#Which make the redacted thing make my brain start yelling because is this from the trauma i know about some new worse trauma or is this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tommybaholland · 3 years

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bnha boys as viral tiktok sounds + their reaction

featuring: bakugo, kirishima, kaminari, amajiki and dabi

bakugo swearing, mentions of titties, dabi gets suggestive. you know, the usual. enjoy!

bakugo

physical embodiment of ‘how big are those titties bitch?! hurry up, i’m getting weird stares!’

you have him listen to the sound and you’re like ‘this u?’

“WHAT?? i sound nothing like THAT, you IDIOT”

“and DONT ask me to make one of those stupid videos”

and of course you ask him and at first he’s pretty resistant to the idea

but he could never resist for long

“OKAY FINE, IDIOT. just tell me what to do.”

you tell him what he should do and start the video

you make him hold up a tape measure and everything like you had seen in other videos

he seems to get into it and playfully shakes you by the shoulders while yelling the last line, making you laugh

“there. now stop bothering me and you better NOT post that anywhere.”

“thank you, katsuki,” pressing a kiss to his cheek, making him go red

“yeah, whatever.”

you’re already thinking about how you can convince him to let you post it >:))

he finally lets you post it but only lets you keep public for one (1) day

but thats long enough to get everyone’s attention

kirishima actually notifies him of the popularity and even turns baku’s attention to the comments

“dude, everyone thinks you’re so cool! and even some people are...well..”

amongst the simp comments, he becomes livid over the one that are like, “so...how big are their titties??👀”

and it doesn’t bother you because people will just say whatever they want on the internet

but he feels like he at least needs to reaffirm something

“i dont care how big your... titties are. they’re big enough and i love you just the way you are.”

then he grabs you and pulls you closer to him and starts attacking your neck with kisses

“now put that shit on private or i will reign hellFIRE on all those IDIOTS”

kirishima

definitely that one that goes ‘*sigh* i love you *kiss kiss kiss kiss* you set my soul on fire’

he’s familiar and comfortable with tiktok so you decide to surprise him with the sound that makes you think of him

“what do you want me to do, pebble?” he asks curiously, holding you in his lap as you set up your phone

“nothing. just be your cute and manly self. ready?”

you start the video and look him right in the eyes as you sigh and say, “i love you” before leaning in to make him think your lips are gonna touch his

but then you quickly change direction and press multiple kisses to his cheek on the kissing part, making him giggle loudly and hug you close to him

you look back into his bright eyes while speaking the last line and he sees an opportunity to caress your cheeks to pull you in for a passionate kiss at the last second

and the camera catches ALL of it

he thinks it’s super cute and encourages you post it

you’re not one to flaunt your relationship on social media but you do it thinking it’s not going to get much attention anyway

but it blows tF UP

it gets to almost 1M views and 400k likes in just two days

even though you made the tiktok, all the comments are about your boyfriends cute ass reaction like “oh to be them 😔” “the WAY that he looked at them and kissed them like😭” “if my boyfriend doesn’t do this then i don’t want him”

you show him how much attention he’s getting like, “wow kiri, they love you!”

and he gets all modest like, “i think they love you too because you’re my cute little pebble! now give your boulder a kiss..”

is totally down to make more tiktoks with you anytime <3

kaminari

this is not denki slander but

‘you don’t have a thought behind those eyes, do you? sweet boy’

he’s actually the one that brings it up and shows you immediately when he hears the sound

he’ll be like, “is this what you think of me?”

and he’s joking but you know he can be self-deprecating sometimes

“of course not, babe...well, sometimes. only when you’ve short circuited.”

he appreciates your honesty but still looks kinda sad about it

you get closer, and caress the sides of his head to make him look at you

“you are a sweet boy, though. you’re my sweet boy.” and then you make him giggle by giving him eskimo kisses

he wants you to film a video with the sound while his brain is fried

at first you’re like, “are you sure?”

and he says he wants to keep it to remind him how great you are when you’re not around

he’s too cute so you agree

he makes himself short circuit pretty easily and without using his quirk by reading one of momo’s books with a lot of large, confusing words in it

you start the video and look him in the eyes to say the first part while holding his face

on the ‘sweet boy’ part you pull him to rest his head on your shoulder while your stroke his hair carefully

after you stop the video and he calms down he watches it and thinks it’s cute that you continue to hold him even though he emits small waves of electricity that can shock you

“you’re the best s/o, you know that? i love you so much, my wonderful buzzy babe.” and he hugs you real tight

you offer to let him post it if he wants

“no way, this is too special to share with anyone else.”

he is such a sweet boy >.<

amajiki

thought about this one long and hard bc there’s honestly nothing cuter than this shy boi

but ultimately

‘you’re my honey bunch sugar plum pumpy-umpy-umpkin you’re my sweetie pie’

he doesn’t understand why you associate him with it when you show him

“because you’re so cute and precious, especially when you get all nervous and shy”

he disagrees, “no, bunny, i think you’re the cute and precious one here.”

easily starts a ‘no you’re cuter’ war between you two

but then he suddenly gets really nervous

“you’re, you’re uh, not gonna post a video about me, are you?”

you’re like, ‘of course not’ but that doesn’t stop you from singing the song to him everytime hes being a cutie

which is like, everyday

and he thinks it’s equally embarrassing

“bunny, please. i, i know you love that song, but i want to be cool.”

he just doesn’t get it

“but you’re both cool and cute, tamaki. the duality of you is one of the many reasons why i love you so much. i may be cute but i could never be as cool as you.”

he’s so red in the face but he has to take the chance to kiss you with everything he has

because if he can’t say it at first, he just feels it and does it

“i love you so much, too, bunny. and you’re cute and so many other w-wonderful things. please never forget that.”

in conclusion *exhales* i love tamaki amajiki

dabi

two words: simp scream

you know what i’m talking about

that’s the only sound i think about when i see this man

it’s either this or the one that’s like ‘sometimes bad things happen to people with nice tits’

but anyway so...simp scream

one time you decided to make a tiktok with that sound while you two were getting ready for bed

you’re just lying there, all innocent, and start filming right before he pulls his shirt off

he turns over to you with your phone propped up on your stomach

smirks once he realizes you’re filming and walks over to you as the ‘WOW w o w’ part plays

you’re able to catch all of it before he gets on top of you, hovering above with a devilish smirk still present on his marred face

your phone falls against your stomach when he pins your hands down to the mattress

“what do you think you’re doing, hm princess?”

and before you answer he’s already leaning down to kiss and nip at your neck

you giggle as you reply, “nothing...just admiring my favorite burnt boy”

“well,” he lifts his head back up but remains close to your face, speaking seductively

“if you wanted to make a video with me, babydoll,” he kisses your lips slowly

“all you had to do was ask...”

[the rest of this headcanon was redacted bc mans too hot]

how we feeling on this lovely bnha night?? send all your desires and requests..

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo headcanon #kirishima x reader #kirishima headcanon #kaminari x reader #kaminari headcanon #amajiki x reader #amajiki headcanon #amajiki fluff #kaminari fluff #kirishima fluff #bakugo fluff #dabi x reader #dabi headcanon #tommybaholland

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romanapologist · 3 years

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montreal - roman hurt/comfort

pairing: this was written to all be platonic prinxiety, but can definitely be interpreted romantically !

warnings: unconventional self harm, non-graphic descriptions of wounds/injury

summary: a post-POF roman hurt/comfort fic in january 2021? yes <3

word count: 3.2k

notes: large portions of this were salvaged from one (1) night last summer at 4am when i was having a . time. the rest has been mainly recently written before i go to bed, with some extra bits added during my history classes B)) also shout out to [REDACTED]. u may not read this but if u do, i hope u know who u are & ilu

Virgil had been trying to calm himself down for the better part of an hour, as soon as they got back from the wedding fiasco; and he was doing a relatively okay job. Considering the circumstances, at least. Or so he thought, when he registered a spike in Thomas’s anxiety. This only served to make Virgil more anxious, because he had thought he had been doing well—until, he realized it wasn’t anxiety, not exactly, not fully—and it wasn’t coming from him.

Once he'd figured that out, it wasn't hard to trace the feeling to the imagination. He paused at the door. If this was where the strongest negative emotions were coming from, he already knew which side this was about. And could he really be surprised? Roman had wanted that callback for so long. Even at the court case, even when Roman gave Thomas his sentence, Virgil knew it killed him. And Virgil didn't do anything. Because he was so fucking scared of Thomas being bad, or of Janus winning, or something, and now whatever was going on was his fault, and--

And now was not the time for these thoughts. He breathed in. He opened the door.

Immediately, he was coughing out soot, heat burned his cheeks, his eyes blurred with protective tears forming against the smoke. It was hard to see, let alone process, what was happening. Then, he caught sight of the Dragon Witch. And he caught sight of—

“Roman!” Virgil choked on the yell, coughing again.

Obviously Roman couldn’t hear him from the distance, especially considering the brutal roar of the creature. Adrenaline kicked in, and as Virgil began to sprint towards the prince, he took in the entirety of the scene with alarm. Roman was...fighting, sure, except that Virgil had seen him fight before, and this... wasn’t right. Roman bested manticore-chimeras like it was a breeze, he HAD bested the Dragon Witch herself in every form she took, “just for training.” He always moved like he was in a ballet, not a battle, like it was more for show than challenge, and now...

Virgil watched Roman fall to a hard swish of the creature’s tail, and stay there. He almost expected the Dragon Witch to take mercy, or at least, to accept an early victory. But he watched her rear back, raise a taloned hand, the magma-red in her throat glowing brighter and brighter—just as Virgil got close enough to let fight win over flight.

Virgil crashed into Roman; they rolled just far enough that the swipe of claws only ripped the edge of Virgil’s jacket.

Immediate danger out of the way, Virgil clenched his eyes tight, trying to do it how Logan taught him. He found something that didn’t make sense--the grass. The grass was dry, therefore it should have been burning, but it wasn’t. He took that foothold to dispel all the fantastical elements of the scene, Dragon Witch and all her carnage blinking from existence. The new calm of the scene was jarring.

That just left a great big field, Virgil, and one absolute dumbass.

"What the fuck, Princey?!"

Virgil’s voice was distorted with stress, and Roman stared up at him wide-eyed, unsure—even terrified in a way that hurt. Virgil quickly pushed himself up so he wasn't pinning the other. Roman tried to copy this movement, only to groan, start coughing, and fall back again.

“Shit, I—“ Virgil looked at his hands and found red on them, looked at Roman and saw the color painting his chest. “I thought I dispelled all the imaginary stuff, why—?“

“Left brain sides can only dispel so much of what right brain sides feel,” Roman said, voice rough and thin and upsettingly casual, “Since they feel so real to me, you can’t get rid of them.”

“They feel…? Christ, ok, you need a medical kit, uhm—“ Virgil closed his eyes again; he was notoriously shitty at summoning things, and he had to concentrate for this—

“That’s ok; I’ve got it,” Roman said, letting out a quiet hiss as he propped himself up on one arm, and summoned the medical kit with the other, “You can go now.”

Virgil gaped at him in disbelief. When Roman attempted to stand up, and Virgil could no longer deny he wasn’t joking, he exclaimed, “Like Hell am I going, idiot!”

Roman just stared at him, and Virgil cursed under his breath. “Ok ok, let’s just... we should do this in the bathroom, uhm—“

Virgil awkwardly clambered over to Roman again, taking his hand, so he could blink them over together. He knew it would probably be more comfortable for Roman to sink in and out, but considering Virgil wasn’t practiced at that, he wasn’t going to risk screwing it up.

They apparated into the bathtub, and Virgil scrambled up, taking the med kit from Roman's hands.

Ok, ok, now Virgil just had to remember that one time Logan lectured them all on “Side Safety.” He took a shaky breath and washed his hands quickly, before turning back to Roman. He allowed himself to fully assess the prince this time and… Jesus. He was slumped against the back of the tub, having given up his attempts at composure while he thought Virgil wasn’t looking. His litany of scrapes, cuts, bruising, his shallow breathing, and--most of all--the wet, red patch slowly growing on his shirt, sparked renewed panic in Virgil.

“Ok, fuck, ok--let’s do this,” Virgil said, mostly to himself, as he knelt down by Roman to undo his already tattered shirt and take a wet towel to his chest. He had to suck in a breath at the sight of the jagged wound, a nauseous feeling catching up to him.

“You’ve already done a lot, you know,” Roman insisted. “You can--”

“If you tell me to go, Princey, I swear I’ll make these wounds worse myself,” he said, not meaning it in the slightest, which he would assume Roman knew--but the way Roman flinched and shut his mouth told a different story. “Shit, I didn’t mean that. Of course I didn’t mean that!”

Roman glanced away, and Virgil reached to cup his cheek, an instinct he didn’t know he had. Luckily, he caught himself in time to retract his hand. They both avoided eye contact for a second; Virgil cleared his throat; and he reached for the bottle of hydrogen peroxide before pausing. He vaguely recalled Logan mentioning how strong alcohols would only cause more harm, and they should just stick to mild soap instead. He gave the cut a longer look-over—it was certainly not a pretty sight, but probably not as bad as it looked. It was large, but not too deep. Plus, as sides, it would heal itself without needing anything like stitches or professional medical work. The past scars littering Roman’s body were proof of that. Actually--had he always had this many scars? Virgil squinted. How often did he do this?

Virgil finished cleansing and bandaging the wound to the best of his ability, with little talk beyond the occasional, soft “sorry” at Roman’s winces. When he had finished, he gave Roman his hoodie (an action the Prince was too tired to take much notice of), since summoning a new shirt seemed like a waste of whatever energy he had left.

“Ok, Princey, all done. Uhm, are you—how, how are you?” Virgil mentally kicked himself.

A small, bitter smile tugged at Roman’s lips for just a moment. He opened his mouth and then closed it, and finally shrugged. “Thank you for your help.”

It hurt, Virgil realized. Roman’s quiet voice, where near-shouting was his usual speech. His unkempt hair sticking to his forehead, where it was usually styled to be very lightly and intentionally ruffled. The bags beneath his eyes where there was usually concealer. All of it hurt.

Virgil sucked in a breath. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m being annoying, but I hope you know there’s absolutely no way I’m leaving yet.”

“Virgil,” Roman almost said it as a whine, which was closer to his usual style, so Virgil considered it progress.

“Roman,” Virgil deadpanned back.

Roman huffed. “Maybe I need space to really explore my feelings, and you’re actually being a terrible friend right now,” he argued.

“Uh-huh, well being a terrible friend is always my favorite, so,” Virgil leaned down, fumbling slightly as he picked Roman up bridal style, “We’re gonna get you to bed, and you can explore your feelings by sleeping.”

“Great, now you’re damsel-in-distressing me,” Roman said sarcastically, but he leaned his head into Virgil’s chest as he did so, which kind of ruined his point.

“Yeah, yeah. Act more like Megara next time, and maybe it’ll be different.”

•••

Roman groaned upon waking up. His whole body ached, but mainly it was focused around a sharper pain in his chest. He let his eyes flutter open, only to find Virgil staring at him from his desk.

“Ah,” Roman uttered, a jumble of memories from the past few hours returning. They felt foggy and mildly icky, but mainly the pain in them was the numb kind of pain, the tired kind. Really, it was indistinguishable from the dull ache of his bruises and cuts.

“Yeah,” Virgil said, as though he understood, even though he couldn’t possibly. “Uh, wanna talk about it?”

It was clear Virgil felt awkward asking the question. It was unclear whether that was due to his tendency to be embarrassed by everything he said, or—far more likely—that he wanted to stop babying a stupid prince, and just go about his business.

Roman sat up, suppressing a wince as best he could. “Do you want to hear about it?”

“Of course I do.” Virgil said it without an ounce of hesitation. Roman’s breath caught.

“Oh.” Roman shifted slightly over, and Virgil took a seat by him on the bed. “Okay. Uhm. I don’t know, I just—I messed up.” What else was new?

“...What did you mess up?” Virgil asked, with an inkling of suspicion, like he knew what this was about. But it wasn’t that; it wasn’t the callback—that was over and done and dead. Roman had created so many fantasies, so many crazy scenarios where they could somehow still make it in that stupid movie, and it had always filled him with hope or crushing pain or something, but as of this afternoon? He didn’t even care. It didn’t matter.

So, Roman ignored the question, and instead commented, “Janus got accepted.”

“What the fuck.”

Roman observed Virgil’s stricken expression like an unsettling kind of mirror of himself when—

My name is Janus.

“Yeah,” Roman sighed, “I didn’t take it so well either.”

Virgil looked at him for a long moment, seeming to go through several series of emotions, before he was able to ask, “...What happened?”

Roman inhaled sharply. “I was wrong about being wrong about the wedding. Patton was also wrong; Janus was right, and then Patton was right because he wasn’t a total asshole to Janus, and I’m evil; Thomas hates me; whatever, you get it.”

He thought he would break down, saying it, but he felt oddly… fine. He sat, staring at the same spot as he was before, absentmindedly annoyed at the way his bandages itched. The normalcy of the situation almost made it worse. This sucked. This wasn’t even bad.This was the worst he had ever felt.

“Oook,” Virgil said, clearly not knowing where to start, “I—you—what do you mean: Thomas hates you?”

“Thought that one was self-explanatory.”

“He can’t hate you,” Virgil said with a laughable amount of conviction. “You’re still his… y’know.. goals. Desires. Hopes. Whatever. Just because this one didn’t go… perfectly, doesn’t mean you won’t keep—“ he struggled to find the phrasing for a moment— “...fighting, uh, valiantly for Thomas’s dreams!” he attempted at the encouragement with a weak smile.

Roman just shook his head. “No. I don’t know what he wants.”

Virgil’s smile dropped into confusion. “But… you are his wants.”

“That’s kind of the problem.”

Virgil seemed at a loss, and Roman felt like an asshole. Here he was trying to help him, and Roman couldn’t even be bothered to put on a smile to dismiss him from the duty.

“Please go,” Roman attempted weakly when he couldn’t find a more convincing argument in himself. He was meant to be an actor, but he knew he couldn’t hide the fact that he wanted him to stay, of course he did, so badly. He hoped Virgil would just quit with the chivalry and go despite that.

Virgil sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shit, I'm going about this all wrong.”

Roman knew it probably wasn’t really him Virgil was mad at, but it was hard not to shrink away anyway.

“Look, Roman—“ Virgil turned to him, looked at him seriously, took his hands in his— “To be honest? I don’t care what happened. I don’t care who was right or wrong—I mean, we all know I’ve been in the wrong more than my fair share. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Roman didn’t miss the ambiguity of the end statement. “But… look, you don’t get it. When you mess up, you’re still you. You’re still...,” Roman gestured vaguely, which upset his bandages, and when he looked down at himself, he took note of the black/purple hoodie he was wearing. He melted slightly. This was exactly the point he was trying to make, “You’re still... y’know. Important.”

“Wh—? Of course you’re important, Ro. You’re creativity—“

“Thomas has two of those.”

Virgil looked at him like he was stupid. “Right, as if you’re anything like Remus.”

Roman’s lip quivered at that, and he had to look away, which was so stupid. And suddenly he felt all of the embarrassment at once—of this situation, of everything that had happened before, of the way he was about to cry, in front of Virgil, after he said that, which must look so—

“Roman?”

A hand was on his cheek, softly turning his face towards Virgil’s, though Roman still refused to meet his eyes.

Virgil cursed to himself under his breath. “Shit, this is exactly what I was trying not to say.” He sighed, and Roman hesitantly looked up at him. “Look. Even if you weren’t creativity, if you weren’t hopes or dreams or any of it—if you were a completely pointless side, which you aren’t, but if you were—I wouldn’t care. What I care about is that you’re... Roman. That you bother me until I sing Disney with you, that when you put your heart into something, you do it to a stupid amount, that you make Thomas take trashy buzzfeed soulmate quizzes when he’s stressed, and that you fucking try so hard for everything, even when I’m being a little bitch about it,” he paused. With the hand on Roman’s cheek, he traced the line of a scar down his jaw. It was one of the ones Roman usually made sure to put an illusion over, he noted offhandedly. “I care, because you’re my best friend.”

“Don’t say that,” Roman choked out. He couldn’t handle it if it was a lie, and part of him couldn’t manage hearing it as anything but exactly that. “Just—just—“

“Oh, Princey..”

Virgil held him as he broke. Roman didn’t know how long they sat like that as he let everything wash over him for a final time, let it all truly sink in at long last. He took heaving, messy sobs, no doubt ruining Virgil’s shirt in the process—he was quiet, though. He shook silently, save a couple choked breaths, in the other’s arms--that was a habit he had taught himself long ago.

When Roman had tired himself out, when all that was left was the pain in chest, (which was also suddenly duller—he was healing fast, even for a side—) he pulled back from the embrace. Virgil didn’t move by much, kept them so their fingers were laced together, as they sat staring at each other.

“Uhm. Thanks,” Roman gave a shaky smile, “You really—uh... I... I said some stupid stuff, huh?”

Virgil hesitated before he spoke, as if he knew he shouldn’t ask this right now, but needed to anyway. “...Roman, why’d you go to the Imagination?”

Roman felt ice stab at his chest upon the question. He didn’t want to do this. They had already talked about so much that he shouldn’t have gotten into; this was meant to be the part where they either parted or watched a stupid movie. And this, out of everything, was the conversation he most needed to avoid.

“Uh—I mean, to let off steam?” Roman gave a laugh as best he could. “Obviously, it didn’t go to plan—“

“Didn’t it?”

Roman’s face fell immediately. He struggled to come up with an answer, and even if he had had one, he didn’t think the sound would come out. This was enough of an answer in itself

“Shit,” Virgil breathed. Roman couldn’t help but be mildly annoyed by his surprise—clearly he had already known, he didn’t have to make it a big deal now.

“I… Princey—Roman…” Virgil looked him up and down, and Roman wanted to curl up and hide. “...how many times?”

