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#a man who actually reads the terms & conditions and then rants about it
lurksunderthebed · 5 months
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Thoughts on CoD dudebros that attempt to gatekeep their "role" characters? Over the course of last year it's funny how many i've seen upset that Laswell has a wife because they genuinely thought Price was "bonking" her according to them. Even more so going as far as to say that they'd be into experimental poly relationship. And don't get me started on YT side of the base where people say stuff like Soap & Valeria, Ghost & Milena double date, it's hilarious really. But god forbid you post anything about GhostSoap remotelly romantic. It's like hellfire out there.
Oh man that's a good question. I haven't actually thought too hard on that tbh. Funny timing because I literally watched an opinion piece on YT on what they [the male fanbase] thought on mwiii(23).
I think people want to read into things as they prefer. People are so conditioned in these action movie style sort of storylines to assume Man + Women talking = relationship. And in that sense I can see why people would ship Price and Laswell because they do have a friendly relationship, one that implies years of knowing one another. (though Valeria and Milena /soap or ghost?? Why??)
I think the biggest shame is the fact that male and female platonic friendships are so rare in these instances that for a significant part of that vocal fanbase, it blows their mind to have heterosexual friendships that are just that: friendships.
And it's always a bit ironic we have this situation when you have those dudebros pile on the ghostsoap ship and say, "can't friendships just be friendships, stop making everything gay". Can't friendships just be friendships, stop making everything het.
Bro, we ain't making anything gay, it's there in the text. Call the spade a spade. They flirt with each other. I can even pull up the receipts and go through every bit of possibility and still think, wow, even them joking is pretty sus with all the context. Especially when it's Ghost who flirts back, out of all people—the man who is so emotionally constipated that showing his face and letting people use his name is a Big Deal™.
I always wonder what that fanbase would make of these meta posts. In a weird way, I do sort of welcome that critique. It would be interesting to see what would come out of that.
I mean, yeah you can read Ghost and Soap's relationship however you want. But it's definitely not something as clear cut as, "they're just friends. That's what brothers in arms are like. You just don't understand!" sort of thing. I think reducing them down to 'just friends' would be doing a disservice to how much Soap meant to Ghost in terms of the actual codmwii plot line.
The nice thing is that despite all the differences we all have with each other, we as an entire fanbase all agree on this: Codmwiii(23) has the worst campaign out of all codmw games.
The storyline sucked and didn't go anywhere. The ending was there for shock factor. It didn't really add anything to the story aside from making one feel upset. It was sloppy storytelling, and it really felt like it could've been better.
But yeah. Lol 😂 sorry for the rant guys. Hope you enjoyed the Ted Talk.
Btw, much thanks and love from everyone reading my meta posts. All the encouragement fuels me for my next overly long post. 💞🥹
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padfootastic · 2 years
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just gonna rant about fanon sirius real quick don’t mind me & my rapid descent into incoherency. everything’s under a cut bc this serves no purpose.
i fucking hate when he’s conceptualised as this dramatic, over-the-top-angry, unreasonable manchild. actually, no. even one of those traits for him annoys me so much. people can write him however they want but atleast have the decency to slap an ooc tag on it if ur gonna butcher him that badly because he’s !!! not !!! like !!! that !!!
the only time he shows an ounce of ‘melodrama’ (and i have issues w that term) is during the shrieking shack which he waited over a dozen years for in hellish conditions. he’s probably starving, half delusional, and definitely a combination of angry and terrified out of his mind. he’s been single-mindedly focused on one task, has probably used it to fuel himself through all material and psychological obstacles, and now that it’s in front of him, of fkn course he’s not gonna wait around for tea and crumpets to be served.
every other instance we have of sirius is him being cool, collected, logical, and rational as fuck. i recently read the ‘padfoot returns’ chapter in gof for mc purposes and by god, i fell in love with him all over again. he’s so terrifyingly competent?? the way he’s gone through some of the most horrific trauma in the entire series, and his mind is still so sharp? his memory is impeccable? the way he joins dots and comes to conclusions? not just that, but he’s one adult who listens to and trusts the trio, treats them like children with the weight of the world on their shoulders, actually seems to see them without rose tinted glasses on.
and his entire speech about crouch/the ministry/snape???? this is not someone who mindlessly hates slytherins. fucking hell, he was giving snape the benefit of the doubt in that chapter. ‘i don’t think dumbledore would hire him if he was really on the other side’ (paraphrased) and this is where he makes the point about observing how someone treats their inferiors. sirius has so many layers and he’s such a complex character and he’s so wonderful in his own right it annoys me sm to see him dumbed down into this- not even 2D but massively ooc version of him. and again, like, i don’t mind ooc at all. i read tons of ooc character fics! it’s great and super fun! but for the love of god tag it that way.
