her fidgety son while she continued her performance. The wording on this post and its caption is very manipulative:

There was a time when appeals to emotional fallacies like “the beauty of motherhood” and guilt tripping worked on women to provide free labor, get no help or compensation, and take disrespect… that time is over:

I ... I don't know what this says about me honestly.

i am a firm believer that ocs are a reflection of the self in the way that every character you create has to hold some piece of you to really feel alive. sometimes this is why all your ocs have certain traits, sometimes this is why you can track your various issues and traumas all the way from middleschool to now based on what your ocs are like. this is a feature not a bug

The best silence.

Another amazing ficlet from my bestie hubs (hubby? Idk). ❤️

Smegtober- Day 14 (Nicknames)

“Why do you call me that?” Lister enquired, out of nowhere, propping his head on his hand, elbow resting on his pillow. 

“Call you what?” Rimmer responded from the bunk beneath him.

“You know what I mean. ‘Listy’”, he continued, realising the hologram might overthink, “Not that I mind. Just curious.” 

Rimmer was silent for a moment, wringing his hands, staring at the underside of Lister's bunk as though he would miraculously be able to see his face- read what he was thinking. Finally, he willed himself to respond, “I don't know... I can stop.” 

“No. It's fine,” the human persisted with damage control, “You don't need to stop.”

The second technician shook his head, shortly feeling ridiculous at the realisation his bunkmate couldn't even see him, “I don't even notice I'm doing it most of the time.” 

“Well, there you go, then. It's all fine.”

“But it isn't.”

Lister rolled his eyes, “How isn't it?”

“Well,” Rimmer paused for a moment, in thought, “for one, it's not even like we both do it. It's just me,” another pause, this time shorter, “ and I'm pretty sure it started maliciously.”

Lister chuckled, a cheeky grin bestowed upon his face, “Awwe, are you tellin’ me it's affectionate now?”

“Shut up,” the older man sulked.

“Don't be like that,” the third technician teased, “I think it's quite cute how you secretly adore me.”

Rimmer jumped up from his bunk to face Lister, cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. “I do not adore you!” He exclaimed defensively, his fists balled by his sides. Lister's smirk was unbearable. 

“Hey, don't be like that,” he said in his usual sickly sweet tone of mockery, “you don't need to tell me. It's been decades and we're still sharing a room.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” he folded his arms, a scowl on his lips that didn't quite convince Lister. 

“Listen, man, I'm just sayin’ I know you, and you know me,” Lister sat up, attempting to look Rimmer in the eyes, “and on a ship the size of a small city, after all this time, we still sleep in the same room.” 

Rimmer avoided his gaze, “that's irrelevant. It is JMC regulation that-”

“And who exactly is still around to hold you to that?” Lister cut him off, “Why does it bother you so much anyway?”

“It doesn't,” he hissed, “I just don't like what you're implying.”

Lister sighed heavily, a huff of annoyance, “and what exactly am I implying?”

He had no reply. Pushing himself off the bunk, the human groaned at the ache in his knees; he took the hologram's hand between his, rubbing small circles on the back of it. Rimmer, sight fixed on his encased hand, stood frozen in place, as though in a trance. 

“Look, Rimmer,” Lister began gently, “all I'm sayin is I care about you and, I think, underneath all this neurosis, you care about me too.”

Smiling weakly, Lister moved one of his hands from Rimmer's own to his cheek, standing on his toes and chastley connecting their lips. Rimmer blinked. His expression read as though he had short curicted, like he was learning how to breathe again; his face finally decided to congeal into a slack jawed impression of disbelief. Lister playfully stuck his tongue out, breath caught in his throat when his bunkmate gripped his lapels, pulling him back in.

If I could draw I'd draw my Persephone like this. Except not pink, obviously.

Note, this art does not belong to me, it belongs to Rachel Smythe, author and artist of the incredible Lore Olympus webcomic.