“Not many,” Roman mumbled. Virgil must have known he was pushing the subject too far, because he just frowned and said,

“OK. I mean...it’s not OK, obviously, but you already know that, I just—“ he sighed. “Just… can you talk to me? Instead? Please? When you feel like… that.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Roman responded hastily, wanting an out from this topic.

Virgil gave him a look. “I’m serious. I mean—look, you don’t even have to talk about it if you don’t want. Just, come to me first, yeah?”

Roman’s face burned; he was embarrassed; he wanted to shrug this whole thing off, or roll his eyes, or maybe scream in annoyance. But the rational part of him knew Virgil was right. “OK,” he agreed softly, “...Thanks. For everything.”

Virgil looked surprised, and then flustered, and then waved off the earnest reply. “I mean, it wasn’t--I didn’t--it’s not like I did anything really--”

“You did.”

Virgil’s face softened. “Yeah, well... you’d’ve done the same for me. You... have done the same for me.”

Roman smiled gently at him. “By the way, Virge--” He hesitated. He was about to sound like a real dumbass if Virgil had only been saying this stuff for comfort’s sake. But making a fool of himself was becoming a theme for him anyway, so he continued, “You’re my best friend too.”

I love you.

In the same beats Roman thought it, Virgil squeezed his hand lightly 3 times. A breath passed between them. An understanding. That Roman couldn’t say it out loud, and Virgil wouldn’t.

Instead, Virgil fell back across the bed, bringing Roman with him in the motion. Roman let out a startled gasp and elbowed him lightly. “Hey! I’m injured, that could have been a fatal impact for me!” he whined.

Virgil snorted. “Yeah, yeah, OK. So, do you wanna watch a stupid movie, or what?”

#lucy.fic #romangst #roman sanders angst #roman hurt/comfort #prinxiety #platonic prinxiety #ts roman #ts virgil #everyone ik reading the title of this fic: ohhh my god we know u like penelope scott we know #‘we know u associate this song w roman we KNOW</3’#roman sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #also standard statement that im not a writer i just write sometimes pls do not. judge thishehusgs

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m4gp13 · 3 years

Text

For those of you who made it through my laughably incoherent ethabaster think piece, here’s some hc’s, you’ve earned them:

- Ethan has sole possession of their one shared brain cell. Alabaster is not allowed to even look at it. This is because they used to have two but Al broke the good one trying to blow up something (probably Percy).

- If Al finds out Ethan left without some form of magical protection i.e. a sigil, a crystal, ground eggshells, he will be pretty much vibrating with nerves until Ethan gets back so he can give him a once-over.

- Alabaster’s from a very witchy family who all worship Hecate for many reasons that differ depending on which estranged relative you ask and they all kinda saw Al as the first coming of witch Christ so he had a lot of expectations at a very young age.

- Ethan knows this and tries to lift as much Titan army business off his shoulders as possible.

- He accidentally lifts too much off to the point where he is drowning in work and is now the one in need of saving. But does he tell anyone that if he looks at one more stack of demands from his mile long list of bosses he’s going to cry for five hours? Of course not don’t be ridiculous.

- Alabaster immediately hated Percy as soon as he heard the guys name but due to the arena stuff and telling Thalia not to k*ll him Ethan actually held a bit of respect for Percy which annoyed Al to no end.

-This was until the not-so-peaceful peace talk in tlo when Percy starts shit talking Nemesis and Ethan just internally goes “actually the witch bitch was right this guy sucks ass”

-However, under no circumstances will Ethan ever tell this to Alabaster; not because he values his pride (he has none) but because he knows the life of a demigod is short and he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his very short one hearing Al rub that one thing in his face for every single second of it.

- And I mean Every. Single. Second.

- So yeah he takes that to the grave and doesn’t even tell anyone in the underworld in case they tell Al when he dies and he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his afterlife with Al being a dumbass. (also yes Ethan got into Elysium, fuck you)

- (Actually I have another idea about where Ethan went post-life but that’s so far from canon it’s more of an AU than a headcanon so we’re gonna leave that out for now)

- Al thought he was the one in charge of the Hecate kids because he was the most powerful and the highest ranking in the army but he was Not. That was Ethan. The Hecate kids thought Ethan was their unofficial adopted baby brother but little did they know he was the mum the whole time.

- Ethan is the only thing standing between them and starving to death. He also does the younger kids hair and gives everyone with long hair super intricate braids that stay out of their faces during “field work”. Al thinks this is more of him trying to take the weight off his shoulders but Ethan knows that if he doesn’t do this shit no one will so he kinda has to. Not that he doesn’t like doing it. being helpful is his love language.

- Because of their powers over the mist the Hecate kids of the army were notorious pranksters who were usually at war with the Hermes kids (wars usually declared by Al because he rolled a zero on self restraint) but none of them prank Ethan because “nooooo you can’t do him he babey 🥺”

- Ethan has simply decided that what the magic prank wizards don’t know can’t hurt them and just turns to his blind side whenever he sees them sneaking off the ship to get Micky D’s in the middle of the night to stay on their good sides.

- Speaking of the ship, Ethan thinks it’s the dumbest thing in the world that one of their most powerful demigod enemies is the son of a sea god and he actually has a pretty decent relationship with said sea god and their main base of operations aside from mt Othrys is a fucking BOAT. He tells Al all about his worries for the ship and while Al assures him that nothing that bad could happen he always makes sure that the ship always has the least amount of demigods on board at all times just in case.

- It takes all the strength Ethan has not to yell “TOLD YOU SO” at him when the ship blows up.

- Al probably either wears basic white boy clothes or typical witchy stuff (like moons and shit) depending his mood meanwhile Ethan found out about leather and just goes for it.

- Every grunge/punk/emo/eboy/teachwear bitch aspires to be him and because he aint about all that “gender roles” bs he definitely goes about wearing cool egirl stuff too. Not just slightly feminine shaped jumpers but all the plaid skirts, fishnets and lace trimmed dresses he can steal afford and Al, despite his more basic fashion taste is here for it. You’ve never seen someone more supportive of their pals fits, get you a hypeman like Al. You deserve it. (Ethan is also not afraid to walk around in a full pastel gamer girl fit)

- (Also Al hyping up one Ethans fits in front of a Titan is the reason they were allowed to start wearing army fatigues instead of the whole ancient Greek armour on occasion)

- Ethan appreciates Al’s enthusiasm but he also kinda doesn’t get it. And he definitely doesn't do that “yeah you’re right I DO look good” thing because he just doesn’t know how. He’d always been a little self-conscious about getting a big head but then he found out about Nemesis and hubris and all that fun stuff, looked at his meager pile of self worth and said “ yep, this has to go”

- Al almost starts crying when he finds out and pretty much makes it mission to be such a good hype man that Ethan has no choice but to think of himself as a Pretty Cool Dude via absorbing the hype through diffusion. It kinda starts working but then Ethan [REDACTED] in tlo so we’ll never know what could’ve been.

- To nick a hc from someone ( hi @chromarozee-spam) contrary to his taste in clothes Ethan does ballet (he was a punk AND did ballet, what more can I say?) and while Al tries to support his hobbies he is genuinely afraid both for and of him. “For” because “holy fuck that looks painful are you okay?”. And “of” because “are you sure those are bones inside you because I don’t think bones are supposed do that?!”.

- Ethan tries to assure him that no his spine is not made of rubber, broken bones or otherworldly materials so can he stop bothering him during practice please?

- This does not stop Al from making a million protection wards and constantly asking his deck if Ethan is indeed a Being of this Good Green Earth.

- Eventually his cards pretty much just tell him that he is friends with one bendy heck of a boi and he needs to fucking get over it so he kinda just,, ,,,,, , does.

- Again with the hc thieving (this time from @altorringtons) Al learning to use a two-handed broadsword so he can guard Ethan’s blind side and back in a fight *soft noises* just them trying so hard to keep each other alive because they love each other and they care about each other!

- They also sleep in the same bed whenever they get the chance (fully clothed ya nasties, they’re kids) and they just hug each other soooo tight because they just need to know they’re alright cos they always get pretty banged up in fights against campers or just monsters that are too much like wild animals to recruit. (What? Me? Projecting my desire to be intimately held by the closest person I have to family with their arms wrapped not tight enough to make me uncomfortable but tight enough to make me feel loved? Never! What on earth are you talking about?)

- Because Al is super stubborn and prideful whenever they have an argument Al can’t really bring himself to say he’s sorry so when he’s ready to apologise he just climbs into bed on Ethan’s blind side and cuddles him because he knows Ethan is super worried about getting attacked on his blind side so it’s like he has a guard or a shield.

- Ethan on the other hand just calls him a Rock Boy in a derogatory way until he gets over himself and apologizes but he really does love the fact that Al knows that about him and accommodates that.

- The thing they fight about most is how “heroic” the titan army is. Kronos’ brainwashing worked on Al like a charm and he fully believes that they are the rebellion and camp is the empire. Ethan on the other hand wasn’t at camp long enough for Kronos or Luke to really do anything but it doesn’t matter because Ethan really doesn’t give a shit if he’s on the “evil side” cos he just wants respect and he’s willing to do what it takes without a second thought of how people see him. If he thinks he’s doing the right thing but on the wrong side he can live with that but Al needs to feel like all of his side is on the moral high ground because that’s what Kronos drilled into his brain.

- Ethan knows that Al delusional when it comes to the non-existent heroics of the army but eventually he just decides to let Al believe the titans lies because that’s easier for him even if it hurts Ethan to see him being manipulated like that.

- Due to Ethan not giving a shit on the humanity of his bosses he gets punished a lot more often and a lot more violently than Al because they know that Ethan already knows they don’t care about him so they don’t have to sugar coat him but Al still believes that they’re heroes and his mindset needs to stay like that to keep him obedient.

- Also because I am a Cruel Person By Nature I hc Ethan’s mortal family (which usually just consists of his dad) as meeting a not very pg13 end at the hands of a monster who wanted to nible on Ethan a tad which pretty much scarred him for life.

- SO, at the end of the battle of Man Hats Are In when Al looks around and sees that his whole family (that joined the titans) are dead! oh no! How sad! At least he knows someone whose been through the same thing so they understand each other and can help each other through this tough time together right? SIKE!

- so yeah Al learns Ethan d-worded in the worst possible way at the worst possible time and just looses it from grief. Loosing his family was bad enough but finding out he lost the one person he thought he would be able to confide in and heal with immediately after just really rubs salt in the wound.

- When the survivors start re-grouping to find someplace to hide until the gods forget about them Al just wanders off because it’s all he can do to not break down on the spot.

- He’s just wandering in a daze for a while and most people just assume he’s high but he snaps out of it and gets into anger mode when Lamia starts attacking him because he finally has something to do and occupy himself with even though it’s hard not to think about his sibling especially when Lamia keeps talking like they never would have died if she’d been in charge which is why she should totally just kill him and lead their siblings instead.

- His desire to have something to keep his mind off his family and Ethan is the first thing he thinks about when Claymore re-alives and immediately starts talking about doing research (yeah because that’s what you need after a long stressful day of fighting monsters and literally dying).

- Ethan keeps trying to cross the veil and help, even if he just sends Al a pleasant dream to help him sleep but contrary to what you might think from the name, the veil is really hard to cross so Ethan just has to bite his nails and watch his friend suffer.

- It gets easier to watch after Al and Claymore pretty much adopt each other because at least he has someone but they do still get into pretty scary situations.

- When they were both premortem they got paired up for a lot of missions for the titan army and they usually just tried to pretend they were on a fun road trip around America when they could and make fun of mortal shit together.

- At one point they were in a motel and the last people accidentally left behind one of Claymore’s books about death and they found it the funniest thing ever. Between a pair of in which one of their mum’s regularly goes to the underworld and one has been there himself they find mortal ideas of the afterlife to be very amusing.

- Alabaster has decided he would not like to share this with the class (Claymore) thank you very much.

- Also when they’re doing their road tripping Ethan knows all the best places to crash, the cheapest food places and the local gangs don’t bother them because between running away from camp and joining the army he just wandered around a lot.

- Like he’d just hop on a random train, take a nap and figure it out when he wakes up; he made a lot of friends this way too as well as his taste in clothes cos he didn’t have a lot of money so he’d just DIY some second hand punk shit. Al thinks he’s the Gandalf of the demigod world because he just knows everyone who might help them and everywhere they could spend the night. He definitely tells his siblings about Ethan being the closest thing they have to a wandering wizard and they fucking love it.

- Also because Nemesis tends to not have a lot of kids Ethan was the only one of hers in the army and Al felt really bad for him because his sibling were his favourite part about the army so he tried to include Ethan in as much as possible with his siblings.

- As an unexpected result Ethan ended up with a small army of super powered children to sick on the people who keep making jabs about him loosing in the arena battle.

- Al sometimes thinks he’s given him too much power but also he will fuck a bitch up if they make fun of his pals so he sees where his siblings are coming from and yeah those bitches had it coming. He also has a copy of bitchcraft.

- Ethan’s dad was the type to play “Stay With Me” by Miki Matsubara on repeat for hours and Ethan would probably enjoy the song but he’s heard it so often that now it makes his ears bleed and Al sometimes tortures him with for fun until Ethan starts throwing shit.

- To steal another hc from @chromarozee-spam Ethan has a thing for cats and one time Al accidentally gave himself mistform cat-ears and Ethan could not stop touching them. Ethan was just craning his head back uncontrollably grinning so much his face hurt. Al can’t bring himself to be upset because Ethan rarely ever smiles since he joined the army.

- Al saw Ethan crying over one of those video’s where people put their hoodies on backwards and put their cat in the hood so he made a mist cat and bought him a hoodie. Ethan of course started crying again but it was happy tears instead.

- Ethan is fucking tiny while Al is almost a foot taller than him. He wouldn’t mind so much if Al didn’t exhaust every opportunity to rub it in his face so he just starts climbing all over shit (especially tall buildings) half to give Al heart attacks and half so he can be like “Sorry? What was that? I’m so high up I can’t hear you. Can you speak up a little? Maybe get a ladder? Or taller?”

- Also I don’t know why but I hc Al as Texan. Ethan gets told about this “Alabaster C. Torrington” guy who knows latin, incantations and other magical knowledge and expects some fancy British guy so when they meet and Al speaks Ethan gets whiplash so hard he fuckin chokes.

- Al is also very casual and Ethan is pretty professional so when he meets this magic general with a straight back and the first thing that comes out of this assholes mouth is some “Howdy y’all!!” bullshit he just dies on the spot.

- Also because Al is texan he is very sensitive to the cold (I’m about 80% sure that Texas is one of the Warm states) so when he has to do stuff in cold places like the labyrinth or new york (idk about that one to but in every film I’ve seen that’s set in NY it’s raining for about 90% of the time) he complains about being freezing all the time until Ethan helpfully reminds him that he can literally make fire out of nothing, surely he can find a way to warm himself up.

- Ethan is also sensitive to the cold because he’s basically malnourished but he’s been like that for a while and thinks it’s normal so he sucks it up until Al notices he’s always cold. Ethan tells him it’s fine but Al is basically a walking electric blanket so whenever Al cuddles him to keep him warm Ethan can’t help but melt because he’s so fucking warm and soft and have you noticed I crave intimacy?

- Ethan started studying Greek myths vigorously since he found out he was a demigod and when he died he kept an eye and an ear out for Al because even though he wouldn’t be able to do anything it still reassures him to know what’s going on, HOWEVER, he was almost filled with enough malice to rip through the barrier between the living and the dead purely to beat an ass when he hears Al’s little “I don’t bother reading about worthless monsters like you!” jab.

- Ethan is very jumpy and fidgety to the point where Al is genuinely concerned and while Ethan assures Al that nothing’s wrong Al is still suspicious. Ethan probably would have told Al about it if it was because of anything but Kronos but seeing that it mostly is, he doesn’t because Ethan feels like Al will just take Kronos’ word over his and he’ll loose the only person he trusts in the army.

- Al doesn’t find out about it until way after the war when Kronos’ brainwashing starts to come undone because by then his mindset is a lot less biased in the titans favour so he can see things that he just unconsciously ignored before and is able to put two and two together. When he does boy is it a trip.

- Ethan is really bad at talking about feelings and stuff so whenever Al gets upset over something and Ethan has no idea how to talk to him he’ll just get him some rocks. One time Ethan found out about those heart shaped valentine boxes that are normally filled with chocolates but people put crystals in them and that just became his go-to for when Al was especially upset.

- Al is only slightly better at talking about stuff but he can still get Ethan to open up to him which is good because Ethan isn’t very materialistic so it’s hard to make him feel better by buying him things and because someone needs to get Ethan to express himself in an emotionally healthy way.

- Also because of this they just can’t tell each other they love each other. Like they’ll barely whisper it when the other is asleep because they’re just so bad at talking about feelings. It wasn’t that much of an issue until after the war and Ethan gets k-worded and Al is left alone and sobbing over all the times he never told his loved ones how much they meant to him.

- But because this is a headcanon list; fuck that, Al saved Ethan with some sort of magic bullshit and they talk about how much they love each other all the time now because they can’t stand the thought of one of them dying having never been told how much they are loved.

#me going around nicking hcs: thank you for your sacrifices #this will help tremendously in the war effort #also max i am extremely pleased to tell you that auto correct thinks Harrington is a lovely name for you #and you stan the magic messiah #autocorrect didn't say that one #but it's true #pjo #percy jackson #ethan nakamura #alabaster torrington #alabaster c torrington #ethan x alabaster #ethabaster

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infinitefandomimagines · 4 years

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I Can’t Lose You - Poe Dameron x Reader

WARNINGS: RISE OF SKYWALKER SPOILERS, MENTIONS OF DEATH, MENTIONS OF TORTURE, ANGST, BLOOD, YELLING

REQUEST: @lookinsidemyhead could I maybe ask for a Star Wars imagine? Like a poexfem!reader Maybe like instead of chewie being captured it was the reader and when they rescue her she’s a little out it from the torture in the interrogation room. angst with happy ending bc they escape

A poe dameron tros x reader where reader gets captured with chewy and poe rescues her, lots of angsty poe after losing reader because he thinks she's dead, then fluff when they reunite

The only thing that could pull the team's stunned gazes from the fiery explosion of the First Order ship was Poe's horrifying scream. The way your name ripped through his throat made Finn's heart stop and his blood run cold.

Poe took no caution in his efforts to make his way down from the rocky structure their getaway ship stood perched on, slipping and nearly falling more than once.

His heels kicked up sand as he sprinted towards the wrecked ship and Rey, who still stood frozen as the realization of what she'd just done dawned on her. Finn had to stop Poe from running straight to her, he'd never hurt Rey, but after what just happened he definitely wasn't thinking straight.

Finn wrapped his arms around his friend, holding him back and restricting his movement as he struggled to get free.

"What did you do?" Poe yelled at Rey, the high pitched crack in his voice was enough to send daggers through anyone listening's heart. Poe never stopped struggling to break free from Finn's grasp, and it was getting to the point where he just might succeed.

"Chewie I need some help down here!" Finn called up to the Wookie. There was no way he could get Poe to the ship himself, not when he was like this.

"Poe we need to go!" Finn yelled as he tried to pull Poe towards the ship, knowing if they stayed any longer your life wouldn't be the only fatality.

"No! No, I can't leave her!"

"She's gone, Poe. There's nothing we can-"

Finn stopped short as Poe finally broke free from his grasp. However, he didn't get very far, Chewie had made it down just in time to grab him.

"Chewie!" Finn yelled out, "Get him to the ship we need to get out of here! Rey come on!" Poe tried to fight his way out again, but the Wookie was too strong, forcibly pulling him back to the ship. He didn't stop fighting until Chewie released him once the ship had taken off with everyone safely inside.

There was a heavy tension in the air, nobody knew what to say. It's like they were just waiting for Poe to lash out like he usually did when he was upset, but he didn't. The burst of yelling and cursing the team was anxiously waiting for never came. Instead, he simply collapsed onto a storage box and with his head in his hands, he sobbed.

Finn watched his best friend, one who usually stood so strong and fiery, completely fall apart. Rey's heart ached in a way she didn't know it could, the thought that she'd caused this haunting her mind.

BB-8 slowly rolled over to Poe, letting out a series of confused beeps. "She's gone, buddy," Poe said in a broken voice. The small droid let out a high pitched whine mixed with sad beeps.

"This can't be for nothing," Finn finally spoke up, his voice soft as he struggled to speak through his own tears. "We can't let her die for nothing."

"She had the dagger with her, and without that. . ." Rey's voice was grim.

"So true, the inscription lives only in my memory now," C-3PO spoke up. All heads turned towards the droid. "Hang on, the inscription from the dagger is in your memory?" Finn asked.

"Yes master Finn, but the translation from a forbidden language cannot be retrieved, that is short of a complete redactive memory bypass. It is an extremely dangerous procedure usually performed by criminals."

"Alright, how do we do that?" Finn asked as if there was no question as to what the next step was.

"I know a black market droidsmith," Poe finally spoke up, his eyes glazed over and red. "He's on Kijimi." Poe didn't like the idea of going to Kijimi, but he didn't like the idea of you dying for nothing more.

"For Y/N," Finn said, giving Poe's shoulder a squeeze. "Yeah, for Y/N," Poe repeated, the sound of your name leaving a sad and bitter taste in his mouth.

Kijimi went just about how Poe thought it would. They had a rocky start, but in the end, they were able to retrieve the inscription from C-3PO's memory.

The droid's eyes glowed an ominous red as it recited the location to the Wayfinder.

"The Endor system? Where the last war ended?" Finn asked. No one had the opportunity to answer him as the entire building started shaking. Everyone shared concerned looks, but it was Rey who was the first to run outside to see what was causing the commotion.

"Ren's destroyer," she announced, looking up at the large, menacing ship. "He's here?" Finn asked, looking up at her. But Rey didn't answer, it seemed as though her entire body had gone stiff. "Y/N. . ." She spoke softly, but loud enough for Finn and Poe to hear.

"What about her?" Poe asked bitterly, your name sending a dagger through his heart.

"She's alive, she's on that ship," Rey turned around to face her friends.