and back to the being dramatic thing. this man lived in the same set of tattered robes, in caves, feasting on rats, generally not giving a single fuck. he tore chicken straight off the bone. lived on the run, breaking into people’s houses and roaming around as a dog. he’s not going to freak out over a broken nail or shriek or jump around for anything. when faced with a hostile molly weasley or a curious harry asking about his family (a sensitive topic) he chose to rely on cool answers and clipped tones, not outward explosions of anger. ugh. so much nuance, and it’s all gone just like that.
also adding on to this to say—he doesn’t even show that much anger or bitterness. my man literally forgave everyone who turned on him in a second. he literally didn’t blink before hugging remus. where are people getting some ideas of him from 😭😭
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taggingtim · 3 years
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Why I love Pre-Boot Tim Drake and why the Reboot has ruined him
I love Tim Drake.  He is my favorite comic book character of all time.  I’ve been really upset the past few days about what DC has been doing with him lately, and I thought it would be cathartic for me to write something up about it.  (No, this isn’t a rant about Tim being bi/gay; it’s a much larger problem than that. But I’ll get to that in a bit.) Bear with me for a bit of history, first.
When I was a kid I loved the Batman Animated Series.  I know this will lose me a lot of internet cred, but I always preferred the fourth season. In particular, I loved Tim Drake. He was fun and funny and I absolutely adored him.  I used to beg my mom to take me to the mall so I could buy issues of Gotham Adventures. For my birthday one year my parents got me a subscription to the comic, and I was blown away by the idea that I could have comics MAILED to my HOUSE.
Around middle school I started collecting Marvel comics, mostly X-men stuff.  I loved them, but when I started college I quit the hobby for financial reasons.
 Fast forward a few years, and I felt I was financially stable enough to start buying comics again. Rather than going back to Marvel, I decided to give Batman comics a chance.  I had no idea where to start, and when I found out my beloved Tim had his own comic series, I thought it was a perfect entry point into the Batman universe. I bought the complete series from a local comic shop and dove in.
 Tim’s Robin series was exactly what I was looking for in a comic.  He was very different from little Timmy Todd from BtAS, but I loved him. I built the rest of my comic collection around him, grabbing up every book that he was featured in, from Young Justice to Teen Titans to Batman, Detective Comics, Nightwing, Red Robin, and many others.  I have random books from series like The Demon just because Tim was in them.
 So why did I like Tim so much?  What about this character made me so excited for more?  I found in Tim something that I had never seen in a comic book before: character growth.  Somehow, though he was written by many different authors over many different years, Tim managed to have a character arc that is consistent and makes sense. Sure, there were a few small bumps along the way, but on the whole Tim has always stayed true to his character, and he’s developed in a way that the big name characters, like Batman, never can.
 When we’re first introduced to Tim, he’s a young teen who has been neglected by his parents growing up. He’s smart, healthy, and strong, but he lacks so much self confidence and has little sense of self worth.  Tim notices Bruce’s increasing violence as he grieves for the loss of his son, and Tim knows he needs to step in and help.  Batman needs a Robin.
 For most characters, this would be the part where Tim put himself forward for the job.  But he doesn’t.  He seeks out Dick Grayson and begs him to come home instead.  It’s only when Batman and Nightwing are in danger and there is literally no one else to help that Tim steps up and dons the cape. And once he does, he’s constantly plagued by self-doubt, terrified he will screw up and leave Batman worse than ever before.
 From there, Tim undergoes intense training.  He never begs to be in the spotlight, doesn’t push to go out on the streets before he’s ready.  His goal is to help Bruce as much as possible.
 Here’s where I started to fall in love with him.  All that self-doubt, the constant need to be useful?  That’s exactly what you would expect to see from a child whose parents had ignored and neglected him.  He finally has a parental figure who sees him, who values him, and Tim does everything he can to make himself worthy in the hopes that Bruce will keep him around.
 This is the first example of character consistency that we see with Tim.  And it continues.  When his mom dies and his dad is put in a coma, you see Tim struggle to come to terms with losing the people he loves, but never had a relationship with.  Tim almost never mentions his mom after her death, because she just wasn’t present in his life.  When his dad recovers and decides to stick around, Tim struggles to build a relationship with him.  He’s plagued with guilt because he’s finally found the father figure he needed in Bruce, but he thinks that he’s supposed to feel that way for Jack.  It’s a running undercurrent in their relationship that creates distance between them for years.
 This is already so long, so I’m going to try to summarize a bit more.  We get to watch Tim grow up.  We see his awkward relationship with his first girlfriend, Ariana.  He doesn’t know how to treat her; he’s never had the opportunity to observe a healthy relationship.  But he tries so, so hard.  All of Tim’s relationships are awkward, because he’s never had a model of a good one. Steph is a great match for him, because she’s very vocal about what she wants and needs, and she isn’t afraid to call Tim out when he messes up, which is exactly what Tim needs.