"What?" Poe whispered, his voice cracking slightly. Tears stung the back of his eyes, but this time the tears weren't ones of sorrow. He felt a small glimmer of hope bubble up inside of him. He no longer slouched, his back straightening up and shoulders rolling back, Rey's words bringing a new light to his eyes.

"How is that possible?" Finn questioned.

"She must have been on a different transport," Rey spoke, her words still laced with disbelief.

"We have to go get her," Poe said eagerly, grabbing his things and looking around at the group. Everyone nodded in agreement, all except C-3PO, who sat confused, his only thought being to introduce himself.

"Yeah, that's gonna be a problem," Poe muttered, a little annoyed at their situation, but not even C-3PO's lost memory could damage his spirits. His head already fantasizing about seeing you again, creating multiple scenarios in his head.

Once everyone was ready, they rushed from Zorii's hideout, the girl following them just to be sure they made it to their ship.

"Thank you," Poe rushed out to Zorii once they'd reached their ship. He didn't plan on waiting for a response, but a grip on his forearm stopped him dead in his tracks. "Poe-" Zorii spoke up, only to be cut short.

"I'm sorry, I have to go, but you can come with us," He offered. Though his feelings for his past relationship were gone, he still cared about Zorii as a friend and leaving her behind just felt wrong. But Zorii shook her head, "I can't," she answered sadly, "But take this, it'll grant you passage to Ren's ship."

Poe stared at the shiny medallion, "I can't, it's yours-"

"Anyone two eyes and half a brain can see how much you care about this girl, it's worth more to you than it is to me."

Poe paused before lifting his hands and gently taking the medallion from Zorii, "Thank you," he breathed out, wrapping Zorii in a tight embrace. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

Zorii chuckled a bit as she returned the hug before lightly pushing Poe towards his ship, "Now go, save your girl and win the war."

Poe nodded, mumbling one more 'thank you' before boarding the ship with the others.

Getting inside Ren's destroyer had been easier than anticipated, especially with the held of the medallion. However, searching the maze of a ship deemed a difficult task. It seemed as though with each hall they turned down there were more and more stormtroopers.

The next corner they turned no one had their blasters at the ready. Rey quickly jumped in front of Finn and Poe, waving her hand in front of the stormtroopers, "It is okay that we are here," she rushed out.

"It is okay that you're here," one of the troopers repeated.

"You're relieved that we're here."

"Oh thank God you're here," The trooper's shoulders relaxed and he lowered his blaster to his side, as did the other.

"Does she do that to us?" Poe asked, a little confused as to what exactly just happened. Rey just ignored him, instead, she asked the troopers for where you were being held, which they gladly provided.

It was a mad dash to the room you were in, the name of the room being "Interrogation room #6" worrying him.

At some point, Rey ran off on her own, but when Finn tried to follow her Poe gripped his arm, "We need to find Y/N, Rey can handle herself." Chewie howled in agreement with Poe, and Finn knew better than to argue with his friends.

It didn't take long to reach the room you were being held in and even less to shoot the lock on the door and bust in. Poe winced as he entered the familiar room, the dark lighting and metal chair-like structure sending painful memories of his time spent being tortured by Kylo Ren. He didn't even want to imagine what you must have been through, though sadly he could.

Poe quickly shook all thoughts that plagued his mind, you were the only thing that mattered right now. Nothing else. He approached the chair slowly, scared that what he finds might not be what he hoped for.

His heart sank when he saw your unconscious form strapped down to the chair by restraints. A bruise had already formed on the left side of your face, just over your cheekbone. There was a bloody cut that stretched across your right temple which was beginning to form its own bruise, and a trail of blood trickled down and dripped onto your shirt from your nose. Your chest moved up and down slowly as you took in shallow breaths. Poe didn't even want to imagine what the parts of you he couldn't see looked like.

Poe gently placed his shaking hands on either side of your cheeks, cupping your face. The pad of his thumb lightly brushed over you bruise, examining it. "Y/N," he spoke softly, "Y/N, baby please wake up."

Your entire body suddenly tensed up as your struggled against your restraints, prompting Poe to quickly pull his hands away from you, terrified he hurt you.

"No, please. . ." You mumbled, not fully awake, your eyes screwed shut. "Please. . . Don't."

"We need to get her out of these restraints," Poe instructed, trying his best to hide the panic in his voice. Chewie let out a wail, pressing a red button on the wall adjacent to the chair. There was a hissing sound followed by a click as your restraints popped open.

You blinked your eyes a bit at the noise and sudden release of pressure on your wrists and ankles. A familiar face came into view as you blinked away the hazy glaze from your eyes.

"Poe?" You whispered, not quite sure if Kylo Ren was playing tricks on your mind again or not.

"It's me, baby, you're okay." He said, helping you out of the metal chair and pulling you into his arms. One arm wrapped around your waist as the other held the back of your head, your cheeks resting against his chest. You winced as he accidentally pressed against your bruised ribcage, but in all honesty, you didn't care. You were just relieved to be back in his arms, and Poe was more than happy to have you there.

"I'm so sorry," he mumbled into your hair, "I shouldn't have let you go out there alone."

"It's not your fault, you couldn't have known."

"Guys I really hate to break up the moment, but we gotta go!" Finn rushed out, earning a bellow of agreement from Chewie.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay," Poe said, pulling away from the embrace. "Can you walk?"

You nodded, however as soon as you took the first step forward your head started spinning and your vision blurred. You quickly reached out and gripped Poe's arm to stop yourself from losing balance. Poe instinctively caught you, holding up the majority of your weight.

"Chewie!" Poe called out, gesturing to you. The Wookie swiftly placed your arm around his waist, and wrapped a furry arm around your back and under your arm, holding you up.

Poe and Finn walked ahead of you, blasters at the ready, inspecting each hallway for hostiles. You limped behind them, Chewie helping you walk by holding you upright.

And after Poe being shot, all four of you nearly being executed, only to be saved by an unlikely ally, you made it to the Millennium Falcon.

Chewie gently set you down on the small cot in Poe's quarters while Finn rushed to the cockpit, trying his best to remember everything Poe had taught him about flying. Chewie soon joined him, helping him get the Falcon in the air so they could go find Rey.

Poe stayed with you in his quarters, sorting through a med pack to find supplies to bandage and clean your wounds. A soft groan escaped your throat as the ship took a sharp turn, harshly shaking the cot you were laying on, sending a wave of pain through your body.

Poe wet a cloth and started dabbing at the dried blood on your temple. You let out a hiss as the sudden contact stung. Poe slipped his free hand into yours, attempting to provide any form of comfort he could.

"What did they do to you?" Poe asked as he moved to clean the blood from under your nose. The question wasn't directed towards you, more of Poe just thinking out loud. However, his question still sent a chill up your spine as you began to replay the horrible things Kylo Ren and his minions did to get information out of you. You were able to refrain from giving them anything up until Kylo Ren used the force to crawl around in your mind. The pain was indescribable.

"Hey, it's okay," Poe comforted, stopping what he was doing. He'd noticed the grimace on your face and how you tensed up when he brought up his question. "You're safe, he can't hurt you."

You nodded weakly, waiting for the horrible thoughts to pass as Poe got back to work.

Poe worked quickly to clean and bandage your wounds, finishing up a matter of minutes. While he packed up the medical kit, you attempted to sit up, but the action proved to be a bit more painful than you anticipated. You inhaled sharply as a sharp pain exploded from your side, your hand instinctively flew to your bruised ribcage, holding it as if that would help the pain subside.

"Here, let me help," Poe said softly when he noticed your struggle. He placed a hand on your back and the other lightly grabbed your arm as he pulled you to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Your hand still clutched your side as you squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the pain to dissipate.

The bed sank beside you as Poe took a seat beside you, his hand rubbing comforting circle in your back. You leaned into him, resting your forehead on his shoulder.

"Do you want something for the pain," he asked, there was a bit of tension in his voice as he tried to hold back tears, he hated seeing you in so much pain. "No, it'll pass. I'm fine." And eventually, it did, leaving you relieved and a bit more cautious about how you moved.

You lifted your head from Poe's shoulder, your eyes meeting his. A soft smile graced his lips and his hand moved from your back to your neck, his thumb resting on your jaw. "I thought I'd lost you," he said in a shaky voice, tears threatening to spill. "And it made me realize you're the one thing I can't live without."

You wrapped your fingers around Poe's arm, just below his wrist, rubbing small circles in the back of his hand with the pad of your thumb.

"I can't lose you," his voice cracked as his eyes glazed over with tears.

"You won't, I promise," you confirmed.

Poe pulled you into him, gently pressing his lips to yours. His hand slid down from your neck to your waist, his other hand finding it's way to your hip. He pulled you into his lap, breaking the kiss to fully envelop you in a hug, careful not to touch your bruised side. One arm kept hold of your waist while the other crossed your back, his hand placed on your shoulder. Poe rested his head in the crook of your neck, holding you close.

You rested a hand on his back while the other held the back of his head. You lightly ran your fingers through his messy curls.

You let out a sigh of content, finally feeling at ease being in Poe's arms. "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."

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@gracielou0518 @booklove103

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shelobussy · 4 years

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ao3

It’s a sexy, sexy day when Beckett gets her promotion to the Cerritos.

She’s been a lower decks officer on the USS Vulker for six slutty years and it’s been the closest thing to paradise that she’s experienced since that time Marvin tried to snort Dorito dust and ended up summoning an ancient wish giving god when he sneezed it out on an alien substance Dr. L’Vertiss was analyzing as a possible cure for the parasites that were infecting the Academy.

Being a lower decks officer meant three things: contraband, causal hookups and constant disrespect of Starfleet Protocol. Everything Beckett wanted in a career. Fortunately, the Vulker was the bottom of the barrel when it came to starships, so they weren’t exactly looking too close to her record. Which was fine by Beckett, who was trying to fly under the radar ever since her mother had demoted her so hard, she’d ended up on a whole other ship, quadrants away from the Cerritos.

Thanks Mom.

So anyway, it’s a sexy, sexy day when her mother calls her, mainly because she’d just gotten out of alien jail and gotten a cool tat out of the deal, but also because she hasn’t heard for her mother in a while and, okay, maybe she misses her just a little bit. Even if she’s probably calling for Not Good Reasons.

Beckett flips her comm open and steels herself to get yelled at for whatever.

“I’m retiring,” are not the words Beckett is expecting. She squints suspiciously at her comm, vaguely concerned that a shapeshifter has replaced her mom.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not.”

“Beckett—”

“You love being Captain and sitting in the chair and telling Ransom to stop giving himself sexy eyes in every reflective surface! Why would you retire?”

Her mom pinches the bridge of her nose, looking tired. “This is why I wanted to tell you in person—”

“Tell me what in person—”

“—Shaxs is dead.”

Beckett stops walking. Blinks down at her comm. Once. Twice. “What.”

“So is half the crew. This is less of me retiring and more of me…cutting my losses before Starfleet officially demotes my ass.”

Beckett’s day is slowly turning into an unsexy day. “And you’re just letting them!? You’ve been a Captain for what—”

“Beck—”

“Fifteen years and a Starfleet Officer for even longer! They can’t demote you—”

“They can and they will. Look,” Mom sighs. “They’re putting together a new crew as soon as the Cerritos is given the clear. There’s barely anyone left from the main crew who even wants to stay after this mess.”

“What happened?”

“That’s classified,” Mom says, which Beckett takes to mean hack my official report if you want to know. “And don’t go digging for it,” she adds.

Beckett resists pouting, only because the situation is so. Weirdly serious.

“I’m not calling you because of that, however. Ransom is being transferred to the Titan. It’s only thanks to his initiative and Officer Boimler’s quick thinking that we’re even alive right now.”

The sound of the warp core, buzzing in the background, seems too loud, all of the sudden. Beckett swallows, feeling sick.

“Officer Boimler is being promoted to Captain. I’ve recommended you as his First Officer.”

Beckett doesn’t realize she’s laughing until she starts choking from it. A group of ensigns, clustered at the end of the hallway she’s standing in, give her weird looks before quickly vacating the area.

“That,” she says, once she’s caught her breath, “is the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever heard.”

Mom gives Beckett her Captain™ face.

“I’m an ensign. Lower decks. Bottom of the barrel.” Beckett continues, grinning. “Not officer material.”

“Top of your class. Present in the Dominion War. Only gets demoted because she cares more about people than rules.” Mom gives a smug smile. “Perfect match for the Cerritos.”

There’s a weird, hot pressure in the corner of Beckett’s eyes. “Mom.”

“Boimler has a stick up his ass, he could use someone who loosens him up a little. Pays less attention to protocol,” Mom adds.

Beckett shakes her head, smiling. “I’d give him a heart attack a week in.”

“I’m counting on it. At least think about it, will you? And for god’s sake, go shower. I can see the filth on you, light years away.”

Beckett laughs, but this time it’s real. “Yeah Mom, I will.” Then, “I’m glad you like. Didn’t die or whatever.”

Mom rolls her eyes. “Thank you, problem child. So am I. I’ll take to you later.”

The connection blacks out, leaving Beckett staring at her own dim reflection in the screen.

She does look like shit. Maybe a shower isn’t a bad idea after all.

_____

The letter stays in her inbox for six unslutty days before she finally clicks on it. Turns out, even though Mom is no longer a Captain, her recommendation must’ve meant something because there it is, a nice, shiny, transfer request.

It’s signed Captain Brad Boimler and that is where Beckett draws the line because she is not working for someone named Brad.

Maybe if you had been on the Cerritos, Shaxs wouldn’t have died, a snide voice sounds in her brain. Beckett immediately shuts that voice down because that’s fucked up and she didn’t go through four years of Starfleet mandated therapy to still be fucked up.

(She’s still kinda fucked up, but that’s okay.)

Dad finally starts spamming her inbox—and she really wants to know how Mom got him on her side, they’ve barely spoken since the divorce—so Beckett, with great reluctance, reviews the transfer request again.

It’s bullshit.

“This is bullshit,” she tells Dad.

“I know, but if I have to get one more message from your mother, demanding why you haven’t taken the position—”

“Okay, fine I’ll do it, but only because I want to see why Mom promoted Brad to Captain.”

_____

Mom either promoted Brad to Captain because he was that good of a suck up or because his hair is super distracting. Either way, Beckett is two seconds away from saying fuck this shit and demoting her own ass back to the Vulker.

He walked through the door like a minute ago and she’s already had him pegged. His clothes are neatly pressed, hair perfectly coiffed, and his hands nervously flutter around, as if he’s unsure what he should be doing with them. He can’t have been an officer longer than a few months before he was promoted Captain, that’s for sure. Beckett literally has no idea what Mom was thinking when she gave him the chair.

She waves him down toward her table.

Brad takes one look at her unbuttoned collar, nonregulation boots, and unkempt hair and sighs. “Captain Freeman recommended you?” his voice is disbelieving.

“That’s the word, my dude.” Beckett leans back, eyeing him over the half empty glass of whiskey she’s been nursing. “Captain Brad, take a seat,” she says, in her Serious voice.

Captain Brad sits across from her. “It’s Captain Boimler, actually.”

“Brad’s fine.”

His eye twitches. “Officer Mariner—”

“Ensign,” she interrupts, cheerfully.

Brad pauses. Blinks. She gestures to the single pin in her collar.

“Oh. Wait. What?”

“Yeah, I was lower decks on the Vulker before Captain Freeman emotionally blackmailed me into meeting with you.”

She snaps her fingers at the bartender and gestures toward Brad while she waits for the man in question to process the fact that a lower decks ensign was being offered a First Officer promotion.

It, surprisingly, takes only a few seconds before he bounces back. “I didn’t have time to look at your file,” he admits, sounding a bit frustrated. “I’m usually more on top of my work but—”

“Don’t sweat it, Bradthaniel. If you’d read my file, I seriously doubt you’d have agreed to meet with me.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You kill an Admiral or something?”

“Or something,” she agrees, mind flashing back to all of the redacted and classified sections of her file. The bartender places a glass of purple liquid in front of Brad and refills Beckett’s drink. Beckett salutes him lazily with her glass. “I’m more interested in you. How’d you land a captaincy at, what, twenty-six?”

“Twenty-nine,” he grits out, as if that still isn’t weirdly young to be that high in the chain of command. “How’d you get Freeman to recommend you?”

“Oh, I didn’t,” she flips her ponytail obnoxiously. “She called me.”

“Sure.”

“What, am I not ‘First Officer Material?’” she mocks, wrapping finger-quotes around her words.

He rolls his eyes. “No offense—”

“Complete offense already taken—”

“But you are the least promotable person I’ve ever met.”

Beckett grins. “Now you’re getting it. We got a Bridge Crew yet?”

“I—” he blinks at her for a moment. “I’m still trying to put the rest of the Bridge Crew together, but it’s been insane lining up schedules and—”

“Leave it to me.”

“Wait, what?”

“That’s my job. You manage me, I manage the crew. I’m basically a glorified secretary now.”

Brad looks like he’s seeing an error screen in front of his eyes. “So, you’re taking the job,” he concludes, voice hilariously defeated.

“Someone needs to make sure my M—uh, Captain Freeman’s ship doesn’t blow up.”

“I handled it fine the first time.” He rolls his eyes carelessly, which kind of pisses her off.

She gives him a smile. Knows it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Tell that to the 567 casualties.”

His face goes very pale. An incredible feat considering his already milky complexion. She can’t tell if he’s angry or about to cry. “Shut up. You weren’t even there, how would you know—"

“Yeah, you were there, so why the fuck didn’t you do something?” she hisses. All she can see is Shaxs’ scarred face in the back her head. She’d been a pain in the Bridge Crew’s asses, but most of them had been genuinely upset when she’d been transferred.

“You’re a pain in my ass, but you’ve got guts,” Shaxs had admitted once, looking impressed, which was his way of saying you’re fucking adopted go do 200 pushups.

Beckett has seen a lot of death in her 26 years, but this one hurts because this is her Mom’s family. Half of them are dead and she wasn’t there and fucking Brad was.

Fucking Brad is still staring at her, eyes unreadable, mouth set in a hard line. He snatches up the file and flips it open, fingers deftly shuffling through the printed-out paper documents she’d complied last night. “I’m overseeing ship repairs tomorrow. 0500 hours. Be there.”

“Wait what?” Beckett hears herself say, aware that she’s gaping at him.

“I’ll have to run these through background checks before I can approve them for transfer, and I’d like to meet with them in person before I make any decisions.”

“Dude.”

“What,” he snaps, eyes meeting hers defiantly.

“You’re seriously approving my transfer?”

“Do you not want me to?” his brow furrows in confusion.

“You called me the ‘least promotable person’ like ever! I just like insulted the fuck out of you!” she whisper-shrieks. “You’re supposed to get mad and tell me to fuck off back to whatever corner of the galaxy Freeman dragged my ass out of, not make me your First Fucking Officer.”

“Well I’m not. Congratulations First Officer Mariner, you’re expected to report for duty—”

“Oh fuck you—”

“On the Cerritos three weeks from now during her relaunch.”

Beckett is on the verge of stabbing this bastard in the eye with his own stylus. “But why?”

Brad pauses, halfway out of his seat, hands still clenched tightly around the file. “Why what?”

“Don’t be fucking coy, why are you approving my transfer, you absolute nugget,” she hisses.

“Captain Freeman recommended you.”

“Are you seriously that much of a suck up—”

“The Cerritos isn’t that great of a starship, but Captain Freeman is a good captain,” Brad interrupts. “We went through some real shit together. She didn’t deserve what happened to her. The least I can do is honor her last request.”

And with that, Brad stands up and sweeps out of the bar.

“Dramatic exits are my thing!” she shouts after him.

_____

She’s pissed, mostly because Brad had the actual audacity to approve her transfer, but also because how fucking dare he be an actual nice person?

Okay, maybe not a nice person, she decides, as she crawls out of bed at 4 fucking thirty am. Morning people are hell spawn, but he’s a decent person.

Whatever, it’s not as if she’s going to start liking him or trying to be his friend or whatever.

“If it doesn’t work out, I can get myself demoted in like two days,” she decides, out loud, tying her hair out of her eyes. Her reflection stares back at her, tired.

So of course, Brad is annoyingly awake.

“Of course you’re a fucking morning person,” she mutters, falling into step behind him.

“Haven’t had your coffee yet?” he snips back, eyes glued to his data padd.

She glares at his back, but makes no comment.

By the time Beckett is fully awake and functioning, she’s already dissociated three separate times and had a mini panic attack twice.

The ship is FUCKED.

The primary hull has been completely ripped apart, like something took a large bite out of the side, and both propulsion units are missing. Beckett peaks over Brad’s shoulder and gets a good look at the interior damage.

“You guys ejected the warp core?” she shrieks in his ear. “Dude that is so badass.”

Brad jumps and pushes her off him. “Wha—get off me, what are you doing—”

Beckett snatches the padd away from him and begins to rapidly scan through the damage reports. “Shit, it’s going to take weeks before we’re back in space. What’s the ETA on getting a new core in? Oooh, we should also add reflective panels, I hear the Enterprise is so bright, nothing ever gets done on there.”

Brad snatches his padd back. “Yeah, I think we can pass on that one.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Being a Starfleet Officer isn’t supposed to be fun—although I do find enjoyment in managing and organizing information—”

“Oh yawn, you’re a pencil pusher.”

“Did you just say ‘yawn’ out loud?”

“Do you need your hearing checked, Captain Brad?”

“It’s Boimler,” he hisses.

“Captain Boimler Brad,” she corrects, easily.

He stomps off, all huffy, but whatever. It’s not her fault Captain Brad doesn’t have a sense of humor.

_____

It takes about a month for the Cerritos to get back into working condition. Beckett would be impressed with how quickly Starfleet is able to get her back in commission, except for the fact that, well. It’s Starfleet. They’re great at what they do, even if what they do isn’t so great.

By then she’s already sent her Dad over seventeen furious voicemails and threatened her mother with six different kinds of legal action if she doesn’t “pick up her goddamn fucking comm.”

Mom does pick up her call and she does agree to meet with her.