 Big things happen to Tim. He’s stuck with Jean-Paul Valley, who slowly goes insane, leaving Tim to try to keep the city in one piece.  He’s infected with the Clench, a plague that sweeps over Gotham and kills everyone it touches, and barely escapes with his life. His girlfriend is sexually assaulted, leaving him to deal with the fallout.  His family moves out of Gotham, and he has to sneak back in during No Man’s Land to help.  His relationship with his dad has intense ups and downs, resulting in him being sent to boarding school, punished in a variety of ways, and generally caused a lot of trouble in his life.
 Then people start dying. Over the course of about a year in his life, Tim loses his girlfriend, his dad, a close friend, and his best friend, each of whom dies under tragic conditions.  Tim’s grief is intense, and he is understandably traumatized by the losses. We see fundamental changes in his character.  He changes his costume from something bright and cheerful to something darker that reflects his emotional state.  He’s more subdued, his adventures a little more serious.
 When Bruce first tries to adopt him, Tim literally creates an uncle and hires an actor to play him, just to avoid dealing with the situation.  Bruce has viewed Tim as a son for years, so to him the adoption is an obvious step.  For Tim, it feels like a betrayal of his father, and it takes a while before he’s ready to accept Bruce’s love, home, and a place in his family.  
 When Damian shows up on the scene, Tim really struggles with him, and not just because early Damian is a horrid brat who tries to kill Tim on multiple occasions.  Tim has always felt the need to earn his place with Bruce, and Damian constantly throws all of Tim’s biggest fears in his face—he’s not wanted or needed now that the “real” son is here, he’s not worthy of a place in the family, he’s not good enough.
 Tim tries to clone Conner, his best friend.  He’s lost so many people, and he’s desperate to get them back.  Conner was cloned to begin with and fully matured over a very short period of time; the technology clearly exists, so why can’t Tim use it to get his best friend back?  And if he can get Conner back, why not the others he’s lost?  He eventually gives up, but when he eventually gets access to a Lazarus Pit, he immediately wants to incorporate the waters into his process so he can revive his loved ones.  With Dick’s help, Tim eventually decides to let it go, but it’s such a poignant moment for the character.
 Then Bruce dies, and Dick takes Robin away.  Tim switches to the Red Robin persona as he travels the world, alone, trying to prove that he was right.  He has to deal with the trauma of losing another father, finds out that his girlfriend never died but let him hurt so much for so long.  His brother and the only close friend he has left both think his grief has overwhelmed his sense and that he’s gone crazy.  He’s utterly alone.
 The Red Robin series is such a great culmination for Tim.  He finds a place for himself as a hero, as a CEO.  He gets parts of his family back—Bruce, Steph, Bart, Conner.  He finally figures out who he wants to be and creates a place for himself.
 This overarching character development is what I love about Tim.  His many, many traumas impact his decisions, and you can clearly see how he changes over time as a result of them.  I didn’t even go into his development as a leader from his early fumbling with Young Justice to his strong leadership of the Teen Titans, or how his relationships with Conner, Bart, and Cassie develop so fluidly and realistically over the years.
 This is why I love Tim. Characters like Batman are static; nothing that happens to them will ever have a lasting impact, because in the end the character always returns to what they were.  Tim, on the other hand, has changed and developed A LOT since his initial appearance.  His growth has always been consistent and logical.
 When the reboot happened, all of that character growth was lost.  Tim was replaced with a jerk who betrayed his friends and cheated on his girlfriend.  DC has basically retconned all of this and tried to turn Tim back into who he was, but by taking away all of the things that have happened to him over the years, Tim has lost SO MUCH.
 I keep looking for my Tim in recent comics, and I just can’t find him.  It breaks my heart, because I love him so much, and it feels like he’s lost to me forever.  The most recent Young Justice comic series actually gave me hope; I felt like maybe, finally, someone was going to write Tim correctly.  He had his primary friendships back, his relationship with Steph was developing (even if they seem to have completely dropped all the development around Steph’s decision to let Tim think she was dead).  The actual book itself wasn’t fantastic, but it felt like they were headed in the right direction.
 Over the last few days, I read the Batman: Urban Legends books.  I actually read the Batman/Red Hood story first, which was fantastic.  I was really excited to read Tim’s story (though I already knew how it ended).  Jason’s character was handled so well, and he seemed to actually have some character development that will hopefully last.  I anticipated the same for Tim.
 But Tim’s story was awful. The plot was all over the place—kids are being kidnapped, so Tim has to join a pain cult to get them back?  He’s somehow helping Oracle with computer issues while simultaneously questioning witnesses?  He’s broken up with Steph, off camera, shortly after telling her how much he loves her, but Steph somehow thinks that they should have a caring relationship where Tim tells her what he’s feeling?  Bernard has somehow become a good enough fighter to stand side by side with Robin?  Tim STILL doesn’t have a code name?  Why is everyone suddenly hounding him about what he wants to do with his life?