“This is bullshit,” she says, after hugging the ever-living shit out of her favorite parent. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

Mom rolls her eyes. It’s like looking in a mirror. “Kiddo, I’ve never been able to make you do anything.”

This was probably true, but Beckett needs someone to blame. “He’s worse than you. Or Dad. Mom he likes paperwork. He’s a morning person. Yesterday he asked me my opinion on the Oxford comma.”

Mom makes a complicated face. Beckett suspects she’s trying not to laugh. “That does sound like Boimler,” she admits, sighing. “Please tell me you’re playing nice.”

Beckett decides not to tell her about the whole “I was a bitch to him because I have no idea how to grieve” deal. “Hey, I can be nice.”

“Hmm.”

“Okay, maybe I’m giving him a hard time, but come on! You could have chosen anyone to promote. Hell, you should have picked Ransom, not transferred him!”

“Ransom doesn’t have the head to make tough calls.”

“And Brad does?”

Mom gives her a look that says she knows something Beckett doesn’t. Beckett hates that look. “I think he knows what he’s doing when he forgets he’s in charge.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means give him a chance before you decided to drop him in a wormhole,” is the dry response she’s given.

Beckett makes no promises.

_____

The Cerritos leaves Starbase 375 on an uneventful day. About eighty percent of the original crew has been completely replaced, most notably, the Bridge Crew. Senior staff is now complied of Officer’s Captain Freeman had promoted before her resignation, but there’s are a few that Beckett herself has recommended. Seems like Brad had actually taken a look at the file.

Beckett takes her seat next to Captain Brad and prepares herself for the madness that’s going to commence from being First Officer on the lamest ship in Starfleet.

The Cerritos has been in deep space for three boring, uneventful weeks.

The only fun Beckett has found in any of it is by torturing Brad. And she’s not even trying! Beckett just has one of those personalities that rubs well-organized people the wrong way. Yes, sometimes she thrives off chaos, and yeah she does things in her own time, but it’s just who she is.

Brad doesn’t seem to appreciate any of her suggestions, calling most of them illegal and dangerous and being all shouty about it.

He’s also a huge stickler for regulations and shit. It’s way, way worse than working with Mom. Beckett’s about to start climbing walls from the sheer boredom of being a First Officer. The only thing she does anymore is sleep, paperwork and fight with Brad, rinse, repeat.

And then she meets Lieutenant D’Vana Tendi.

The first thing Beckett thinks when she runs into the hyperactive Orion is that if Dr. T’Ana had retired along with the rest of the senior crew, Tendi could have easily picked up the mantle. The girl’s a fucking prodigy, mad scientist level of genius.

The second thing Beckett thinks when she meets Tendi is I am way gayer than I thought I was.

“Hey, you’re Mariner!” Tendi chirps, excitedly bouncing up to her. Dr. T’Ana, who had been discussing something medical and boring with the Orion, groans and stomps off the minute she lays eyes on Beckett. Which, rude. Beckett didn’t want to talk to her anyway.

“Oh nice, my reputation proceeds me,” Beckett grins, brushing off her hurt. “As does yours, Lieutenant Tendi.”

Tendi’s cheeks turn a little blue.

There’s an amused snort behind her. “Already flirting with the locals, Mariner?” a familiar voice dryly asks.

Beckett’s mouth drops open. “Rutherford?”

Rutherford, who was messing anxiously with a cyber implant over his eye that he definitely did not have three years ago, grins at her. “Long time, no see!”

Tendi whirls around. “You know Mariner?”

“She used to be lower decks with me,” he explains.

“Yeah, back in the day,” Beckett agrees, examining her nails. “It was pretty badass.”

Rutherford snorts and gives her a look which clearly conveys I know why you were transferred dumbass. Beckett gives him a look back and hopes it communicates to shut the fuck up.

“You driving Boimler crazy yet?” Rutherford asks, instead of spilling her dirty secrets.

Tendi does this cute snort/giggle thing behind her Padd. “Like you haven’t been present for his ‘daily complain about Marin—‘”

Rutherford lightly kicks Tendi who quite promptly shuts up.

Beckett frowns suspiciously at them.

“Anyway, it’s great to see you Mariner!” Rutherford continues. “Congrats on making First Officer by the way,” he adds in a tone of voice that implies that she will be telling him exactly how she had landed the position later.

“I guess my record speaks for itself.” Beckett smirks.

“Uh hu,” he eyes her disbelievingly. “See you at the bar after our shifts?”

Beckett sighs. “I’ll have to pass. Brad gave me so much fucking paperwork to do that I’ll never get a day off again.”

“Look at you following the rules!” Rutherford punches the air. “I knew you had it in you. I guess I’ll see you around!” He hops off the bio-bed and heads off toward Engineering.

Tendi frowns after him. “At least he still sounds like himself, right?”

That’s a weird thing to say. “Huh?”

The Orion blinks up at her, startled. “Oh, you don’t know? He was in an accident. Full year of his memory completely wiped. He remembers Brad, and you, I guess, but.” She looks down, defeated.

“Oh.” Beckett feels squeamish at the sudden emotion present in the conversation. “That, uh, that really sucks.”

“Yeah.” Tendi shakes herself. “Well, enough buffer time, I’d better get back to work. It was great meeting you, Mariner!”

“Likewise, Lieutenant Tendi,” Beckett flashes her most charming grin. “See you on the Bridge?”

Tendi glances back at Dr. T’Ana, who’s impatiently glaring at them. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

_____

The next few weeks go by in rapid succession. It’s either very very boring and leaves Mariner missing her life as a lower decks officer or it’s incredibly fast pace with weird shit that leaves her chasing the next adrenaline rush.

But of course most days it’s just Brad yelling at her.

“If you could have your report for Second Contact with the Diququeue’s by tomorrow morning, that would be great.”

“Uh huh.”

“Also, I need you to stop trying to pet J’viv, his culture finds it offensive.”

“Sure thing.”

“Are you even listening to what I’m saying?!

_____

“Officer Mariner could you—what the fuck are you wearing.”

“Oh yeah, the Padroiques gave me this cool jacket.”

“I don’t even—what—Mariner, go take it off!”

“But it’s pink!”

“It’s putting hair all over my Bridge!”

“That’s not hair it’s—”

“Oh my god just get rid of it.”

_____

“What the fuck was that!”

“That was me. Doing my job. First Officer stuff.”

“That was you practically starting a war with the Gorgonvians. Again.”

“Dude, their government is super corrupt!”

“That’s their problem! Stop antagonizing alien Ambassadors!”

_____

“Why would you tell them to go fuck themselves?!”

“They pissed me off!”

“I actually can’t handle you right now. Get off my Bridge and go irritate someone else.”

“Fine!”

_____

“This isn’t working,” she tells Rutherford, snatching at his drink. He gives it up with a sigh and wearily watches her down the purple liquid.

“Maybe start listening to him for once? He is the captain.”

“And that isn’t weird to you? Dude, didn’t he start out lower decks?”

This gets an eye roll out of her usually positive friend. “We all started lower decks. That’s how Starfleet works.”

Beckett decides not to mention that it was definitely not how it worked for her, as that explanation would include revealing that she’s. Well. A Starfleet brat.

“Besides, he’s been a Lieutenant for about a year now and he really handled the Parkled crisis really well. Not that I remember,” he adds, looking a little downcast.

Beckett wrinkles her nose. “Wait, the Cerritos was taken down by Parkleds? No fucking way.” She pulls her data padd out and began tapping away.

“Please don’t hack any mission re—”

“Too late.”

“—ports. Oh shit.” Rutherford rubs at his human eye with one hand. “See this? This is why you’re driving Boimler up a wall.”

Beckett glares at him. “Brad needs to chill out.”

“You need to chill out,” he corrects and then winces. “Sorry, that came out mean. I mean, maybe just try being nice to him? Like what’s the worst that could happen?”

Beckett’s eyes narrow.

_____

“Here, Jen made coffee.”

“If you’re trying to poison me—”

“Why would I poison you?!”

Brad gives her a deadpan stare.

“With coffee!” she adds, for good measure. “I would never defile the gods’ nectar!”

“Ugh, fine,” he snatches at the mug. “Just please stop shouting.”

_____

“I don’t get it!” Beckett rants to Tendi, who’s frowning down at her data padd like it holds the secrets of the universe. “I’m being like super chill for once and he’s still mad!”

Rutherford, who’s doing something cool and science-y to the transporter pad, glances up. “Your version of chill involves way more stabbing than most peoples.”

Tendi nods, eyes still glued to her padd. “Maybe try not challenging Klingons to duels and Boimler will calm down.”

“Uh, he challenged me and then was a sore loser. Not my fault. And I bought Brad a milkshake afterwards to make up for it!”

“Boimler did say that it was unfairly delicious,” Tendi says, pensively.

“I don’t think that was a milkshake,” Rutherford mumbles.

“Point is, why doesn’t he like me yet! Everyone likes me except lame people!”

“So, you don’t think Boimler is lame anymore,” Tendi inquires, grinning at her.

“Shut up, he’s the lamest.”

Rutherford and Tendi share a conspiring look. “Sure.”

_____

So, Brad almost dies. And so do Tendi and Rutherford, because it seems that even though Brad is captain now, apparently the three of them are a tight little trio who’ve been getting up to no good the whole time Beckett was on the Vulker.

That explains a lot actually.

Anyway, there’s some Away Mission nonsense and Beckett just happens to be on the Cerritos because Brad claims that she’s too high strung and that he hasn’t had enough coffee to handle her.

Whatever.

Some shit goes down—again, Beckett isn’t there and doesn’t bother to find out the exact details until much much later—that involves Rutherford and Brad getting infected by some alien disease and suddenly Tendi is dealing with an outright war between the local Camisitites and the Federation and by the time Beckett gets their asses beamed back onto the Cerritos, it’s almost too late.

Rutherford is going to be fine, thanks to his cyborg implants but Brad isn’t looking too hot which means Beckett is Acting Captain.

Fucking great.

It takes her maybe two, three days tops to settle everything out with the irate Camisitite nation and find a cure, but it all works out in the end.

“If you want a Missions Report you can have it after I’ve taken a shower,” she informs a groggy Brad. He blinks up at her from his bio-bed, taking in her disheveled hair, bloodstained shirt, and exhausted expression.

“…cool,” he mutters. “Go away.”

She scoffs at him, dragging a seat up. “I’m good here, actually.”

Brad wakes himself up enough to give her a half-hearted scowl. “Do you ever do as you’re told?”

“Not really, no.” She examines her nails. “Your fault for signing my transfer.”

“So this has all been punishment? Because a good person talked you into a nice, well paying job that I signed off on. I don’t get you.”

“I don’t get you,” she retorts. “Command fucking sucks. It was way cooler when I was an ensign.”

“But you’re really good at it,” he says, surprised. “You’re smart and badass and like way better at everything than everyone else.”

“Wait what?”

“You could have everything! And you’re just wasting it? Do you want me to kick you off ship?”

“Maybe!”

“Well I’m not going to!”

“Why not?!”

He glares at her sullenly. “Figure it out yourself, if you’re so smart.”

_____

“I can’t figure it out!” she snaps, resuming her wild pacing.

Rutherford, who looks like his unending patience is finally, for once, running out, sighs.

(People seem to be doing that a lot around her recently.)

“Figure what out, Mariner?”

“Why did the bastard make me his First Officer?”

“Maybe he’s hot for you,” Tendi suggests, eyebrows wiggling up and down. Beckett shoves her face away.

“Shut up, no way.”

“Just ask him?” Rutherford suggests.

“I did! Like twice! First time he gave me stupid answer and second time he deflected.”

“He gave it to you because he likes you, dummy,” Rutherford says, giving her a friendly shove. “Not like that,” he adds, as Tendi began make kissy faces. “But like. He thinks you’re cool.”

“He thinks I’m cool,” Beckett parrots, unimpressed.

“You are pretty cool,” Tendi agrees. “You like kick everyone’s ass and are super smart and you have street cred.”

“Street cred,” Beckett repeats, trying not to laugh. “Yeah, we’ll go with that.”

“Point is,” Rutherford went on. “He thinks you’re cool. And you know what? I think you think he’s pretty cool.”

Beckett makes a face. “I do not, take that back.”

“You think it’s impressive that Freeman promoted him and it has you all pissy because she threw you off the ship, but you secretly think he’s smart and you think it’s funny that he gets all tied up in knots over protocol,” Rutherford summarizes.

“What are you, my therapist?” Beckett snaps.

“I’m you’re friend. And I think you could be his too if you tried?”

Beckett groans, dropping her face into Tendi’s shoulder. “Fine maybe you’re a little bit right. He hates me though.”

“Trust me, he doesn’t hate you,” Rutherford says, grin in her voice. “You annoy the fuck out of him, sure. But he likes you plenty or he’d have gotten rid of you already.”

“So what do I do?” she mumbles into Tendi’s uniform.

“Go apologize, dumbass,” Tendi advises, shrugging her off her shoulder.

“Ugh.”

_____

She finds him laying on one of the Observation Deck floors, a half-drained bottle of blue substance beside him. Before she can change her mind, she flops down into a seated position next to him. They’re drifting through hyperspace, creating that weird blue effect as their ship speeds past distant stars.

Beckett takes a swig of his contraband, grimacing at the bitter taste.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he says, staring blankly out into space.

Beckett feels surprise at his admission—yeah, this man is a bit of a wreck, but he seemed to the type of guy whose contingency plans had contingency plans—but decides not to show it.

“Congrats dumbass, neither to the rest of us.”

Brad frowns. “You always know what you’re doing.”

This actually coaxes a surprised laugh out of her. She collapses backward, laying on the cold deck beside him. “That’s where you’re definitely wrong, dude. I never know what I’m going to do until I do it. Could be committing arson today, could adopt one of those turtle-puppies we saw on Karklon III last week, the list goes on. We’re Starfleet Officers, we have to be flexible about shit,” she adds, turning her head look at him.

He continues to stare straight ahead of him. “I think you make a better Captain.”

Okay, so he’s in a brutally honest mood. She can chill with that.

“I think I’d get us killed in a week,” she counters, truthfully. “I’m way too impulsive to be in charge. For every badass rule breaker, we need pencil pushing stickler, ya know?”

“So what,” Brad turns his head to the side, squints at her skeptically. “Now you want to work together?”

She drops her chin into the palm of her hand, leaning on her elbow. “I’m just saying, maybe I could get myself demoted back to the fucking Vulkner again and maybe you resign your position and become one of those sad sad researchers that get eaten by their own plants and Starfleet discovers your remains six years later when they have to find a cure for a face-eating parasite or whatever. Or,” she continues, before he can interrupt, all pissy, “maybe you need to loosen up, and maybe I need to suck up to command a bit more.”

It’s the closest to an apology as he’s going to get from her.

(He’s been kind of a bitch too, and they both know it.)

Brad turns back to the window—if you can call the entire wall being made of glass a window—and sighs.

“I guess it couldn’t hurt to give it a shot,” he muses—his version of an apology as well, she notes—and then adds, “I can always demote you.”

“Ha! You couldn’t last a day in the chair without me and you know it,” she replies, smugly. “You pretend like you want constant order and everything to be perfectly organized and on schedule, but I know the truth.”

“Really now?” he dryly says. “And what’s that.”

She grins, leaning in. “You’re secretly a rebel.”

“Fuck off.”

“Pffft, I saw your eye twitching during our report to Admiral Travional. You were practically begging me to spill my coffee on him.”

“Okay, I did not tell you to do that—”

“Oh, and that sexy, sexy moment when Tendi punched Captain Lohnersen out? You never once wrote her up for—”

“He was harassing her, I wasn’t going to write her up when he clearly was disrespecting—”

Beckett dangles the bottle of ale in front of him. “Why Captain Brad. Is this. Gasp! Contraband?!”

Brad laughs, snatching the bottle away from her. “I found it in your quarters.”

“And just what were you doing in my quarters, my good sir?”

“I’ll have you know I was dropping off paperwork. That you still haven’t done. From three weeks ago.”

“And you just swiped it off my desk. Tsk, tsk.”

“Confiscated it,” he corrects, still grinning up at her. “For research purposes, of course.”

“Of course.” Beckett grabs the bottle again. Takes another swig. “Surprised you’re still conscious. This shit can blind you, ya know.”

“Yeah, I know.” He grabs the bottle back. “So maybe slow down.”

She rolls her eyes because she has clearly proven numerous times that she can hold her liquor but decides not the start anything. It’s weird, getting along with Brad, but not…unpleasant.

“Hey,” she says, poking his shoulder. “I’m glad you didn’t die.”

His face looks pinched. “Thanks for not letting me die,” he replies, suddenly wary.

She scoffs. “Like I’d let anyone die under my watch.”

Brad sits up. “You mean like I did.”

“Oh.” Beckett blinks at him. “Oh shit. Dude, I was just being an asshole then, I didn’t mean it.”

“But you weren’t wrong. If I had been smarter or—”

“Dude, you cannot think like that,” Beckett grabs his shoulders and makes uncomfortably steady eye-contact. “Even if I had been on the Cerritos when shit went down, I don’t think I could have saved him. You guys were on a time crunch with no backup and I’m surprised Rutherford survived the explosion.”

Brad’s eyebrows furrow. “Wha—did you read Freeman’s Mission Report? I told you to stop—”

She waves him off. “Doesn’t matter. Point is, stop beating yourself up over it. And stop letting assholes like me make you feel bad,” she adds, as an afterthought.

“Only if you stop challenging people to duels in the Jefferies Tubes,” he counters.

“Deal,” she lies. “You should get in on some of those duels, though. You seem like a sword guy.”

“I can’t even tell if that’s a euphemism or not,” he mumbles. “Are we cool?”

“The coolest,” she confirms. “At least until you see my Missions Report.”

Brad sighs deeply and flops back down. “I’m not even worrying about that right now.”

“Good, because I definitely broke like every protocol ever.”

“Of course you did.”

“And I told the Camisitite’s to call me Captain Mariner, First of her Name.”

“Oh my god—”

“And I challenged their leader to a duel.”

“Mariner what the fuck.”

#reblog for the non ao3 users #tumblr reblog #my fanfiction #star trek lower decks #beckett mariner #brad boimler #d'vana tendi #sam rutherford #carol freeman #marinler #first officer au #star trek

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tylerwritez · 3 years

Text

Tuesday, june 22 2021

I've noticed I'm getting "the shiverys" or "the twitchy" a lot today. Like every time I FEEL something I take a moment to violently tic.... every time I think about certain things I tic.... good things, bad things, things from an hour ago and things from years ago. Tic, tic, tic.

Also, I have... some stuff to explain. Its really no big deal, but you know me: I'll freak out about it anyway. Basically I dissed my friend (rightfully so) around the time that we had just met cos they did something that threw me off.

He saw it in my phone... NOW. it's not RELEVANT anymore and I've since redacted that criticism...and now I gotta explain it to him anwyays. Oh well. I'm good at this stuff. I can get myself outta any situation. I dont even know why I'm talking like this tho... it's not a "Situation" it's just smthn I gotta explain rq.

Oh, today's song recommendation is Spirit Crusher by Death. I'm a huge Death fan...

Also! I gotta study... for my replacement exam. How stressful. Its about photosynthesis, but like, it's not simple. We went DEEP inside those fucking leaves.

One sec, lemme hook up my IV tube

Not an ACTUAL IV tube... just my headphones. But since I'm so #emo, it might as well be a fucking IV tube with the way that I cant live without it.

Its 3:08 and I'm walking home now. I was upset last night but me and Star have made up now lol... it was thAt easy. I'm so defective, making shit hard when it doesnt need to be.

It's so hot out damn. Idk. I had school today, so I had Bio class... I ACTUALLY PAID ATTENTION for once. I had lunch with Star and her friend group, and I honestly kinda feel like they're MY friends now too, even just a little bit.

Actually, I used to rant about feeling lonely like all the time but now I have so many friends it's crazy they all keep inviting me places and it's like people WANT ME AROUND... idk. It makes me happy.

Today I gotta ask if tommroow after school I can go to Bee's house to watch Supernatural (famous homoerotic ghost show)

I should also add songs to Erin's spotify playlist for our picnic saturday which I still need permission to go to.

I gotta ask for Wednesday after school to watch Insidious with Jay which is apparently really good

Also hes the friend that I gotta explain stuff to... the DrAmA... the ThEaTrE....

Update my dad said yes to hanging out with Bee but first I'm gonna miss school to fix my broken brackets on my braces

Also turns out the house I THOUGHT we were moving into has substantial damage from shifting so... we aRENT moving there.

In case you didn't know, shifting is when like the house that's been built literally SHIFTS like it moves around.

Anwyays Jay just texted me... I'm gonna change into shorts since it's hot, set up my study area,.... and respond to him.

The time is 3:22 p.m.

Wish me. Luck.

Luck is plentiful! As it so often is in my risky, risky life.

I play my cards right. It's a learnt skill.

But also there wasnt much to explain since it passed already and was tiny anywyas.

XD so I've made up with the whole goddamn world by now.

Its 6:31, we saw 1 house. Only one. Its kinda hot out but I'm gonna bike now since we just had supper. I finally finished my homework... I just have to finish one mixed media piece as my final project for art!

Friday is my replacement. On photosynthesis and cell resp. We know this. But what I didn't mention, or I dont THINK I did, is that if I finish my art project before then I have the second block FREE!!! Me, Star, and her friend

A are planning to leave for second block and maybe get mint chocolate chip ice cream!

Also I might eat her out XD

Anyways idk. I hope I can bike tonight to call Jay.

I keep accidentally using people's real names here then having to correct it... I dont know how much i care about MY identity being discovered... but to have my friends doxxed would suck.

Man I feel bad abt saying fuck star last night cos we made up....

Wait we r looking at another house? Idk I'm in the car still waiting to go home

Oh wait no now we r goin home

Its 6:39... I hope I still have time.