 It’s just such a mess of a story.  If it didn’t end with Tim agreeing to go on a date with Bernard, no one would ever have even mentioned it.  There’s nothing particularly re-readable or enjoyable about it.
 I actually liked that they brought Bernard back. I really enjoyed him in the original Robin series. It’s been a while since I read that part of the series (I’m actually working my way back through it now).  I know Bernard always read as gay to me, yet somehow I felt like he was out of character in these books.
 And then, the climax of the story.  Tim is bi, or gay, or has at least agreed to go on a date with a boy.
 If this had happened in the pre-boot, when Tim was Red Robin and had an actual character arc, I honestly wouldn’t have had an issue with it.  I do think it would have needed a LOT more build up than it was given here.  Tim has always been a very introspective character, and we’ve been party to so much of his internal monologue over the years.  It seems very strange to me that such a huge thing just sneaks up on him out of nowhere when he’s never even thought about it before.
 But more than that, this story just feels like the final death blow for the Tim I loved.  The whole arc is about how Tim doesn’t know who he is or who he wants to be.  What will his hero name be?  Will he go to college?  What is he going to do with his life?  These are all great questions, and his answer to all of them is… date a boy?  
 Is this going to be his defining characteristic going forward?  From here will we just see Tim exploring and discovering his sexuality?  The Tim we have now doesn’t have a family, a team, a purpose, or even a code name.  Why was this the thing that DC decided to give us?  It feels like they wanted to make a gay Robin and decided it would be Tim because they didn’t know what else to do with him.
 It’s stupid, but I honestly feel like I’ve spent the past few days grieving the loss of a loved one. The Tim that DC is presenting now is just not the person that I knew.  Tim would never break up with Steph that abruptly for what he admits is no apparent reason.  He would never say “just call me Robin, since Damian’s out of town.”  Everything that I love about Tim seems to be gone, and in its place DC has given me a date with a boy.  
 Again, it’s not Tim being not-straight that I have an issue with.  I’ve never read the character that way, but it’s something I can live with. My issue is the way it was handled. Why not make Tim an actual person first, and then explore his sexuality?  Send him off to college!  He’s obviously thinking about it!  It’s the perfect opportunity to give him his own book.  He can move to a different city, choose a new name, and DC can introduce a whole new set of characters.  Figure out which parts of Tim’s backstory are still canon, and which have been dropped. Make him a person again, and then let him explore his sexuality.
 I know this post is all over the place, and I don’t have time right now to go back and edit it.  I just really needed an outlet for my frustration.  Right now it feels like there are so many people who are so excited about Tim being bi/gay, but they don’t know anything else about him.  I keep seeing people comment how DC has been “dropping hints for years!” with no evidence other than “he and Superboy were really close!”  I guess I’d just really like to have some dialogue with other people who are fans of Tim, rather than fans of Tim-as-bi/gay or fans of Tim-as-straight.
 Does anyone else feel this way?  I’d honestly like to have a dialogue about it with other long time fans.
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enbies-and-felonies · 2 years
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Help I took a uquiz on my taste in men-
Tumblr media
jhsdbfjhbsdhf yes
[image id: uquiz result that reads:
pathetic (affectionate)
A sad sopping wet sewer rat of a man waiting on your doorstep. The kinda guy who can't hold his liquor but still meets you shot for shot, who gets in fright he knows he can't win but does it anyway for a good cause. A man who actually reads the Terms & Conditions and then rants about it. Someone with no sense of self-preservation, who sticks a nerdy little pencil behind his ear and says "Actually, technically" to a bunch of people who want him dead.
end id.]
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Trigger Warning: Grooming, abuse. 
 Warning rant coming up. This is what really annoys me about LB’s podcast in 2019, the thing that just made me so angry is her blatant misuse of the term grooming. Like when I read that I was literally mind blown. There are so many antis now using this to justify them also misusing the term. Saying ‘oh but the author herself said she wrote it as him grooming her’. Well you know what I don’t give a crap what the author said because if she wanted to write him as a groomer then she should have damn well done her research before writing the character. Which I refuse to believe she did seeing as the character doesn’t display any of the behaviours of a groomer. I mean there’s that line she says in the podcast 
‘Cause he is---he literally grooms her. It is built into the story---at one point, Baghra says: 'He has had a long time to figure out how to manipulate a young girl.' 
This example she gives makes me think that LB thinks that grooming is just an older guy manipulating a younger girl, but this is a far too simplistic description. In actual fact anybody can be groomed and at any age, an adult can groom a child, but an adult can groom another adult. You can also have a younger man or woman groom an older man or woman, this idea of grooming being an older male to a younger female is just the most commonly talked about but it being the only conditions of grooming is false. 
Also the words grooming and manipulation are not interchangeable. I really do feel like both LB and antis seem to think that they mean the same thing. They don’t. Whilst manipulation can be used to groom someone, grooming itself is a very particular kind of abuse and its alot more complicated than just one person manipulating another. It was already bad enough that darklinas were having to deal with antis popping up and spewing all this nonsense about how the darkling is a groomer and having to explain that no that’s not what a groomer is without having the author herself do the same thing. I think seeing the author make this claim is very hurtful, especially to those who have actually experienced grooming and antis don’t get to then tell us that we’re not allowed to be hurt by it. 
The other thing that irritated me was this line:
By all means, ship it! But don't forgive him. Don't excuse--don't turn him into a character that he was not.
There are soo many things wrong with this statement. Firstly the fact that she tells readers that they are not allowed to forgive the darkling. Well I am sorry but an author can’t dictate to a reader how they react or feel about a character. I said in another post that every person has their own threshold for what they consider to be forgivable in fiction, the author doesn’t get to set that threshold for a reader, that is something personal to them. If I want to forgive a character then that’s up to me. The other part is this don’t excuse him and don’t turn him into a character he is not. The only reason LB would have said this is because its what she thinks darklinas are doing. We’ve fought this battle against antis so many times where we have to explain that just because we like to examine why the darkling has done something does not mean we are saying we are ok with what he has done. Maybe some darklinas do this but in all honesty I haven’t come across any who are, most darklinas are not making excuses for him they are just pointing out that his trauma in the past is contributing to his actions and that this makes him an interesting character. I saw some antis saying things like they didn’t understand why darklinas were so upset because LB said we could ship it. Well let me explain it for you because you’ve actually hit the nail right on the head. She tells us we can ship it, by all means, she is giving us permission to ship it. Well she doesn’t really have any right to tell us what we can ship. I mean how would the anti’s feel if she said the same to them that she gives them permission to ship m*lina? 
And the final thing that irked me was when she says that she would have shipped it herself when she was younger. Implying that only those who are young and impressionable and who just don’t yet understand why they shouldn’t, ship it. It is especially annoying when you then see this quote from LB from a more recent podcast of May 2021  
Brandon Jenkins:
Is there such a thing as a right pairing?
Leigh Bardugo:
I love a villain protagonist romance.
So which is it you totally would have shipped it as a youth or you still ship it now LB? Anyway rant over, excuse me while I go bang my head against a wall. 
In an attempt to end on a slightly more positive note though, I will say one thing and that is LB did say this all in 2019 (even if it has only come up now) so hopefully she has learnt since then. I mean she did say this about m*lina in that same more recent May podcast showing that she does at least recognise that they are also a problematic ship: 
Leigh Bardugo:
These are two people, who have been surviving with each other's help for a very long time and who  have learned to rely on each other in a world that does not value them, and frequently treats them  cruelly and who will truly do anything for each other. And that bond is both beautiful and poisonous, because um you know Alina is dependent on that. Mal is dependent on that, and they both need to have it severed in order to come back to each other.
The issue here though is whilst I think it is good that she is addressing why M*lina is also problematic I don’t feel like she does it enough. I mean correct me if I am wrong (after all I haven’t seen every interview she has ever given) but I don’t think she’s addressed this before, or at least I haven’t seen her address it anywhere else. Whereas she is nearly always talking about how problematic darklina is but again in the May podcast whilst she does talk about kirigan being manipulative and the older guy, younger girl dynamic at least she doesn’t use the word grooming.  
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barkkletshunt · 3 years
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Those Worth Fighting For Part five
Eyy~ I actually stayed up later than usual to get this part out lol I hope you all like it! The comments I’ve gotten on this are really encouraging me to keep going with this and I really appreciate all of you who have taken the time to let me know what you think <3 
Now, enjoy part five! 
Part one
Part two 
Part three
Part four 
Part six
Part seven
Part eight 
Marinette was out enjoying her day like a normal girl for once. She had a full itinerary and she was making great progress on her list. In the morning she went out and bought fabric, sent Felix possible designs for the table arrangements, and then she was going to grab lunch with all the groomsmen in order to help Felix feel more comfortable around them. 
He had texted her the night prior telling her he was concerned that they held his past actions against him. While she couldn’t blame her friends if they did, she had spent enough time with Felix in the past few days to realize he wasn’t the same person as he was back then. She doubted the others would hold it against him, given their own pasts with akumas, but she wanted to make sure that Felix didn’t feel ganged up on regardless. Even if it was just a precaution Marinette promised to be there to mediate any possible disputes with the condition that he bought her lunch. 
His reply made her heart skip a beat. 
“It’s a date then,” he wrote. 
She had read and reread that text a number of times, hoping that he’d either send a ‘lol JK’ her way and put the butterflies that had made a home in her stomach to rest, or he’d tell her he was serious. She hated not knowing if it was a joke, because against all odds she was really starting to like that clever blonde boy that would tell her how genius her ideas were. 