I went biking, called Jay. Went home. Idk, friendly conversation... we talked more tonight and I also talked to my other friend A. Jay is... I LOVE HIM?? SO MUCH??? I feel so happy. Talking to him thinking about him seeing his STUPID FUCKING FACE JESUS. his eyes alone... I could stare at his face all day probably. I want to kiss him... hOLD HIS HAND... omg... huG HIM!!! Eofjwpxjwie he's so sweet like I can't even... and I'm proabably not good enough for him like. Wtf. Hes easily a 10. And I dont rate things outta 10. How tf do I end up with HIM? Doing stuff, as friends. Like wHAT. I guess I got lucky XD. He says he loves my personality and I'm hot XD ofc I dont see it myself. But like. JESUS CHRIST he could proabably easily pull whOever. XD me?

Whatever though. As long as we r together and stuff. I LOVE HIM A LOT. he said he loved me. Every time he says that it makes me so overly happy.

Maybe I'm just sappy and stuff.... whatever. I think it would be nice to be hugged by him.

Yeah I'm cheesy.

I'm sorta tired now so maybe I'm not writing the best.

I just keep thinkinf about love. Love is a muscle of evil suggestion. But how evil can it really be? I am just a human being and that is all. Everything else is applied. I am just a human being with soemthing in my heart that pulls me all over the place. Love is this strange thing because I'm fucked up and to be able to love without that fucked up part of me, without the damage... is this complicated, hard thing to do and I can NEVER tell if I'm doing it right but I know I'm DOING IT. I know I FEEL LOVE. And soemtimes it's such an intense thing like when you go to surf on a wave at the beach with ur belly but u hit it wrong and it's so big and overwhelming it washes over you and PULLS you down to the bottom and smushes your face into the sand and YOU CANT BREATHE jesus Christ it's like that.

Or maybe I just want to experience love as it should be felt.

Obviously all of my problems surrounding this Damage could be easily fixed if I went to therapy but. there are reasons I can't.

I LOVE a lot. Too much for my own good. Enough to hurt me, get me into trouble, etc etc but also... enough to liberate me. I LOVE. I love Jay. So much. LIKE. MY BRAIN ORBITS AROUND HIM CONSTANTLY THINKING OF HIM AND PRAISING HIM AND MWUAH HE IS SO LOVELY I BOW BEFORE HIM...

I think as much as I love, a lot of the times I tend to focus even more on BEING loved.

If I am told I am loved, and shOwN I am loved... it is one of the most powerful things. Especially since I was literally emotionally neglected in childhood... yeah. I feel like I'm always trying to fill that hole.

Not EVERY feeling I have is for that reaosn but sometimes, if you tell me you love me, show me you love me, hug me,... I'll like start crying,,, that's the childhood emotional neglect kicking in. If you call me #smol and #cute and say I look young and fragile which happens more often than you'd think XD, I know I'm not supposed to like that shit, so I act like I dont....but I do. Which is PROBABLY ALSO THE CEN 🤪 like whatever lol

Anwyays I'm fucked up

You see how quickly things become complicated in my mind?

Convoluted? Is that the word?

Whatever. I OVERCOMPLICATE THINGS COS I OVERTHINK THEM BECAUSE I'm LITERALLY MENTALLY ILL IN SO MANY DIFFERENT WAYS. I'm not joking. I obviously have unresolved undiagnosed "issues"

I do Suspect things, though.

I can make a list

Maybe I shouldn't.

Maybe I will.

I shouldnt.

Whatever.

I used to hate when people brought up my self harm. I would actually panic. I still self harm but now? Now I'm fine with anyone talking about it as long as it's not an adult who can get me into trouble/force me into therapy over it. Because really? I kinda like having it mentioned. It's kinda validating and it's like hey... people can see that I'm sick.

I dont do it so people talk to me about it though. Dont get me wrong. If I did, I'd go vertically on the arms, not for suicide but so it healed and people would ask XD.

My scars are actually VERY hidden... cos I never intended for ANYONE to see. But for those who DO see them,,,, it's nice soemtimes to have people express concern.

I dont wanna be PITIED or anything, but idk I just think to myself "wow, they're CONCERNED... about ME... they arent angry or mean... they didnt yell at me or threaten me... they respect my autonomy and privacy...

And they CARE ABOUT ME..." and it makes me cry.

That's also the CEN.

I dont know. I just like when people express genuine concern. Even if they see and then just ask if I'm okay. That's all it takes cos then I go wow.

Its validating and irs lovely because finally people care... FINALLY PEOPLE CARE. FINALLY I GET SOME EMPATHY OR SYMPATHY AND NO ANGER.

Even just having them brought up tells me its noticeable enough

My brain does this thing where it thinks nothing bad that's ever happened to me was Bad Enough for me to be upset about.

And I dont know... its nice sometimes to be told shit like "omg that looks so bad" or to see that people who do see my cuts are somewhat shocked or revolted... it's nice because I go... "hey, it was bad enough for them..."

Or to have people comment on them with concern. Just ANYTHINT WHERE PEOPLE NOTICE IT AND ARENT ASSHOLES ABOUT IT IS VALIDATING.

Because I'm not used to that...

Because CEN

I'm. The worst perosn on the fucking planet.

I should kill myself.

I suddenly actually feel so self hating I do want to kill myself... oh god.

I ruin everything. Everything. Everything. Everything. What have I done. Like. Why. Oh god.

I'm just remembering when Star said my kindness seemed like an act. And how I've been called out for seeming fake like 2 other times.

DO I SEEM FAKE???? I DONT EVER PUT ON ACTS OF KINDESS.... CONCIOUSLY? but the very idea that I could be perceived that way...

Should I like not try to be nice or some shit?

Jesus christ she hurts my feelings even now when it was a long time ago.

But I cant blame her. I can't blame anyone for how i feel except my parents because they left me with fucking. Heart nerve damage or some shit.

I'm tired and now I'm sad too. Goodnight guys.

#JudeJournals

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calamariimpossible · 3 years

Text

Magicians on the internet, crypto, and the email that broke me.

This is a continuation of a twitter thread that Muz (@mzkrx) started to write out in his car but then when he plotted out his thoughts, it made more sense to him to put it down in a blog format rather than a thread. You'll find out why as you read through.

Stuck in the car for half an hour so I'm gonna do a thread (Editor's note: Now a whole-ass blog post) about a strange email I got recently.

So I was casually watching magic tricks on YouTube. the funnest part of which to me is reading the comments. YouTube commenters love explaining how they think the trick is done and it's fun to read through their theories and connect dots between similar tricks, etc.

And then one time as I was scrolling I noticed a comment that didn't make sense. It was a string of an almost sentence. Intelligible enough to not be random words but odd enough to read like a trigger phrase for something.

The closest I can describe it as is like the string Zemo used to wake up the Winter Soldier, but with some syntax to it. Like "many thermos wiggle throughout exotic harbinger of circle ascending fuchsia entrapment".

Initially I thought nothing of it, but then I kept seeing them in these magic trick video comment sections. They're never the same string, and it's always under magic trick videos. from different channels even.

Hmmm.

The profiles that posted these comments are also always blank accounts with zero videos and no profile pic. Just their name. I felt like it was too much of a coincidence for these comments to only be under magic trick videos.

I also knew that the world of performance magic is thick with secrets. That is to say, there is deliberate obfuscation of information whenever you try to go online to find out how a trick works.

Magicians get together online and share information with each other just like performers of every other sort as well but the amount of code and doublespeak they use is an order of magnitude more annoying to decipher compared to say, an engineering message board or a gamedev forum.

Knowing that, I thought maybe this almost parsable gibberish I keep seeing everywhere was also some kind of code these people were using to talk to each other.

So I started investigating.

First things first, let's just Google one of the phrases. Maybe that's enough?

And it sorta was.

Pasting them onto the search bar lent me to only 1 result (wild!) and it was a website that looked really dank. Like geocities dank. Annoying neon colours and badly margined jpegs of tarot card images everywhere and a big bold header text that said something to the effect of:

"Congratulations, you've found our hidden message. This portal is only for those seeking knowledge beyond what is on the surface. Continue below."

* * *

I haven't been doing well. I feel like I say that too much. I say it on Patreon, on my personal podcast, whenever any of my friends ask me how I'm doing, pretty much everywhere. I feel very heavy. I understand I'm not the only one feeling like this during a pandemic.

Duh.

But I have this other version of worry that I can't quite articulate until right now: I'm scared I won't be funny anymore. Anwar and Farid can attest that even during our recordings I don't feel up to being funny. I question my jokes a lot. I barely enjoy telling them. I'm worried I'm letting everyone down.

To me, silliness and absurdism as virtues only make sense when the world has trace amounts of injustice and wrongness that training ourselves to see it in our everyday helps us remind ourselves of what is just and fair. The more we consume silliness, the more we are able to recognize silly and point it out. So we don't ignore it when things go wrong, so we talk about it, manage it. So we can take care of each other.

Maybe I can't be sure if we're all up for taking care of each other right now.

* * *

"Continue below" seems instructive, but it wasn't. Like I mentioned, the margins were haphazard and the CSS was all over the place. Some jpegs were straight up cropped off.

Meaning I can't be sure what "below" meant. But there were clickable images and text so I was readily intrigued.

It was tantalizing. Did I stumble into some secret order of Extremely Online Magicians? Maybe I'll finally find out why there aren't many female magicians out there. Maybe it's some sort of secret initiation to a secret message board full of secrety secrets. Secretly.

Y'all.

I didn't click on any of the linked images or anything. I closed the tab. That was the end of that.

An earlier version of myself would gladly run headlong into this rabbit hole to find out more and sink hours into some goddessforsaken labyrinth of links. But the current version of me recognizes this for what it almost certainly is: an abandoned roleplaying game.

Back in the early 00s when the internet was the realm of nerds and nerds only, it was full of people who loved sharing things for sharing's sake. It used to be punk rock to maintain a blog that only talked about snails or have a lo-fi YouTube channel that uploads biweekly 3-minute news about your house, or manage a little message board where people roleplay as wizards who rummage around the net looking for clues.

That last part was a thing I remember being actively involved in. In '03, a group of online friends and I wrote up a scavenger hunt of sorts where we sent people through various blog pages that we have where the goal is to just dick around and have fun. We wasted each other's time for sure. Hundreds of hours of it for literally no gain at all but for some laughs and fun memories.

The internet isn't like that anymore. People don't share something online for sharing anymore. Not really. There's this idea that if you put stuff out there, you want people's attention because numbers are good. You get a lotta reblogs and RTs and Likes which means people Like you.

If you don't have a lotta numbers, you don't matter. If you do, everyone has to talk about what you said or did because it's 'News' now.

Isn't that kinda gross, you think? That we need people to interact through an app to be sure that we're Liked? I say "we" but I mean me. I've successfully poisoned my brain to believe this to a certain extent too and it's not good.

I felt myself physically react when I closed that geocities magician website tab. I shuddered because my brain went from "this is cool" to "I gotta let people know I found this" to "this'll get me hella RTs" to "ew Muz why did you think that" within 3 seconds and I was disgusted with myself.

As a dude who started my online presence on YouTube and parlayed it into my real life comedy/writing career, I've believed for a long time that doing good work and putting it out there is what it takes for a working creative to make it because that's what I did. So there's this idea that making stuff and having it be seen is some kind of virtuous.

But it's not anymore. People pick fights with children for clout. Newspapers post about people's tweets as if its important. People are investing in crypto, a thing that literally only exists as electrical waste on a grand scale. We're boiling the oceans to yell at each other over nothing and exchange bits of code everyone agrees has ever-rising value but doesn't. Everyone is making and eating junk, it feels like.

So am I making junk? Have I just been making useless junk for literally over a decade now? Is that what I've been good for this entire time?

* * *

So the email.

It was a response from a company I applied to for a job. I applied as a creative writer and they're an advertising agency.

Receiving emails from a prospective employer when you're in need of a job is exciting! So soon after I applied, too. Wonderful. Here's what it said:

We just received your application today but would love to extend the opportunity for you to participate in the Case Competition as a prerequisite of your job application for Creative Writer position with [REDACTED] and stand a chance to be a winner for cash awards up to a total worth of RM1,800.

Yea.

They want me to enter a competition where I compete with other candidates to get a chance of being hired.

This company saw how many people applied for a job with them, and decided to dangle some cash and throw it over the fence to see which candidate will fight for it the most.

I didn't expect to feel vomitous after reading an email but that did it. I almost dry heaved. That's where we are now.

Recruiters see a glut of applicants and decided to play Fall Guys. These people watch Istana Takeshi and think Takeshi is the good guy. It hurts. It hurt me. That email caused me pain.

I can't at all empathise with recruiters who think this was okay to do. They really believed that creative writers will do a little dance for them just for money.

Look, I know we all need to eat. But I can also hate that people undervalue the work of creatives to this painful extent.

I don't give a shit about earning a lot of dough. I just wanna make things that tickle people. I want you to smile more.

That's the whole point of that weird little YouTube comment that led to the quirky website. That's the whole idea of making silly videos and dumb tweets and memes. We just want you to laugh.

But it seems people think so little of joy that they'll do whatever they can to avoid legitimately supporting and paying for stuff that gets them through the day. So much so that they want free work from us for the potential of maybe being able to get paid for more work. It breaks me, man.

I hate that I cannot make a living just trying my best to make people happy.

That's the best way I know to take care of you.

I know I don't just 'make junk' for a living. People have messaged me personally that my work has helped them get through tough times in school, in their relationships, at the office and I am eternally grateful that they took the time to tell me that.

I just also wish my feelings about my work aren't easily brought down by the majority of people who insist its worthless. Even if sometimes those people is me.

So forgive me if I won't be funny for a while. I'm gonna need some time to process this. Thank you for reading. I love you.

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the-casual-reply · 4 years

Text

Unmasking: Living with Autism in a Neurotypical World

The following is an original oratory I wrote and performed at my school speech contest! I am very proud of it so I thought I would share. This was written to be performed to a largely NT audience, so don’t be surprised when it assumes that you (the reader) are NT. My main motivation for writing this was raising awareness and partially out of frustration at the societal lack of knowledge about autism. (Fyi it’s like 5 pages long sorry gamers)

My name is Chloe [redacted] and I am autistic. This term is highly stigmatized, and for my entire life I’ve heard it used in mostly negative connotations. It has taken me a long time to even feel comfortable saying that I am autistic because I fear being judged and stereotyped. Today I am here to teach you that autism is not scary nor is it a bad thing, but it can make life difficult in a world made by and for neurotypical people, and I’m here to teach you what you need to know to be an ally and a friend for an autistic person.

When I was diagnosed with autism around a year ago, I was devastated. Everything I thought I knew about myself had suddenly been taken away from me. I felt like all the achievements, experiences, and feelings of my past self were stripped from me, and I didn’t know what to do. So, I decided to do some research. And as I learned more and more, I slowly reclaimed my identity. All these things that had previously confused me were suddenly explained, and as I noticed more and more autistic traits within myself, I learned not to be afraid or ashamed of them, but to embrace them as a part of myself.

Many who are reading this right now may wonder how this applies to you. Many of you probably don’t know an autistic person, or so you think. Here’s why it should matter: about one in sixty people has been diagnosed as autistic. That means, statistically, you interact with an autistic person about every other day, and that’s not considering those who go undiagnosed. That means that every other day, you impact the life of an autistic person, and they impact your life. Many people will hear that and wonder if it truly matters that the person you may be interacting with is autistic.

And I, as an autistic person, am here to tell you that it does matter. Autism affects every single aspect of a person’s life. It affects their sensory needs, their ability to communicate, their problem solving strategies, their performance in school or at work, their social needs, and countless other aspects of their identity. Many people with autism experience high levels of social anxiety due to trends of ostracism or exclusion throughout their lives. Because of this, a seemingly trivial interaction may greatly affect an autistic person in a different way than it would for an allistic (not autistic) person. Every day, autistic people are put into stressful and draining situations, where they often don’t have anyone to help them. So, today I want to help educate more people on what autism is, what it does, and how you can help positively change the life of an autistic person.

The most noticeable difference between allistic and autistic people is that autistic people are much more sensitive to sensory input. A setting that may be normal to an allistic person may be extremely overwhelming to an autistic person. For example, bright or flashing lights, strong scents, overlapping or loud noises, and unpleasant textures or tastes are common sources of uneasiness or distress for us.

On top of physical overstimulation, many autistic people also struggle with emotional overstimulation. Many autistic people absorb the moods of the people we spend time with due to our hypersensitivity to their feelings, and we experience emotions to a much stronger extent than allistic people usually do.

When an autistic person experiences intense feelings such as happiness or anxiety, they use a coping mechanism called ‘stimming’. Stim is short for ‘self-stimulatory behavior’ and it refers to a repeated motion or action that dispels energy that is being absorbed by the person due to their surroundings. My favorite stims are hand flapping, repeated blinking, contortion of the face, spinning, and repeating verbally satisfying words or sounds. By stimming, I can dispel some of the high levels of energy or strong emotions caused by my surroundings.

Stimming is essential to the health and wellbeing of autistic people. But it can also be dangerous. Autistic people risk being judged, bullied, ostracized, abused, and even arrested when stimming in public. Because stimming and other signs of overstimulation are similar to signs exhibited by those who are under the influence of drugs or alcohol, it is not uncommon for autistic people to be arrested or harassed by police officers for stimming in public.

For me, this is alarming. In a world where we pride ourselves on being inclusive and forward-thinking, it is still dangerous to simply be autistic in public. To me, the most important way to make the world safer for people with autism is to spread awareness for their experiences, and for actually autistic people to be the ones sharing their stories. For too long, the stereotype of the autistic person who cannot stand up for themself has been perpetuated and widely accepted. So today I’m challenging that stereotype, and I’m here to tell you some things that autistic people wish more allistic people knew about autism.

Autistic people tend to be very blunt and straightforward regarding their thoughts and feelings. To allistic people, whose interactions are filled with flowery language to avoid being upfront and honest, this is seen as impolite. So, understand that if an autistic person unexpectedly says something frank and direct that comes off as rude, they are likely just honestly saying what they’re thinking, which is what they expect you want to hear.

And to autistic people, the way that allistic people communicate can seem just as nonsensical. It can be hard for us to detect sarcasm, understand non-literal figures of speech, and interpret body language. So, when communicating with autistic people, be mindful of the fact that they may struggle to understand you. If you say something and they don’t understand what you mean right away, don’t become exasperated or treat them like their need for clarification is a burden. Calmly and nonjudgmentally explain what you said, and if they don’t need any further clarification, move on with the conversation as usual.

On top of this, autistic people struggle to understand implied meanings. So, try to be open about your feelings and intentions. If you want an autistic person to complete a task, you should tell them exactly what you want them to do without excluding anything you think is implied. Especially don’t become frustrated or angry if an autistic person doesn’t infer something that you didn’t explicitly say. Autistic brains form conclusions by looking at little, individual clues and then piecing them together to create a model of what they should do, as opposed to the allistic method of forming a model and then filling in the blanks. This is another prominent difference between allistic and autistic brains.

Autistic people’s brains are wired to rely on routine much more than allistic people due to the way that they analyze situations. Many autistic people rely on routines to find a sense of security within their lives because of how they analyze situations. So, a sudden change in schedule can be very upsetting and anxiety inducing for an autistic person. When planning a get-together or party involving an autistic friend or family member, remember to try to give them extra notice of any changes in plans in order to help reduce any worry they may be feeling.

Because of our processing style, autistic brains require more time to process new requests and instructions than allistic brains. When an autistic person is asked to do something outside of their regular schedule or what they are usually expected to do, it may be hard for them to process at first. So, if you ask an autistic person to do something for you, they may not do it immediately. Do not berate them for this, as this would likely lead to them becoming unnecessarily stressed. Allow them extra time to process your instructions, answer any questions they may have, and be patient.

Another essential thing to understand about autism is sensory overload. As I mentioned earlier, autistic people regularly face negative sensory experiences that can become overwhelming to them. This can lead to them becoming tired and irritable, and it can interfere with their ability to communicate and function normally. When an autistic person becomes so overwhelmed that stimming cannot regulate their sensory input, they may experience a shutdown or meltdown. A shutdown is characterized by minimal or complete lack of speech, extreme sensitivity to touch and sound, inability to move, and seclusion into a space where one can be alone. A meltdown is characterized by a temporary lack of control over one’s behavior resulting in yelling, crying, and physically lashing out. Both of these are the autistic brains reactions to extremely overwhelming circumstances. Autistic people cannot choose to meltdown or shutdown, and in turn, cannot choose to stop a meltdown or shutdown that has already started.

So, it’s important to understand each individual person and what they need from you. Talk to your autistic friend or family member about circumstances that they find to be most upsetting, and actively find ways to avoid them, or if that’s not possible, warn them of the potentially stressful situation before you enter it. If you are ever with an autistic person during a shutdown or meltdown, the most important thing for you to do for them is to take them away from what is upsetting to them. Take them to a quiet, dark room, and stay with them until they have calmed down. Find a way for them to be able to communicate their needs to you, such as typing or writing, to make sure that they feel safe and comfortable.

Really, what I am asking you to do is to be a better person for the sake of not only yourself, but also the people around you, autistic or not. Be kind. Be caring. Be empathetic, understanding, and aware of how you affect those around you. In order to be an ally to those with autism, first one must learn how to be an ally to those without it.

#autism #actually autistic #autism awareness #autistic teen #autistic student #neurodivergency #neurodivergent #living with autism #autistic pride #autistic feels #autistic things #autistic struggles

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serendipitous-magic · 4 years

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Question Game - AKA Oversharing Hour

I was tagged by @the-angry-pixie! And I’m a chronic oversharer, so this was fun. I’ll put most of it under a read more line because there’s a LOT.

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or blue pen?

Black. Dunno why.

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or city?

City city city city city city city city. I’m already going fucking batshit as it is, trapped in suburbia. I want to be able to actually do things, anything. Anything other than just being around the house and / or work. (And I felt like this before the pandemic started.) If you live in the city you can walk out your door and be somewhere else within like 5 minutes. A city park, a cafe, a train/subway, a local attraction, a museum, an artist’s booth, an outdoor market, etc. etc.