Marinette knew it was stupid to catch feelings so soon, especially after declaring it to herself that she wouldn’t be part of a romcom, but she was caught helpless each time he’d stop off at her apartment to go over colour swatches for the table cloths or decorations and bring her a coffee without having being asked. Felix was sweet and she always had a sweet tooth. 
Despite the crush that was bubbling up inside her, Marinette hoped that Felix was late to their little meeting so she could talk it over with the boys. She hoped that they’d be able to decrypt that four worded message that had left her sleepless most of the night. Was he serious? Was it a joke? Who knew? She didn’t. 
That didn’t mean she wanted to make a fool of herself and wear track pants on something that could possibly be a date. Just in case. She didn’t want to come on too strong and say she was for sure interested and obviously dressing up to impress him, despite how he had told her two nights ago that she looked nice after she had woken up from a post exam nap with her hair knotted and drool stains on her mouth. There was no impressing anyone after they saw her like that, and no matter how much she prayed the ground didn’t open up from beneath her and swallow her whole. 
Marinette also didn’t want to go so low as to make it seem like she had no interest on the off chance that he did want to date her. Sure, he was still deciding on whether or not he was going to make Paris a permanent move or not, but perhaps having a Parisian girlfriend would make him want to stay, because if she was being honest with herself she did want him to stay. Even if he wasn’t dating her, he was a great guy who she’d love to spend time with. Dating him would simply be a bonus. 
Her thoughts had drifted to the blonde man more times than she could count as she ran her errands. She pictured his stoic face as he sat in Kagami and Adriens kitchen and budgeted everything they needed for the wedding with a hefty set of wiggle room just in case they went over. She could still hear his hushed whisper as he tried to be discreet about telling her a bad pun his cousin once told her that he had remembered, not wanting to let Adrien know he thought they were funny. She could even still smell that warm floral tea-like fragrance that clung to him like perfume, that she had been able to smell as he leaned on her to rest while they were going over Kagami’s dress design and how to make it match with Adrien’s.  
She had it bad already and it hadn’t been that long since they had met again. There was just something about Felix that lit her heart on fire and she wasn’t ready for it, especially not with everything else going on in her life. Still, if Felix felt the same as she did, there were worse 
So even if it wasn’t a date, Marinette dressed up as if it was. She spent time making sure her hair was done up right, and her outfit matched perfectly. She had even busted out the pair of fake leather heels she loved that laced up at the front in bows. Her outfit was cute, and in turn it made her feel cute. So after throwing on a simple brown jacket to go along with the shoes, she went out. Ready to meet her friends and possibly get some much needed advice if Felix was late. 
She really hoped he’d be late.
When she got to the restaurant she realized that luck really was on her side, as both Nino and Felix were yet to arrive. Nino would be there shortly, but she wasn’t as intent on getting romantic advice from him as she was the other two. So once Marinette was seated in the restaurant with Marc and Nathaniel, she began ranting. 
"And then he said, it's a date! A date! Can you believe it?"
Her two friends shared a look. 
"I mean, yeah. I can." Marc said, taking their boyfriends hand in their own and squeezing it. "Mari, you had our entire class in love with you at one point."
"We all had an agreement not to pursue you to make it fair for everyone else." Nath recalled. 
Marinette rolled her eyes at the exaggeration. "Not everyone was in love with me."
"Oh, my sweet summer child, how naive you are." Marc cooned, reaching their free hand across the table to take hers. "It would be no surprise that Felix joined the Marinette fanclub."
"But," Nathaniel started, "if you really want to know if he is interested in you there is a surefire way to find out."
Marinette straightened in her seat, intent on the redhead. Nathaniel never led her astray and she wanted the advice. She’d do almost anything to get rid of the nervousness she felt that could only be compared to when she was younger and Adrien had said something flirty on accident. "What is it?"
"Ask him." 
She groaned, hitting her head off the table and causing the silverware to clatter together. That was not the answer she wanted."Do you have any idea how much I cannot do that? He’s like super charming and he says I have good taste and just talking to him over text makes me get all anxious. If I try to ask him it’ll be like Adrien all over again! Remember how well that went for me?”
The two grimaced with her as they remembered how often she would forget how to talk around her long time crush, and how even more often she would end up tripping or falling over herself because of it. No one wanted a repeat on her crush on Adrien.
"Hey Dude, Dudette, and fam." Nino called. The DJ's gender neutral term for Marc made the ravenette smile, and they responded by waving at Nino as he made his way past the empty tables that were in between him and his friends. It only took Nino a moment before he realized Marinette didn't lift her head to say hello. "What's got Mari in a funk?"
"She wants to know if a guy is interested in her, so we suggested she ask him." Nath explained, and that was all that needed to be said for Nino to understand. He had known Mari for the longest and she had never been one to confront someone when it involved herself. Bullies? She'd get in their face in a heartbeat and yell at them until they straightened out. Romance? Not a chance. 