Living in suburbia is like, well, to go literally anywhere you have to get into your car first and drive like 10 minutes minimum to get out of the neighborhood, and then if you want to go anywhere that’s not the grocery store you have to drive 20 minutes to get to another area of town, and then once you get there that’s the only place you can be without getting into your car again and getting a nice shot of anxiety from having to drive in traffic and have aggressive drivers roar up on your ass because you’re going 5mph above the speed limit and they want to be going 15mph above, and god help you if you have to merge, and oh by the way this is your only option to get around because public transit doesn’t really exist in any useful way in Big Suburbia, and nothing in within walking distance of your house except like 2 playgrounds and maybe one (1) gas station. (I hate it here lmao)

If I was trapped in the country I’d probably be chill with it for about a week, and enjoy the break, and the on day 8 I’d snap and go on a murdering spree out of stir-craziness.

3. If you could learn a new skill what would it be?

I want to learn German and eventually be fluent in it. But since I’ve already started trying to learn and I don’t know if that counts, I’ll say cinematography. As in the actual working of the camera and lighting and all that. I can dream up some pretty striking images but actually getting the camera to do the settings needed to capture them is another story entirely.

4. Do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar?

Nope. I drink coffee and tea both, and I don’t put any kind of sweetener in either of them. I used to put a shitton of sugar in my coffee and honey in my tea, and then I had some mild eating disorder struggles in college and I never got back in the habit of putting stuff in my hot drinks after that. It just tastes wrong now, after being used to plain black coffee.

5. What was your favourite book as a child?

Either the Harry Potter series or The Hobbit. My grandma would take care of me a lot when I was really little because my parents both worked full time to support us, and every single time I was at her house she’d sit us down at the dining room table and read something to me. Not Junie B. Jones or anything, either, but real, big, thick books. I loved the shit out of Harry Potter and The Hobbit; I would request them repeatedly. We pretty much went back and forth; we’d read Harry Potter, and then The Hobbit, and then when a new Harry Potter book came out we’d read that, and then The Hobbit again, and so on and so forth.

6. Do you prefer baths or showers?

Showers. I love baths, they’re magical, but ain’t nobody got time for that unless it’s a special occasion. I got too much shit to do to spend an hour lying in the bathtub.

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would it be?

Vampire. Purely on the basis that if I was immortal maybe I’d finally have time to get my to-do list done and accomplish things. I’d miss the sunlight though.

8. Paper or electronic books?

Paper. Here’s the thing, I really want to enjoy ebooks, but they just don’t hold my attention at all. Maybe I’m too conditioned by the internet to have a short attention span when I’m looking at a screen, idk.

9. What is your favourite item of clothing?

I have a dark gray hoodie from the Seattle Aquarium from when I went on a road trip across America with my BFF a few years ago. It’s still my absolute favorite thing. I also enjoy my hiking boots a lot. (I wear them all the time, really they should just be called “everyday boots” haha)

10. Do you like your name or would you like to change it?

I like my name and I would also like to start going by something different. Probably just because I’m a restless soul and I feel the best (and least trapped) when I’m on the move or when things are changing. The second I get somewhere I want to be somewhere else. That’s just how I am. Gwen is a cool name (I’ve personally met maybe 3 people in my whole life with the same name, face-to-face), but there’s a lot attached to that nickname that I don’t necessarily want to carry with me when I eventually escape my hometown and start down a new path.

11. Who is a mentor to you?

A friend and former professor whom I usually refer to online as Producer Man. He’s a producer (as you may have guessed) who kind of took me under his wing after I was in one of his film classes in college. We work together on film projects now and he’s teaching me bit-by-bit (usually by way of long, rambling, tangential stories / lectures) about the industry. He’s a really good guy. Like, he for sure has a case of Old White Guy sometimes, but his heart is absolutely in the right place. “He’s a little confused, but he’s got the spirit.” He’s always leaving $10 tips at coffee places and working himself to the bone to get his students connected to jobs and internships that will help them with their careers.

12. Would you like to be famous and if so, what for?

Yes, my stories. Actually, “famous” is not the right word. It’s just that fame is so tightly associated with success in our society. I want to be successful. Whether I’m widely known or not is pretty inconsequential to me. I want to make stories and I want them to have an impact. Books, film, etc. It’s about as simple as that.

13. Are you a restless sleeper?

Oh yeah. I have trouble sleeping as much as I should because I usually kind of jerk awake in the morning with this vague feeling that I forgot something or that I’m late for something. Also I stay up later than I should because I’m a night owl, and yet I like being up early because early mornings are great. And usually if I dream at all it’s something kind of stressful, like I dream that I forgot something important or did something wrong. I’m a Stressed Bean.

14. Do you consider yourself a romantic person?

I think so, yeah. I’m pretty obsessed with the idea of romance (I mean look at my OTPs), but heteronormativity got me fucked up enough that I’m bad at actually navigating real romantic feelings or relationships because society never prepared me for The Gay.

15. Which element best represents you?

Fire, probably.

16. Who do you want to be closer to?

My mom. We fight a lot and there tends to be a lot of tension between us. It’s a long complicated story. It boils down to, she really hurt me when I came out as not-straight at 15 and she lost all of my trust and even though she’s working on being less homophobic we’re still kind of trying to repair that divide seven years later.

17. Do you miss someone at the moment?

Dude, I miss everyone. I’m an introvert and I’d love to be at a big party right now. I miss socialization. (As does everyone.)

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory.

The first time I experienced deja vu, I was about eehhh 6? And I legitimately believed, for several years of my life, that I had future-predicting abilities. Like, supernatural-level future-predicting abilities. Because I didn’t really know what deja vu was, so I thought, every time it happened, that I had already ~seen~ that moment in my dreams or something. 🤣

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten?

Hm. (My immature ass brain yells “DICK.” No, brain. Those were dark heteronormative times. Also, grow up.)

Probably some of the sushi in Seattle. I actually love sushi, it’s just that when it has full-on legs and eyeballs I start getting a little squeamish. I like the rolls and the kind where there’s some fish meat laid out on a nice little bed of rice, that’s delicious. But when they brought out the whole shrimp with legs still attached, I was like “How in the (redacted) am I going to chew / swallow that.”

20. What are you most thankful for?

That I happened to be living with family when this pandemic hit. I was supposed to move out (and across the country, actually) as of... like 4 days ago, as it happens. That was the plan. Plane ticket was gonna be booked for 7/15/20. Obviously, things didn’t quite work out that way, because of the pandemic and a few other reasons. But I can’t imagine if I had been in an apartment living with roommates, or in an apartment on my own struggling to get by, when this happened. A lot of people couldn’t pay rent and lost their homes. I was very, very lucky to be where I was, when I was, and very lucky that I have family who let me stay in their house pretty much indefinitely while this clusterfuck of a year happens.

21. Do you like spicy food?

Yes! I looooove spicy thai food especially. I miss the massaman curry from a local Thai place so much 😭

22. Have you ever met someone famous?

Um. Maybe? I met Veronica Roth once at an author talk in the library where I work, although it was before I worked there. And I met some guy from New Zealand who’s famous for his sword fighting skills because my dad does sword fighting stuff. Don’t remember his name though.

23. Do you keep a diary or journal?

Yep. I have to write down everything or I forget. (I often say I have the memory of a goldfish.) Also, I have this compulsion to record and preserve my experiences in life, because I feel like our time on Earth is so fleeting and if I don’t write down what’s important to me, I’ll forget it and lose it.

24. Do you prefer to use a pen or a pencil?

Pen. Pencil gets smudged.

25. What is your star sign?

Scorpio, which is ironic because they’re supposed to be ~hyper sexual~ I guess, and I’m like gray-ace or something in that zone.

26. Do you like your cereal soggy or crunchy?

Crunchy. Who eats soggy cereal? Are you okay? Do you need help? This is an intervention.

27. What would you want your legacy to be?

My stories. Life and sentience, as we experience it, is made up of just that: experience. And I read somewhere that, on some level, the human brain doesn’t differentiate that much between real life experiences and fictional experiences. I think that’s true. If you read or watch or hear the right story, it can really touch you and change the way you see life, or even change the way you live life. Stories have an incredible amount of power, both in individual people’s lives and in larger society. A huge amount of power. I want to be able to give people experiences that will Enrich Their Lives (do I sound like a lifestyle coach yet? 🤦🏼‍♀️), but also stories that actively do good in society. Positive representation, body positivity/neutrality, diversity, healthy relationships (Hollywood has a real problem with that). Hope. It’s the best thing I can think to give society, and storytelling is what I love to do.

28. Do you like reading, what was the last book you read?

I love reading. I wish I did it more. Part of my problem is that I get caught up in the hectic Rat Race of modern society and I never feel like I have time to sit down with a book for hours. Another problem of mine is that I start too many things at once, meaning I currently have like 5-10 (I lost count) books that I started reading, and I want to finish all of them, which means no progress ever gets done on any of them.

I last finished The Goldfinch, and I am currently working on The Secret History, Good Omens, Dune, a book my dad wrote, Directing Actors, Shot by Shot, The Way of Kings and I forget what else.

29. How do you show someone you love them?

Physical affection, acts of service, words of affirmation, quality time, and gifts, in that order. If I’m close to someone, whether romantically or not, I want all the affection. And I’m kind of dying in quarantine.

30. Do you like ice in your drinks?

Depends. I usually don’t put any in, because it’s just gonna water down the drink and get in the way of drinking it (you know when the ice attacks your face?), but I don’t really mind ice in my drinks.

31. What are you afraid of?

Helplessness. I Have Control Issues. ✌️ Also stagnation.

32. What is your favourite scent?

Amber. Or any scent that’s kind of autumn-y. You know what I mean. Some other examples include dryer sheets, wood smoke, cigarette smoke (my big sister used to smoke a long long time ago, and although I never saw her do it, I still associate the scent with her), pine resin, rain, that Mahogany Woods scent from Bath and Bodyworks.

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname?

If they introduce themselves as Pam I call them Pam. If they introduce themselves as Mr. Brown I call them Mr. Brown.

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life?

If “money is not a factor” means I have an infinite amount of money to spend as I wish, then: buy land, build film studio complex on land, found company, hire fellow creatives, make movies.

If “money is not a factor” just means that I don’t have to work 40 hours a week to afford rent, then: move to Chicago, rent a nice studio apartment, write stories, maybe work 15 hours a week at a used bookstore or coffee shop to get me out of the house and socialize. Go to museums, go to the park, walk along Lake Michigan, go to gay bars, ride the train, brave the Illinois winters, own a cat, paint, play guitar. Build my actual career on writing / storytelling. Probably also do some filmmaking.

Alternatively: buy an RV (not like an American Trailer Park shitty RV, I’m talking the NOICE ones), buy good film equipment, be a freelancer, live in RV driving around to wherever the next filming location is. Life is a road trip and I’m doing what I love. Writing, storytelling, filmmaking. My home would travel with me. Writing in cafes; roadside attractions; early mornings on the road with coffee in the cup holder as the sun comes up; being able to go anywhere to film; always experiencing something new.

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean?

I’ve lived in a landlocked state my whole life, so I guess swimming pools. And, listen, I CANNOT get water in my mouth at the beach without wondering exactly how many kids have peed (or worse) in that water. (I know that’s a thing with pools too, but pools get cleaned.)

36. What would you do if you found £50 on the ground?

Wonder what some poor European is doing in America right now. But if it was $50, I’d probably yell “DID ANYONE DROP THIS?” and then take it if no one speaks up.

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star?

A few times, yeah.

38. What is the one thing you would want to teach your children?

Grades are not the end-all-be-all. Skip some homework assignments to spend time with friends. Skip class sometimes. I’m serious. If you make school your top priority, even over your own personal life, you will come away with good grades and a lot of regret and missed opportunities. Learning is HELLA important, and very very little of it happens inside a school building. Get a 15 hour weekend or after-school job in high school, befriend your coworkers, and have fun with it. Use your paychecks however you want. Join a school club - one that you’re actually interested in. Do stupid shit. Light your textbooks on fire after graduation or go to the 24 hour Wendy’s at 2am with your friends or kiss that person you met at summer camp or sleep on the porch because it’s too hot to sleep inside. Be smart and safe, but follow your whims. If you let yourself fall into routine, apathy will poison you.

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it?

I already have a couple small ones, but the one I want next is a four-leaf clover. Don’t know where. Maybe my right inner wrist or maybe an ankle. Or like behind my ear. Luck has saved me so many times. (See above, with how I happened to be living with family when COVID hit.)

40. What can you hear now?

Swamp cooler downstairs, the clock ticking in my office, cars outside, people moving around the house. I’m surprised the neighbor kids aren’t shrieking their absolute heads off as per the usual.

41. Where do you feel the safest?

When I’m alone and unobserved.

42. What is the one thing you want to overcome/conquer?

TMI warning, but I absolutely despise public bathrooms. How am I expected to pee when there’s somebody sitting like three (3) feet away, with only a partial wall between us, hearing everything that’s going on? My fight or flight response simply will not allow it. It’s too awkward and therefore Not Safe. Either that public restroom has to be empty except for me, or it has to be so loud and bustling that ain’t nobody hearing anything. Anything in-between and I’m in hell.

43. If you could travel back to any era, what would it be?

The ‘80s. Let’s be honest, even that far back makes my life (as a woman, and as a gay person) hella difficult. But, consider this: it’s the ‘80s. Furthermore, consider this: a part-time job might have actually supported me and paid rent back then 😱 Holy fucking shit. Sign me up. I just wouldn’t want to go any further than than like 1980, because again: lesbian. Being a woman in the past = even harder than it is today, being gay in the past = even harder than it is today, being a gay woman in the past = oh no.

44. What is your most used emoji?

In order of descending frequency:

😂🙄😊😁🤦🏼‍♀️👀😬🌈🤷🏼‍♀️😙

45. Describe yourself using one word.

Creative

46. What do you regret the most?

Wasting my entire teenage experience. (See #38.) I did quite literally nothing with my life except homework for like 18 years. If I had taken even a tenth as much time for myself as I did for school, I would be so much farther along as a person today.

47. Last movie you saw?

In the theaters? ........ uh. Shit, I don’t actually remember. It’s been like 5 months. (As it has for everyone.) But the last movie I watched was Lights Out, because I’ve been watching the director’s youtube channel. You could tell it was low-budget and that the director was still kind of finding his stride, but it had a lot of heart behind it and the creators clearly gave a fuck, which made it enjoyable. I am firmly in the camp of “not everything has to be a Magnum Opus or have a multi-billion dollar budget to be a good movie.” If I engaged with it and got some sort of emotional experience out of it, and if it had a good message, I consider it a good movie.

48. Last tv show you watched?

I don’t usually watch a whole lot of TV shows (who has the time?) but I think the last thing I watched was either The Witcher or that new Unsolved Mysteries miniseries on Netflix. Oh and I was watching Dead to Me because I just love Linda Cardellini’s face and I want to wrap Judy up in a blanket and cuddle the shit out of her and protect her from all things 🥺 My precious beautiful unstable sweet murder baby.

49. Invent a word and it’s meaning.

Apapanic. It’s where you’re so stressed about things that half of your brain is panicking but the other half is so overwhelmed that it circled all the way back around to being calm to the point of apathy, so you just kind of sit there like

#about me #tag game #except as usual i'm not gonna tag people because I don't have to social energy to ask people to do things #sorry i know that's kind of cheating #if you wanna overshare just say I tagged you lol #personal #tmi

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cuorepietoso · 4 years

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Il primo amore non si scorda mai.

ft. Alessio Rossi & Rainer Gersten Trigger warnings: graphic violence and choking, injury, blood, alcohol use

I. 2010, [LOCATION REDACTED]

Gersten’s hands are pale, with veins so blue that they look like great stretches of river, sweeping through an icy landscape. The knuckles and tendons jut out, and his fingers are lean enough to look skeletal. They perfectly match the rest of him, pale and a little too long and sharp, right down to the near-white tuft of hair that sits atop his head. Those hands are sunburned, now, as are the high lines of his cheekbones, which Tahan only notices because his neck is so goddamn lily-white, where he’d kept his scarf tightly wound in the blistering sun.

He gets up out of his cot, and paces. Opens the chest at the foot of Rossi’s cot, where the man watches with knowing amusement, and gathers a bottle of aloe gel, which he slaps down in front of the older man with force. Gersten, the bastard, has the audacity to grin at him, his cadaverous hands stilled from their task-- sharpening a wicked-looking blackened steel knife. Without a word, he drops the knife and slathers a generous helping of the goo on his hands, rubbing it into the burn and the calluses on his palm alike, before sweeping them over his pinkend cheeks. Tahan turns back to his pacing, restless.

Rossi watches this scene pass with the air of a particularly pleased jungle cat, lithe and lean and dangerous, if he weren’t so lazy in the moment. The book in his lap lays open, ignored, no doubt some ancient novel in a language that Tahan doesn’t speak. The man insists they offer great insight into what he refers to as only, ‘the human condition,’ with his nose turned up like royalty. Gersten always laughs at that, and accuses him of reading racy trash in another language, just to hide the fact that he’s a pervert. It always turns him the prettiest shade of pink he thinks he’s ever seen stretching under the light array of freckles, and he can’t help but wonder if the German agrees, the way he ribs him.

His pacing is halted by one of those freshly-sticky, pale hands. Their gazes meet, warm cinnamon brown to the unidentifiable haze of blue-pale-red, and Gersten peels his lips from his teeth in a rictus grin, and the man’s dry rasp sounds like the scrape of a blade against sandstone when he murmurs, “thanks, flunky.”

Tahan makes to pull away with a heavy eye roll, but Gersten tightens his grip, gaze unwavering. The grin slips from his lips, leaving nothing but a vast, blank sea. All of the life drains from him for a moment, the air around them seems to cool until the hairs on Tahan’s arms start to prickle, and his heart skitters around in his chest strangely when he hears Rossi sit up a little behind him, shifting his legs under his blanket. Just one moment of suspense, as the wraith pauses, and then vigor pours back into him in disjointed bits and pieces as he murmurs, “no, really. I appreciate you.”

He does tug his arm away, a little more gently than he perhaps intended, and barely resists the urge to curl it close to his body and rub at the skin that seems to burn and tingle from the touch. It’s just the aloe vera gel. There’s a tense silence for a moment, before he remembers how to use his voice. “It’s just aloe, for the sunburn.”

Rossi scoffs behind him, setting aside his big book, and when he turns to see what the hell his problem is, the younger man is standing, stretching his arms above his head languidly. “That’s not what he’s talking about, darling.” His brows furrow at the casual response, but he remains perfectly still when Rossi leans against his back and settles his chin on his shoulder, draping himself like a particularly recalcitrant blanket.

Gersten watches them with a considerate look on his face, and then thoughtfully picks up the knife, testing the edge of the blade with his thumb. “Oh? And what did you think I meant, schatzi?”

Rossi’s arms tighten like a noose, a playful headlock that he lets himself fall into without a second thought. His voice is rich, warm and solid like rock heated by the late afternoon sun, and Tahan can feel the smile in the cheek pressed to his ear. “You know what I mean. He may not look it now, but he’s ferocious.” Heat floods his cheeks, and he splutters for a moment before Rossi shakes him once again into stillness, and continues. “And he’s sweet, like the loyal flea bitten stray you slip some meat to when your parents aren’t looki-- what are you laughing at?”

With a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking a little, Gersten waves the question away while Tahan grumbles about the rather unflattering word picture being painted about his personage. “Nothing, nothing-- haha, you’re just talking about slipping the man some meat!” The joined pair groans as one at that, Rossi’s eye roll so exaggerated that he drags his willing captive closer when his whole body leans back with it.

“Kiss my shapely ass, and let me finish--” Manfully, he ignores the quiet ‘that’s what she said’ that Gersten murmurs under his breath, and continues: “That-- that fierce kindness. It’s what we respond to.”

Another long silence stretches, as each man in their cramped little tent ponders those words, before Tahan finally mutters, “Good God, he’s finally cracked. Like a little nut. I can’t believe I’m going to have to file a section eight report. The paperwork is going to be a nightma-- ghghgk--” He’s cut off when Rossi finally tires of the bit and tightens his grip until he’s choking, a little, and then releases him, coughing, and shoves him to take a seat when he laughs aloud. But Gersten … Gersten looks as if he’s seriously giving it thought, eyes narrowed and head tilted like a bird of prey.

“Is there more of that little speech planned?” He asks, and then laughs when Tahan groans and flops back onto his cot, trying to smother himself with his own hands.

Rossi puffs out his chest, smug. “I’m glad you asked. I have an entire metaphor for it. The head, the heart, the hands. For the three of us.” He kicks at Tahan’s knee when he groans dramatically. “I’m the head, obviously. Because I’m the only one with any brains around here.”

Gersten gamely agrees with a swift, “Oh, absolutely.” Tahan sits up, alert like a wary mutt.

“Rainer is the hand.”

Tahan makes an ‘eh--’ sound at that, lifting his own hands and waving them meaningfully.

“Quiet from the peanut gallery, please. I thought about it, but Gersten is far better with a knife, and he’s about as empathetic as a brick of cheese.” The man in question pauses in his renewed quest to sharpen the blade, considers that, and shrugs-- a silent ‘fair enough’. Tahan gives him a mortally wounded look that implies he’s a traitor, while Rossi takes a seat next to him on the rickety one-man cot and settles a warm hand over his diaphragm. “Which makes you the heart. Isn’t that cute?”

The bastard is smirking at him. Tahan wipes the smug little grin right off his face with a powerful swipe of a pillow, initiating what may be the rowdiest brawl the forgetful little firebase ever saw.

II. 2012, [LOCATION REDACTED] (TW graphic violence, choking, blood)

It’s some time around three in the afternoon, he thinks, the sun is high in the sky when he feels the noose tighten around his neck.

Unfortunately, that’s quite literal.