"Hey, Dudette, do you like this dude?" Nino pulled a chair out from beside Marinette and sat down. Nino placed his hand on his childhood friends back, rubbing soft circles on her shoulders. “Because if you don’t then it doesn’t matter, but if you do, well then you gotta ask.”
“How about you guys see how this guy acts near me and then send me all his subtle dude signals through text or something.” The girl lifted her head to give the best puppy dog look she could muster up, and from the collective sigh that came from the group she knew she had won. 
“I still think asking him would be easier,” Nino lightly elbowed Marinette in the side. “But hey, he’s late like you normally are. He could be your soulmate after all.”
“I’m not always late!”
“Just a majority of the time.” Marc joked. The four fell into an easy conversation about how often Marinette was late to important events, and soon how each one of them were going to be responsible that the maid of honour was on time for the wedding.
“We’ll have to remind Kagami to set the wedding time to three hours early on Mari’s invitation just so she’ll make it just on time.” It was Nathaniel’s turn to tease her, but Marinette wasn’t taking it.
“Well, let me remind you that I am the whole reason you and Marc ended up together. Just saying. Without me snooping around you two would have walked past each other a number of times.” Marinette pointed out, remembering the time she helped the two set up dates soon after they met.
“If I’m not mistaken I was turned into an akuma-”
“And in the end you got the man of your dreams, so we should stop picking on the amazing matchmaker here and perhaps we could,” Marinette’s voice trailed off as she felt rumbling beneath her seat. The smiles on her friends' faces vanished as they all stood, checking each door for a possible sentimonster attack. The doors stayed put, and they almost believed it was an earthquake until the ground below them began to split open with the sounds of creaking metal signalling the monster had arrived. The creature was a giant snake made out of the metal pipes beneath Paris, and if the smell that wafted from it was anything to go by Marinette figured the main pipe of his body came directly from the sewer. 
Everyone scattered, running to the exits as fast as their legs could carry them. Nino made it out the fire exit, while Nathaniel and Marc escaped to the kitchen. Marinette drove behind the bar, hoping against all odds that she’d find the perfect moment to transform in order to save everyone.
That was when a familiar voice broke through her panic.
“I understand you’re a sewage pipe, but this fight is going to be a real drain.” 
Marinette covered her mouth, resisting the urge to scream out at the black cat holder. Was it the miraculous itself that made its owner make such terrible puns? Was there no escape from the puns that haunted her superhero youth?
The cat hero circled around the destroyed restaurant as the pipe snake kept the knobs it had for eyes trained on him. When he was close to the bar the snake dove for him, and Marinette jumped out of her hiding spot to push him out of the way. “Duck!”
Marinette squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the pain to hit her. There was no pain, but there was the sound of a racing heart beneath her ears. 
ScapeGoat, Mattamorphis, and Carapace were already there behind them, keeping the snake occupied as Marinette got her barings. She began lifting herself up when she caught the gaze of the hero beneath her. 
“Am I at a vending machine?” The cat hero muttered, his voice rough from getting the wind knocked out of him seconds before.
Marinette blinked. Was he concussed? She didn’t think that was possible while in costume. She looked over his head, looking for any blood or sign he was seriously injured. “What?”
“Because a snack just fell on me.” He said, grinning like a fool at his own terrible pick up line. She wanted to punch his smug face, but she’d have to wait till after she got into her suit. “Not that I’m complaining.”
She pushed herself up, determined to run off to change before she punched the man in his idiotic face, but the new cat stopped her by grabbing her wrist. She looked down at him, watching the belt he had flick around behind him like a real cat's tail. “Wait.”
The hero stood and grabbed Marinette’s shoulders. He put his other arm under her knees, and lifted her up like she weighed less than a couple of grapes. She gawked at him, unsure of what to do. This was not the time to be chivalrous, and she could have sworn he had said that flirting on the job was unprofessional. 
The hero took her out of the restaurant and made sure she was a few blocks away before setting her down. “There, this should be far enough away.”
“You didn’t need to do that,” she started, but he held a hand up and got down on one knee. Panic filled her. What was he doing? Was he being serious? Now was not the time for some cheesy joke. “What are you doing?”
Instead of the fake proposal she was half sure would come, the black cat began tying one of her shoes up. Marinette assumed it came undone at the restaurant, but she wouldn’t have to worry about it since she’d be changing soon anyways. 
“Shouldn’t you be, uh, fighting that monster Mr. Cat?” Marinette asked, unsure what it was he was after.
The man stood up once her shoe was tied and smiled, a smile that if she wasn’t so furious she would have swooned at.How could he be so nonchalant about the whole situation? He had left three people behind to fight that living pile of pipes just so he could go and flirt with a girl? He wasn’t meant for that miraculous and now she was sure of it. “I will be, but I have faith in the other heroes. For now, I just wanted to make sure your laces were done up.”