He’s five steps behind Rossi, half listening to Rana mutter to himself about how boring overwatch is over the radio. They’re on a routine patrol. A boy steps into the mouth of the alley. Rossi waves, and the kid waves back. Tahan snorts softly, and Rossi starts to turn around to give him a Look-- this is when time slows, he thinks, because he can swear in this memory, he can see the rough rope descend right before his eyes, hands clad in black leather holding either end. He can see the faint bemusement change into cold shock in Rossi’s hazel eyes, the only part of his face visible under his black mask, and he can feel the slightest tickle against his throat before the hot burn of it sinks into his skin, cutting off air and blood. Things go a little hazy from there.

Time continues to drag slowly along. He knows he struggles, because he can feel his own fingernails dig into the skin of his throat briefly, and he knows he pulls out his knife because he misses when he stabs for his assailant’s head, and carves a long line along his own forearm instead, before it drops from fingers swiftly going numb. It takes ten seconds to black out when you’re being choked like this. He isn’t fast enough.

There’s a lot of yelling that he can’t understand. The sharp report of gunfire. He isn’t fast enough. His knees weaken, he can’t breathe, and what little sight he had disappears as his eyes roll back into his head. Still thrashing weakly, even as he goes down. There’s no witty last thought, no valiant final move that allows him to free himself. One second he’s there, and the next he’s gone, limp in his captor’s grasp. He comes to again laid out flat on his back, Rossi looming above him, white as a sheet and haloed by the late afternoon sun as he curses him and begs him to wake in the same breath, trying to shake him back into consciousness.

One ragged gasp. Two.

Rossi’s own breath comes in swift gulps, before he visibly steels himself and puts a hand on Tahan’s cheek. His face feels strangely numb, tingly. He blinks up at the younger man and lifts a shaking hand to settle it against his forearm, but he’s too weak to hold it there for long. When he lets it fall, there’s a fresh trail of bright blood in the bared skin that they both eye for a moment in contemplative silence. Tahan realizes then that his arm hurts. And his throat. And his head.

For his part, Rossi mutters a quiet, “It’s always something with you, isn’t it,” as he drags him into a sitting position and runs a hand up and down his back to try and even out his ragged breathing. Tahan coughs hard, once, twice, tastes blood. Once he can get past the burning sensation of the rawed skin and the rapid bruising at his throat, he realizes he can breathe, albeit painfully. No collapsed trachea then. The thought makes him wheeze out a laugh. He’s probably going into shock. He laughs a little harder at that, choking on it when it gets caught in his chest somewhere. There’s blood on his lips, and Rossi makes a panicked noise and puts a steadying hand to his jaw once more. “Oh, quit that. You’re freaking me out. Can you talk?”

Licking his lips only reminds him that the only thing he can smell and taste is a whole lot of blood. He can’t tell if he bit his tongue, or if it’s pouring down into his throat from his nose, or if he’s hacking it up. He can’t tell if it’s his own blood. He spits out a mouthful of it, and it takes him a couple of false starts to manage a simple, weary, “water.”

The cap is twisted off and the canteen thrust into his shaking hands. He almost drops it, so Rossi helps him lift it to his face. He swishes the first mouthful, and then spits it off to the side. An embarrassing amount of it ends up soaking into his pant leg. He makes a disgusted noise, and then goes back for a few painful, tiny swallows of water, trying to get his wind back. Every moment brings him more clarity.

Between this and the next: pounding footsteps. A familiar dark uniform, and head of frosty hair. Rossi reaches for his sidearm and then relaxes when he recognizes the man, waving him over without a word. Tahan lazily reaches over to clamp his right hand over the oozing gash on his left forearm. It stings like a bitch, but he can’t make himself do much in the way of cleaning it just yet-- not when it’s still bleeding. Not when he can hardly string a sentence together in his own head. Gersten slinks forward, his footsteps echoing strangely in the cramped alley.

“Oh, Jesus wept,” he mutters under his breath as he approaches, the words as much a curse as they are an exclamation. Tahan has seen him slit a man from prick to throat without so much as flinching, so he can’t help but wonder what exactly about the scene makes him look so wild about the edges.

“Not for me, he didn’t.” Tahan grinds out in response, clutching the long gash on his forearm, his voice sounding as though it’s being ripped up by millstones and scouring pads and a little bit of gravel, just to top it off. The joke makes the normally unflappable German look like he’d just been slapped. Another high pitched giggle escapes him, cut to silence in some places by the limited capacity of his vocal chords. He feels lightheaded.

“Shut up,” Rossi snarls, tucking himself under Tahan’s uninjured arm and then dragging him to his feet. His vision swirls again, and they would fall to the ground if not for the pale arms, the familiar skeletal hands that reach out to settle on each of their shoulders, steadying them. His head lolls, and he can hardly breathe until Rossi drags him up a little higher and the weight of his head falls to rest on his shoulder instead of with his chin against his chest.

Gersten shifts his grip so he can hold his chin there for a moment, eyes serious. “I’ll run point.”

He feels Rossi nod, and the effort of lifting his head from his shoulder nearly leaves his knees buckling under him again, but the younger man’s grip remains firm. Holding his head up hurts so much that it makes his eyes water until he can hardly see, the involuntary reaction making him curse incoherently as they make their way to safety.

By the time their EVAC gets there, he’s managed to get himself together enough to give vague orders to Gersten on how to clean, stitch, and bandage the long cut on his arm. He does a surprisingly good job. Rossi can’t quite look at him, ostensibly keeping watch for anyone that might be searching for them still.

III. 2014 [LOCATION REDACTED] (TW alcohol)

They drink, late into the night. Rain pounds on the canvas of their little tent, and the others have long since gone to bed, but the three of them are still wired. Today marked Gersten’s last assignment with the KSK, he’s going back to Germany in the morning and getting discharged soon after. The goodbye party was a little bittersweet-- he’s relatively well liked by the men on base, and in their little mixed unit, and a lot of people showed up to drink contraband booze and clap him on the shoulder and wish him luck. A younger soldier had nervously asked him what he was planning on doing when he got out, and Gersten had laughed aloud and replied only, “Oh, probably be a hitman. I only have the one skill.” Everyone had laughed.

Tahan wishes he could believe the other man had been kidding. Rossi had just sighed.

They’re all more than half drunk, now. Laying on the cool plywood floor in their little temporary shelter. Tahan has been counting the sandbags lining the walls, but he kept forgetting where he’d been at and what number he stopped counting because Rossi’s nails would occasionally scrape his scalp, and it would make his vision go funny. He has his head resting in the younger man’s lap. No commentary is made on how he’s basically petting him. Gersten’s legs are draped over his shins, long and lean, and he has a hand resting on Tahan’s ankle. Occasionally he’ll make a broad gesture as he speaks, their little triangle ill-formed and sloppy drunk.

It’s lulling him to sleep. He must be getting old, if he can’t make it to 5am like the rest of the party animals. The livelier of the two are helpfully keeping their voices down, until-- Gersten’s hand clamps down on his hip, and he roughly shakes him awake.

“Fuck me--” Tahan starts into foggy awareness, jerking into a sitting position. Rossi lets him go with a displeased grunt, and he’s already turning to give him an apologetic look when he spots the bottle in Gersten’s hand. “What the fuck is that.”

The pale man bares all of his teeth at him in a grin. There’s a vague creeping sense of dread. “It’s all the rest of the alcohol.”

A long pause, in which Tahan can only look helplessly between a grinning Gersten, and a nonplussed Rossi. Neither of them make a move to elaborate. Finally, he manages to find the courage necessary to ask, “How do you mean--”

Rossi, unimpressed, cuts off both the rest of his question, and Gersten before he can start in on his bullshit. “He’s spent the last ten minutes meticulously pouring every last drop of the dregs of whiskey, tequila, vodka, vermouth, and absinthe into that bottle.”

Gersten, maturely, pouts for a moment, before brightening again. “And beer! I put beer--” A hiccup. “Beer in it, too.” He swirls it a little, as if to make a point. The concoction bubbles and fizzes menacingly within its confines.

“I--” unsure, he glances between the pair of them. Rossi’s eyebrows nearly meet his hairline, and Gersten continues to shake the bottle back and forth, as if to be enticing. He tries not to feel sick from just looking at the sloshing liquid, but he can’t help the dread tinging his voice. “For what purpose?”

The bottle of possibly toxic waste is thrust in his direction. Tahan takes it warily, and Gersten laughs out, “You and I are going to finish this off. Rossi says you’re a lightweight, and that it would kill you.”

“I’m not fucking doing that, because I am and it will.” Rossi lets out a relieved sigh behind him.

Gersten whines, “Aw, no it won’t, pussy. I dare you.”

The gauntlet has been thrown down. Tahan sits up straighter, suddenly set alight, and turns to him with narrowed eyes. “You dare me? Are you serious?” Despite his incredulous tone, he eyes the bottle and then starts twisting off the cap-- it smells like a sewer, and he coughs a little. Rossi makes a noise of abject terror.

“Don’t let him get to you-- he just doesn’t understand that daring each other to consume disgusting and possibly dangerous liquids is an important part of male bonding.” Gersten leans forward, practically vibrating with excitement as the words fall out of him in a rush.

Rossi, who was the eldest of four brothers, snorts, and puts his hand over the mouth of the bottle before it makes it all the way to Tahan’s mouth. “Oh? And what are the other parts?”

“Poetic yearning,” says Rainer.

“Gay chicken,” says Battista.

They glance at each other after their simultaneous answers and burst into wild laughter, collapsing against one another and nearly spilling the concoction. Rossi looks on, arms crossed, a smile poorly smothered on his lips. His voice is wracked with suppressed humor. “All of the literature and art and thought about male friendship and desire, and the two of you have pared it down to ‘drinking gross things’, ‘poetic yearning’, and ‘gay chicken’. Bravo, really. Whitman would be so proud.”

Tahan lifts the bottle as if to toast the observations, the advancements they have made in such heavy schools of thought, and Rossi throws himself against his side, nearly bowling him over, and drags the cursed thing from his hand. “You have had quite enough, I think,” he tuts at him, pressed warmly hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder. Tahan lets himself slump a little, blinking placidly at the line of his cheekbone. Rossi slams the handle back, and then chokes a little when it goes down, spluttering, “that is vile. You’re going to hell.”

The abrupt frankness with which he says it-- and the fact that such sentiments rarely come from him at all, staunch catholic boy that he is, forces a sharp, shocked bark of laughter out of his two companions. He spends the next ten minutes trying to force some of it down Gersten’s gullet, and Tahan…

Well, Tahan has little trouble letting their absolute racket lull him to sleep as well.

IV. 2019, VR Italy

It’s nearing daylight. Battista hasn’t yet slept, and the flakes of crystalline snow tumbling occasionally to the ground tend to tangle in his eyelashes, and fall from the leather of his jacket. They bite at the tips of his ears and his nose, and they melt into his shirt at the nape of his neck. He’s been wandering the city for hours.Very few signs of life have popped up. They rarely do, this time of year, this time of night. The snow comes down a little fast now, and he lifts his head to peer about, trying to get his bearings, figure out just how far he’s wandered while letting himself get lost in his own head. He lets out a long cloud of breath-- backlit against the streetlight, it glitters like he’d just exhaled a cloud of diamond dust. Memories roll around in his head so violently that his feet pause.

There, behind him, a single footstep, just the faintest scuffle on the uneven cobblestone of the street. Battista doesn’t turn to look, and forces himself not to tense, either. Instead he watches the cloud of his breath dissipate, and sets a meandering pace down the street. Now that he’s listening for them, he can hear the steps following along behind him. They’re menacingly quiet. Battista leads his shadow down the street, and then almost absentmindedly turns down an alley, stepping into the darkness of the nearest stoop. The figure, clad in black, steps into the mouth of the alley and curses under his breath when he finds it empty. The familiar voice makes Battista’s blood run cold.

He steps forward, probably intending to check down all of the side streets, and when he passes him Battista steps out of the shadows and pins him with the barrel of his m9, right between the shoulder blades, with a soft, “hands up. Turn around, slowly.”

Rainer Gersten looks as horrifically pale and skeletal as ever when he complies. In the dim light from the street behind Battista, he looks like a shade. He looks like someone that’s hunted him back to Verona, to drag him down to hell. Rainer’s lips peel back from his teeth in that familiar rictus grin, five years older and with a few more scars, but his voice holds the same rasp, the same vaguely wondering, good-natured affection, “well I’ll be damned.”

“You already are,” the response rolls out of him, almost pre-programmed from how many times they’ve done this little song and dance. The barrel of his gun doesn’t waver from where it’s pointed directly at where Rainer’s heart is. The humor doesn’t leave the madman’s face.

“Still sharp as ever, I see.” The smile on his face slips into something chagrined. “I’ve been looking for you, you know? But I didn’t think I’d actually find you here, of all places. And if I did, I didn’t think you’d be quite so… alert.” He gestures, vaguely, with his open palm, at the gun trained on him.

Battista lowers it incrementally, looking at him straight on instead of down the sights on the barrel. Dryly, he responds, “I have paranoia.”

The other man’s jaw works almost imperceptibly as he visibly forces himself not to tout another familiar line: it’s not paranoia if they’re out to get you. It would land a little too close to home, now, and both of them know it. Instead, he lets a long sigh roll from him, and without lowering his hands he murmurs, “I thought they had buried you, too.”

Something in his throat constricts. Rossi. How swiftly the light had gone out of his eyes. The gritty feeling of dust sticking to the tacky, drying blood on his face. The cold cuffs, how the world had swirled just out of his own control for months. The emptiness in the life he’d left since then. “Maybe they did,” murmured like an admission of guilt.

There’s a long stretch of silence. Rainer puts his arms down, slowly. Then he reaches out and puts his hand on top of the barrel of the gun, pushes it down and takes it from Battista’s loose grip. He puts the safety back on, shucks the bullet out of the chamber, and puts it neatly back into the shorter man’s shoulder holster, and then zips up his jacket. Pats him on the chest, and leaves his hand there for a couple breaths. The expression on his face is serious, brows furrowed, but his voice is light when he finally declares, “well, you don’t make the most convincing corpse I’ve ever seen. Say goodbye to your career in acting, handsome.”

It’s not really something to laugh about, now. So they don’t.

#/ / DRABBLES .#tw violence #tw choking #tw injury #tw blood #tw alcohol #[posts this at midnight]

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underdarkgreyclouds · 4 years

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No one's reading this account anyway so it's the perfect place for a vent I guess.

I feel profoundly lost. This relationship I'm in is suffocating, I don't know if I can trust anyone. I feel like I betray the company I'm working for because I'm literally just sitting there reading memes and trying not to cry every day. My landlord is a premium version of shitty. I want to die.

But I think it's good to start at the beginning. For the past three and a half years, I've been with a wonderful person. She's been through a lot, as have I. But I love her regardless. From the beginning, she needed to be alone sometimes, and her life is packed with a lot of things - work, friends, other relationships, hobbies. There's never been that much time for me and her to just exist together without something else going on. When there is time, we just chill on the couch watching Netflix or something. She doesn't have spoons for big adventures together. I think I'm fine with it most of the time, but I don't have a support network and I rely on her financially, which makes it difficult when I need more time and emotional support. After a couple of bad things happened, I needed her, and she told me she couldn't handle it when I tell her about my feelings. She said that I shouldn't tell her about anything. She has redacted that by now but I still don't trust her to be able to help.

I have moved to her city to get away from my abusive family. It's simultaneously the best and worst thing to happen to me. Right now, I am not sure if I can continue to live with her. We sleep in separate rooms, and she can't imagine ever changing that. We have almost zero interaction. She wanted me to marry her, but whenever I bring it up, she has a reason why she doesn't want to talk about it. We're looking for a nicer place to live, but she's never happy with one thing or another. Most of the time, it's because she would have to compromise.

My job is overwhelming and stressful, but I can't say that. I'm going to finish my apprenticeship early and there is no support for this, but I can't live as an apprentice for much longer. I cannot work 8h a day and shortening the workload is only possible for trained people. I fear the reaction of my bosses if I bring it up again, because I was yelled at for considering it last time. I don't do anything at work and I am constantly fearing to be discovered, resulting in immediate discharge.

I am planning on getting a service dog, but when I asked my landlord, he felt entitled to say that I wouldn't need one because I'm not physically disabled. Also he was against a dog in general, so he basically crushed my whole life's joy. There's nothing I currently do except for research on service dogs. Not being allowed to get one is like being told to jump off the balcony.

My disorders are still not formally diagnosed. I feel like I fake it all the time. My therapist believes that by doing an assessment, the secondary win of the disease is too high so basically she won't do it. I've never seen a doctor who didn't believe that, but I don't get help from people if they don't see a diagnosis. I'm desperate. I feel like I make up my trauma, that all my problems are fake. I'm pretty sure my headmates are just very vivid fantasies, that I created them to feel like a part of something, to at least not be alone in my head. It feels so bad. I was trans, but I don't know if I still am. The last time I took my T was forty days ago. I don't want to take it again. I'm okay with my masc looks and I still hate my boobs, but I don't think that makes me trans enough. I don't want to think about it anymore.

I don't enjoy walking. Whenever I do it, I imagine myself in a wheelchair, pushing imaginary wheels and struggling with curbs, but without the feeling of dread whenever my foot leaves the ground. I know it's terrible to think that a wheelchair makes me happy when there's nothing wrong with my legs or body, and that it's not a toy. I can't help but feel like it anyway.

I imagine that I have an eating disorder sometimes. I know I should be glad I don't, but I hate my fat body so much, it feels so disgusting and lots of problems would go away if I were thin. I look up thinspo, I find recipes that are probably not healthy but at least make me lose weight, and then I binge on coke and cookies until I feel like shit for doing it. I never work out because I'm too ashamed of myself to see myself struggling with a simple task. I have zero willpower. There's nothing online to help me lose weight. I've spent too much money on things hoping that they would finally flick a switch in my brain.

Money is an issue all the time. I'm close to getting my card disabled. I'm struggling, yet I still buy unnecessary shit because again, zero willpower stopping me. I will probably lose to my impulses until I get evicted.

My life is at a 1/10 today.

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vagrantblvrd · 6 years

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Given Michael’s love for the Ruiner 2000 I would love that Knight Rider AU. (You know the one.)

Michael [Name Redacted] ~hardcore criminal who gets recruited into the Roosters new law enforcement agency program after shit goes spectacularly wrong for him one day and he walks into an ambush.

Gavin’s the main brain behind Michael’s new partner, and it turns out that he has an Arch Nemesis in the Vagabond. (This is discovered over the course of his ~adventures, because of course it is.)

Michael agrees to work with the agency because he figures they’re his best bet of figuring what the hell is going on with his life. Also, sweet car?

He gets a new identity to go with his new face. Rolls his eyes when he sees they game him possibly the best/worst last name in “Jones”, but hey. Whatever.

Goes around being a do-gooder for a bit. Meets up with the Mobile Operations Platform or MOP for short (lolololol) after missions to bicker with Gavin and give Matt a hard time and so on and so on. Bonds with the others working for the agency and reluctantly admits to himself it’s not so bad working with these assholes.

And Gavin, okay.

He’s this annoying little shit always with his questions about Michael and his partnership with the Ruiner (let’s just call it MOGAR, because it makes me laugh). Also, the utterly stupid, ridiculous hypothetical questions he comes up with and God, he cannot stand the guy.

Really.

Except you know, for the time spent in the lab when MOGAR’s on the fritz after a rough mission, watching Gavin work. Arguing with this A.I. he helped develop. Catches him playing games when he can’t sleep, mind going a mile a minute and holy shit, he’s so fucking bad, better show him how it’s done, right?

Taking him for a spin in MOGAR when they’re testing out upgrades - new missiles/speed boosts. The fucking parachute, that kind of thing.

Gavin getting caught up in trouble every so often and Michael and MOGAR coming to the rescue. And that, of course,results in Michael trying to teach the idiot to defend himself?

Montage scene of Michael teaching him how to throw a punch, how to shoot - all the things that require them being in each other’s personal space and the like. Empty shooting range at some Rooster base or a city they’re stopped in for a bit.

Michael fighting it because he knows it’s a bad idea, but he’s gotten so damn fond of Gavin over time. May or may not have ~feelings for him, and vice versa but they’re both too dumb to do anything about it?

AND THEN.

They get word the Vagabond’s been seen again in Los Santos after going underground for a bit. He’s been gangs and crews apart and whatnot and they think he’s setting up to make his move, do something big, and Michael, okay.

It’s never sat right with him, the things they say he did. Less and less so the longer he spends working for the agency because how could he do what they say he did?

But he must have, because it’s in the files they showed him that first time, the ones he convinced Gavin to help him find. Try to piece together a picture of the kind of man this Michael [Name Redacted] was through the old records and reports various law enforcement agencies have of him.

Gavin keeps looking though, because this is important to Michael and he has the feeling something’s wrong too, but he doesn’t say anything. Just does what he can to help Michael.

The thing, though, is that if his records and files are a hard read, the Vagabond’s are worse.

Nothing redeeming to be found about the guy anywhere, but Michael can’t shake the feeling that’s wrong too.

Call it a gut feeling, whatever, something isn’t right.

More ~adventures on their way to Los Santos, Michael getting more and more restless because everything feels wrong and he doesn’t know why.

Gets his memory back in bits and pieces, little flashes here and there that don’t make sense and just end up frustrating himself. Stupid useless brain, and then they get word something’s happening in Los Santos, where all of this started.

His superiors want him to take the Vagabond out before he succeeds at whatever he’s planning, and he can’t tell them no because on paper he’s an absolute monster.

Gavin and Matt and the others get all worried because Michael’s not acting like himself. (When Gavin says so, it’s all Michael can do not to laugh in his face because how the fuck would Gavin know that? Michael doesn’t even fucking know.)

There’s a fight, and Michael takes off for a drive in MOGAR while the MOP is stopped somewhere to refuel and take on supplies and whatnot.

When he gets back a day or two later the thing is on fire, and holy shit, what the fuck happened???

His superiors tell him it was the Vagabond and Michael is like, well all right then, guess this is it - and then Matt runs in. Tells him the Vagabond has Gavin because of course he does.

Michael doesn’t hear whatever else his superiors are saying after that, just looks at Matt who looks like shit. Has his arm in a sling and look, has his arm in a sling and exhausted because the attack on the MOP was not a gentle thing, people died and the Vagabond has Gavin and goddamn it.

So he sneaks out while his superiors are making plans - plans Michael already know won’t work, will get Gavin killed - and Matt stops him.

Does the thing where Michael and MOGAR are leaving the Rooster base and have to slam on the brakes because Matt’s the kind of idiot who’d stand in the middle of the road in their way. Didn’t consider for a moment Michael and MOGAR might not stop in time, so Michael gets out and starts to yell at Matt -

“Holy shit, dude, that was close.”

Michael’s so fucking angry because Matt shouldn’t be here, should be back at the base not getting run over -

And Matt is like, “So, Gavin didn’t have time to install them, but he came up with new upgrades for MOGAR. Also, he found some stuff you need to see?”

They go to a ~secret Rooster base where Matt and some of the techs from the agency install the upgrades and Michael goes over the files and whatnot Gavin found.

Something that looks like a cover-up, like the cops in Los Santos are dirty. Did their best to make Michael the scapegoat for some horrendous crimes and he wants to believe it, but he doesn’t have the time for that now.

Tell Matt to keep the files somewhere safe, not to tell anyone about them and takes off to rescue Gavin and maybe get some answers. (Knows exactly which on is the top priority, easy decision in the and.)

And then he gets to Los Santos and MOGAR helps him track Gavin down and then there’s the ~tense confrontation between Michael and the Vagabond.

This little cat and mouse game in the warehouse Gavin’s being kept in (fuckin’ cliché bullshit). Just when they get to the ~dramatic showdown they hear something being knocked over and some British idiot going, “Shit.”

Both of them looking over to see Gavin trying to get his foot untangled from old rope or wires or something and doing a terrible job of it. Falling on his ass and muttering to himself because that’s just perfect, isn’t it?

Michael looking at the Vagabond because the guy just sighed, probably one of the few people who truly understand what a goddamned pain Gavin is. Probably should feel like that’s something they agree on, because Arch Nemesis? But, uh.

Also Gavin, who finally notices he’s not alone and freezes. And then looks annoyed - with them.

Yanks his foot free and stomps over, gets up in their faces and they back up because he looks genuinely angry and that’s startlingly rare.

And then Gavin starts yelling at them, demanding to know what the hell they’re doing.

Michael and the Vagabond sharing this look because, uh, Arch Nemesis???

Gavin sighing like they’re the idiots.

Pokes the Vagabond in the chest, “Did you not read the files I sent you?”

Turns to Michael and flaps his hands, “And you! I told Matt to give you the files if something happened, don’t tell me - “

There’s this little tremor in his voice because, again, that attack on the MOP was not a gentle thing. It occurs to Michael he might not even know Matt survived, and oh,shit.

“Uh, yeah,no. He gave them to me. Kind of had other things on my mind, though? Like this asshole kidnapping you, maybe?”

The Vagabond snorting, arms crossed as he looks at Michael like he’s the idiot, and okay, goddammit. Michael is an idiot, but this time he doesn’t know why?

And then Gavin explains that he fond out someone has something very, very bad planned for Los Santos (the ~world, but Los Santos is a good start) and intends to place the blame on Michael and the Vagabond?

Started by framing them for all the crimes that are in their records and whatnot

He and Matt discovered the cover-up not too long ago, but the moment they did Gavin cut Matt out. Tried to keep him out of it, refused to tell him what he’d found because it’s ~dangerous. Someone needed to be there to take care of MOGAR and Michael if the baddies realized they were on to them, you know?

And he found a way to get into contact with the Vagabond (not all the the people working for the Roosters came from a law enforcement background, after all). Has been sending him all this information when the baddies realized what was going on and decided to put a stop to it, and hey. If they can pin the blame on the Vagabond, all the better right?

The Vagabond showing up when he found out and grabbing Gavin in the confusion when people were trying to kill him very, very dead. Running out to this safe house he’s been using and waiting for Michael to show up.

Michael just listening and being so confused because why? Why him? Why this weirdo in the stupid mask?

Gavin faltering, not meeting Michael’s eyes, not meeting the Vagabond’s.

“Because we were partners,” the Vagabond says, looking at Michael. “And you said - “

He stops, anger leaking into his voice and says, “You said you’d stumbled onto something. The reason the cops were after us so fucking hard, said you knew what was going on. Said you got a call from a an old contact, and then you fucking died on me.”

~DRAMA~

Gavin and the Vagabond filling Michael in on what they’ve found - because they’ve been working together for who knows how long now. Trying to get to the bottom of things, and it’s super ridiculously bad action movie?

Like.

Michael and the Vagabond being partners for a while, but not the monsters the baddies are trying to make them out to be. Not the guy Michael’s been reading about for over a year now, this twisted fuck who’s done horrible things and laughed about them - because that’s a thing all the files and report agree on.

This asshole delights in the chaos and destruction he caused. This laugh he’s heard that were recorded by news cameras or a bystander with a phone and no common sense. This laugh that’s made appearances in Michael’s nightmares. This thing that’s so close to the one that bursts out of him when he and MOGAR are perfectly in sync in the field, fucking up whatever stupid plan the baddie of the week has set up. When he fucks with Gavin or Matt or any of other Roosters.

And now he finds out that he’s not that fucked up asshole, that he never was. That the Vagabond isn’t the monster they told Michael he was, either.

Oh, they were never nice people, that’s for fucking sure, but they’re not depraved fuckers either.

The Vagabond staring at Michael as he talks, like he’s looking for his old partner in Michael’s new face. Trying to see if he’s still in there or if he’s someone else entirely, a stranger.

And this is the thing neither Gavin or the Vagabond tell Michael because the Vagabond made Gavin fucking promise, or else.

That whole partners thing?

True in more than one sense of the word, but you know, no reason to rip that old wound open again, right? Not when Michael doesn’t know, doesn’t remember, and there are more important things to deal with.

(Gavin wondering why everyone he knows is so stupid? Like Matt and that nice agent Jeremy at the one of the Roosters’ bases the MOP tends to stop off at, and now this? Also, ouch, his own little heart, but you know. Not like Michael is interested or anything, so...)

Michael agreeing to work with the Vagabond (and Gavin) to clear their names. Getting in touch with Matt and various sources and coming up with a plan of action and spending the downtime being awkward idiots together.

Because you know, The Vagabond is still a notorious criminal, and Michael is law enforcement now. (Technically, although really he’s just not a raging douchebag when he stumbles on situations here and there or gets handed an assignment. Does the Right Thing even though it gets him yelled at most of the tie for his...unique way of resolving things?)

And Gavin is just acting like nothing’s strange about this at all?

Pushes the Vagabond around in the man’s own space like it’s nothing, like he wouldn’t kill him for it, and oh, God.

Michael having a heart attack every fucking time Gavin does it the first few days? Until he realizes the Vagabond’s actually amused by the little idiot. Is giving him shit and fucking with him for shits and giggles. That the guy seems to like Gavin, God help him. (Gavin hasn’t started in on his stupid questions, too busy trying to untangle this mess, but it’s only a matter of time.)

Michael and the Vagabond having those weirdly awkward moments together when Gavin’s working on/with MOGAR or sacked out after pulling an all nighter.

Michael trying to figure the guy out and vice versa because Michael wants to know the kind of guy he’s dealing with here since everything he was told is a lie. And Ryan, he’s doing the same because this isn’t the Michael he knew, and he has to remind himself of that too many fucking times because he is, where it matters, and it’s fucking hard remembering.

The two of them fighting and Gavin and MOGAR pointedly ignoring the pair of idiots being angry at each other for the wrong reasons.

More ~DRAMA~ until they start to get along, act like a team.

Michael taking the Vagabond out for a spin in MOGAR, Gavin screeching in the backseat because Michael drives like a maniac.

Eventually they get to the point where they’re ready to bring the baddies down, The Vagabond and Michael and Gavin and the people they trust to be on their side in this, and they go do the thing.

Everything goes to shit immediately, but that’s okay because they planned for that? (Maybe not Gavin getting grabbed by the baddies, but you know.)

Car chases and explosions and things on fire - so many things on fire.

They get to the device or virus or whatever the baddie was going to use for his ~evil plan, and head baddie makes his escape using Gavin as a human shield.

Leave the Roosters to deal with rounding up the baddies hired muscle and handle clean-up while they do the Hero Thing.

More car chases and explosions and things on fire - many more things on fire.

End up chasing head baddie through his company’s office building taking out cannon fodder hired muscle along the way.

Keeping score for each one they drop - dead or incapacitated - and Michael wondering if this is what is like with them before. Anticipating each other and covering their weak spots without having to think about it, that kind of thing -

And then they get to the baddie - on the roof of the office building with a waiting chopper because of course.

Why break his terrible cliché streak now?

Typical stand-off with Evil Villain Monologue. Michael and the Vagabond letting the baddie confess everything, otherwise how would they ever clear their names?

Best to have it recorded and all, and Gavin watching Michael and the Vagabond for his cue because he’s not helpless.

After they get what the need out of the baddie Gavin puts some of the training Michael gave him to use and gets himself free and out of the line of fire.

There’s this pause where the baddie realizes he just lost his leverage, is facing two people he’s tried to kill at least once (came damn close with Michael). These very dangerous men he’s been framing for horrible crimes for a while now, and that’s probably not good, right?

Especially when he went after their friends, allies, too. Went after Gavin.

And the thing is, the Michael from before, the one the Vagabond knew, wouldn’t have hesitated to put a bullet in this fuckers head. (Not a nice person, after all.)

The baddie tries to use that against him, twisting the things Michael did. Telling him he’s gotten soft, working for the Roosters. Isn’t the killer he used to be.

Goes on and on and on, and Michael just stares at him, lowers his gun and listens to the idiot gloating when he goes to check on Gavin. Turns his back on this piece of shit.

The baddie’s getting more and more agitated, spitting insults and threats because money talks, and he’s rich a million times over, a billion. He’ll be out on good behavior within a year. This is just a setback. They can’t stop him, he’ll be back for them, for that stupid pet scientist of theirs -

The other thing is, the Vagabond from before, the one that Michael used to know, wouldn’t have hesitated to put a bullet in this fuckers head. (Not a nice person, after all.)

The difference between them, of course, is that the Ryan now is colder, sharper without Michael there to give him a reason not to be.

And this man, this pathetic little bastard took Michael from him, and is threatening to it all over again. To hurt Gavin, who he likes for some unknown reason, and Ryan?

He doesn’t hesitate to put a bullet in the bastard’s head now.

Doesn’t have to after the baddie snaps when they don’t react to his insults or threats. When he pulls a gun and starts to swing it around to bear on Michael and Gavin.

Just pulls the trigger and down he goes along with all the twisted little plots he carefully crafted.

Michael meeting his eyes, both of them knowing the bastard wasn’t going to leave here alive anyway. (Not nice people, because that comes back to bite you in the ass and you do what you have to in order to protect what’s yours.)

They call in the Roosters for additional clean-up and get the hell out of there. Go outside to find MOGAR waiting for them and start driving off into the sunset, as you do when these things are over -

But then Gavin is like NO. Tells MOGAR to take them someplace for medical care because Michael and the Vagabond didn’t get through this mess unscathed. Are a little beaten up, a little shot, and so on and only idiots don’t get those kind of injuries seen to!

Michael and the Vagabond turning that right back around on Gavin who isn’t exactly a vision of beauty himself, what with getting knocked around to keep him in line and such.

Debriefing and all that fun stuff happens, the Roosters working with various law enforcement agencies to clear everything up.

Get Michael’s name cleared along with the Vagabond’s and their shady allies too. Get them pardoned of their crimes for saving Los Santos/~the world.

Michael not sure what to do now because a lot of shit happened, and he’s not the monster he thought he was, but he’s not this ~hero the Roosters tried to turn him into.

The Vagabond intending to vanish somewhere, but Gavin is very much intentionally stalling him with Matt’s help. (That whole whole mess of Michael and the Vagabond, and without any ~peril on the horizon maybe they can do something about that. Gavin’s seen the way Michael keeps looking at the Vagabond, and vice versa and it would be nice if they did something about it???)

Also, there’s talk of the Vagabond being an asset the Roosters would love to have on their side, if he can be convinced to sign up, so...

Gavin making himself scarce because it’s easier all around that way. Buries himself in his work, tweaking MOGAR’s systems and the like. Asking his opinions on new weapons and such.

Doesn’t expect Michael and the Vagabond to corner him one night, ask him why he’s been avoiding them.

“The fuck, Gavin?”

And Gavin, all right. He’s tired and worn down and maybe not quite healed up from the whole saving the world thing. Maybe gives himself away, gestures at Michael and the Vagabond who are working towards something. He’s honestly glad for them, but he’s got work to do so if they could leave him to it, that would be lovely.

“Holy shit, you’re an idiot.”

“What he said.”

Gavin looking at them all confused because they’re not wrong, but an explanation would be nice and all?

And then the awkward confession and leaving it up to Gavin if he’d be interested in two emotionally stunted criminals -

“You’ve been pardoned - “

“Not the point, asshole.”

- and if he is, maybe stop by their quarter later to watch movies with them.

“Netflix and Chill?”

“Shut the fuck up, asshole. Bring bevs if you decide to show, and not the cheap stuff.”

========

Gavin totally does show up, and he totally brings the cheap stuff.

Michael recovers his memory a little at a time. Has moments where he struggled to reconcile his past with his present, but he manages. Has Ryan and Gavin and MOGAR. The rest of the Roosters.

Ryan may or may not tinker a bit with MOGAR’s weapons systems, poke at the A.I. Gavin and Matt are developing for future agents. May or may not help Michael out on missions. Absolutely terrifies new agents and science staff, makes friends with that nice agent Jeremy.

Matt may or may not make a move at an office party at some point, may or may not make Michael and Ryan a few hundred dollars richer thanks to the betting pool.

#mavin #myan #mavinwood #freewood #technically not a fic #vagrant fic #knight rider au of my heart #i've been watching old ah videos and this is the result #ALL the terrible cliches #this is what happens when you grow up on 80s television #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#i'll work on prompts after i get some sleep #<33333333333333333333!

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definitelynotplanetfall · 4 years

Text

so about that orientation/preference brouhaha

Having slept nonzero hours and having mulled this over a bit

I don’t exactly have a horse in this race as a filthy Fake Pseudo Ace That Doesn’t Even Have The Decency To Be Aro Or Gay Or Even Completely Ace I Mean Stolen Valor Much. It’s literally impossible to criminalize not having sex. Utterly unenforceable. I get that I’m not being targeted here and my opinion doesn’t really matter except as a barometer for “is planetfall a good person” (which I am not, and could have told you without any of the fuss). I have no specific love for the phrase “sexual preference,” I don’t think I have ever even used it, but also it’s such a nothing distinction. I do not care that Important Organizations declared it offensive years ago, because the reasoning they used to do so is silly, and of the people I’ve seen saying it definitely is not offensive what on earth are you on about, a bunch of them are LGBTQ.

And again, to address the issue that spawned this specific instance of this discourse, given Barrett’s record and the way homophobes do seem to insist on saying preference, it probably is a signal she intends to use her power in bigoted ways.

But like.

First of all, it is incredibly foot-shooty to say the evidence of her prejudice is the fact that she said “sexual preference” and not “sexual orientation,” which requires a fair bit of contextual understanding to see what the problem is and looks like pedantic hair-splitting without that knowledge, when shit like this exists.

Second - I’m sort of Von Wokensteining here, and to my understanding this entire argument started from one tweet or something similar, and it’d be misleading to assert “this one tweeter is the avatar for progressivism!“

EDIT: That’s not correct, it was a senator at her hearing rather than a rando providing commentary. I should have confirmed this myself and only learned it a few days later. This shows how accusations are taken out of context and passed around demanding judgment. I definitely could have spent more time reading about this incident, because I am a shitty excuse for a person with unlimited time. Every random Joe Blow does not have that luxury.

In my defense I was not paying attention to the hearing because I just assumed she would be maximally bad on all issues, considering who appointed her, and that was not a swamp I really wanted to wade through.

However.

People rushing to defend the assertion that “sexual preference” is self-evidently offensive gives at the very least an impression of a unified ideological coalition.

And, I said this in the last post but it bears repeating, the left lost the right to use “born this way” rhetoric the moment it became a semi-common talking point that you need to challenge your attractions if you aren’t attracted to an adequate cross-section of your area’s ethnic makeup or whatever. To intentionally try to change your attractions. To choose your attractions, if I may be so bold.

The charge against “sexual preference” is that it implies that orientation is a choice, which is supposedly hopelessly reactionary. Even ignoring for a moment that it does not in fact imply this, you do not get to tell people it is indefensible to IMPLY things that your side SAYS OUTRIGHT.

Also, quite frankly, I consider myself to have been made more ace during my lifetime by certain prevalent messages (and other hyper-targeted ones), and like, if the argument is actually that non-innate sexualities are illegitimate, does that mean that there can be no moral objection to someone raping me because the sky wizard said so?

[edit: screaming redacted]

It literally does not matter whether who you’re attracted to is a choice or inborn or whatever because that is not the moral dimension, the moral dimension is “does it hurt anyone?” which it fucking doesn’t why is this so difficult

I don’t give a shit about the rhetoric. The rhetoric sucks. The rhetoric is wrong.

Third, I’m extremely suspicious of any sort of euphemism-treadmill type anything, but one thing that’s especially suspect is when someone says “X term is offensive to Y demographic” against the wishes of that demographic. Like, my circles are not the widest, but I have mostly seen LGBTQ people being upset at being spoken for against their own wishes, sometimes with people chiming in and helpfully saying “no, see, you should be offended! This article says you are offended so stop pretending not to be!”

I am not trying to make a false equivalency of the relative badness levels but please, try to appreciate the poetic irony in unironically deploying “The Dedicated Truth Decreer said the innocuous-on-its-face thing was bad” in this of all possible situations.

It’s the “listen to X (I am not X, and X that disagree with me are not real X so don’t listen to them)” thing. The entire authority of that sort of article rests on the authors speaking for groups, so when members of that group say “this is bullshit pedantry and not offensive, and in fact your declaring it offensive on my behalf makes me feel less safe in places purportedly organized for my benefit” does in fact undermine the authority of those declarations.

Fourth, this is not as strong of an argument and really super tangential, but I’m personally sick of people just... giving things up because bad people claim them. I don’t extend this infinitely, so for instance Hindus trying to reclaim the swastika are probably right on the level of “it is wrong that this important symbol from our culture has been made synonymous with the greatest evil in living memory, and this change should be reverted,” but it’s so culturally ingrained that I don’t know if it is possible to fix at this point.

However, I remember when a bunch of Nazis were like “we own Pepe the frog now” and the response to this was like, “Yeah! Let them grab whatever culture they want, it is tainted by their even saying they want it! Also all Pepe memes made before this point are retroactively fascist!” and just...

That’s fucking transparently stupid. That specific thing has abated and you can find lefty Pepe memes now, nature is healing etc etc, but the “anime = fascist” thing hasn’t and it’s so so mind-numbing that you would just cede entire genres of art and start asserting that anyone who enjoys them is automatically irredeemable without considering what effect this might have on how unhinged you look or your ability to say your ideal world is better than theirs. I remember arguing with someone about this circa 2016 and I said something to the effect of “well what if instead of next they claim jazz” and they said it would suck that nobody could listen to jazz anymore. (iirc, this person was white which makes it extra hilarious/depressing, but the forum thread where it happened seems to be deleted so assume I made this up from whole cloth)

The reason I bring this up is part of the reason people say “it implies orientation is a choice” is because that’s what homophobes say it means (in contradiction to the literal words, naturally) and why they insist on using it. It’s less of a concrete thing, but the two feel isomorphic.

Lastly... OK so in my other post I used sort of a cringy programming metaphor, because I was half asleep so the only part of my brain still functioning was “comprehension of programming problems” amirite fellas. I don’t like definition debates in general but it seems like a lot of the people insisting “preference = choice” are using different definitions, so this is mostly just to show how that is not the only obvious interpretation.

A sexual orientation is a description of what gender(s) someone wants to have sex with.

A preference is a description of what someone wants.

Therefore a sexual orientation is a type of preference.

Note that nothing there says anything about origin or mutabiliy. Just that if you ask someone what their orientation is, you will get information about what they do and don’t want.

I need to stress that based on the context that sparked off this debacle I can understand why someone’s interpretation of the phrase might be “orientation is a choice” - even though I think it’s wrong to assume that’s what is meant by the phrase inherently, it’s a reasonable reaction to pattern-match talking points.

But the other thing is that it’s probably wrong to perma-delete the phrase because it isn’t gibberish.

What I mean by that is I get frustrated whenever someone is talking about an expenditure of energy and time related to feelings, and someone else comes along and screeches “THAT’S NOT WHAT EMOTIONAL LABOR MEANS”

and yes, that is not what the jargon phrase “emotional labor” means

but the person you’re yelling at was in fact describing labor that is emotional, and due to the way English works, you are allowed to delete the “that is” and move the adjective before the noun. Some would even recommend this in the name of concision. (And as I’ve said before, “emotion work” as a substitute phrase is...linguistically unpleasant to say the least.)

Saying that you can’t say “sexual preference” is sort of in the same boat. People will want to talk about preferences that are sexual, because there are more variables than just orientation, but those things still matter and should get a category name and look the entire argument falls apart if you don’t make bizarre assumptions about the connotations of the word “preference” and there are only so many ways I can state that fact.

IN SHITTY CONCLUSION

The fact that I wrote out a giant post defending a phrase I don’t otherwise care about reveals some sort of deep moral failing.

#language discourse #the orientation / preference mess #homophobia #rape mention #for your convenience please accept this pre-packaged self cancellation #fuck i did the programming metaphor again just without jargon #if i wanted to be uncharitable i would say people assumed preferences only meant the options menu and meant like flipping a switch #i just know that i will get canceled if nonzero humans read this

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