“So I can run away safely?”
“So you don’t go falling for anyone aside from me.” He winked. 
Stupid flirtatious cat. 
“Besides, that is only one of the multiple heads of the snake. I’m going after the main one, I was just nearby here to start with.” Wait, what? The man looked off in the distance, towards the center of Paris. “I can’t stay long. If you see the other heroes pass by please let them know that the snakes are coming from the sewage museum. Oh God, they have one of those here?”
“Hold on a second, how could you possibly know that?” She asked, astounded by the amount of information he had. 
As the cat hero displayed the black device in his ear she remembered what he had said the other night. He had a bluetooth earbud hooked onto a police scanner. “I have ears all around Paris, sweet flower. Now, as much as I’d love to stay here and tell you all my hidden tricks, I must be off. The sentimonster’s true head is getting close to where I left a trap and I can’t leave it there by itself. Besides, I think Ladybug is waiting for me somewhere or another.”
I don’t think that’ll be a problem, she thought to herself. 
“Wait,” Marinette grabbed his arm as he started to back away from her, for what she had no doubt was going to be a dramatic exit. “I don’t feel right calling you Chat Noir, do you have a hero name yet?”
The hero’s face displayed his shock just for a moment before a smile brighter than the sun formed on his soft pink lips. “I don’t have one yet, why don’t you think of one for me?”
“You want me to pick?”
“Of course, it’ll remind me of the beautiful woman with bluebell eyes that gave the name to me.” The cat winked.
Marinette couldn’t help but laugh. He had told her he didn’t need a superhero name just the other day, but now he wanted one from her? He was flirtatious and full of tricks, there really was only one name for him. “How about from now on, we call you Alley Cat?”
“Alley Cat?” He said the name, tasting it on his tongue. “I like it. And who is the wonderful lady who named this poor Alley Cat?”
“Oh no, first names are for the second time you save me from a monster.” Marinette shook her head, trying not to burst into a fit of giggles seeing his fake heartbroken look.
“Then I guess I better get at it.” Alley Cat gently took her hand in his leather clad palm, and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles. “I hope to save you again soon, sweet flower.” And with that the cat was off, bounding across Paris at a speed that only reminded her of the urgency behind the movement. 
She had gotten swept up in their little conversation that she forgot what she was supposed to be doing. What was wrong with her these days? First Felix being an absolute sweetheart and getting her to reevaluate her opinion on him, now making her get butterflies wherever she thought of that soft chuckle he had when he found something she said was funny. Now there was a charming alley cat who was clever enough to form schemes of his own to stop the monsters terrorizing her hometown, but smooth enough that she was having a hard time making sure her face didn’t match her supersuit. Either the boys in her life needed to be less charming, or she needed to get a boyfriend.
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fulgurantfirstborn · 2 years
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men. you agree. (a quiz judging taste in men)
pathetic (affectionate)
A sad sopping wet sewer rat of a man waiting on your doorstep. The kinda guy who can’t hold his liquor but still meets you shot for shot, who gets in fights he knows he can’t win but does it anyway for a good cause. A man who actually reads the Terms & Conditions and then rants about it. Someone with no sense of self-preservation, who sticks a nerdy little pencil behind his ear and says “Actually, technically” to a bunch of people who want him dead.
Stolen from @vilestblood
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vihilum · 2 years
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men, you agree.
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𝙋𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙏𝙄𝘾 ( 𝘼𝙁𝙁𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉𝘼𝙏𝙀 )
A sad sopping wet sewer rat of a man waiting on your doorstep. The kinda guy who can’t hold his liquor but still meets you shot for shot, who gets in fights he knows he can’t win but does it anyway for a good cause. A man who actually reads the Terms & Conditions and then rants about it. Someone with no sense of self-preservation, who sticks a nerdy little pencil behind his ear and says “Actually, technically” to a bunch of people who want him dead.
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pondermoniums · 3 years
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A Rant Nobody Asked for About Stranger Things season 3.
feat. my personal pet peeves.
Disclaimer: when I first watched Stranger Things 3, I massively enjoyed it. I thought it finally captured the 80s aesthetic and vibe with the colors, the neon, and music. I even enjoyed it the SECOND time I watched it, although I was officially aware of some major flaws by that point.
1. The Coca Cola flex.
CocaCola has been all over this show ever since Tommy handed Steve one as a makeshift ice pack after his fight with Jonathan in s1. And then by season 3 it’s just....obnoxious???? And so unnecessary??? Karen Wheeler’s drinking one by the pool in episode one. Billy knocks into someone during his first day being flayed, and a coke rolls over the concrete.
LUCAS DOES AN ENTIRE MONOLOGUE ABOUT NEW COKE.
I mean, Jesus, we get it. CocaCola basically owns Georgia, where a lot of American TV shows are filmed.....but......you’re literally CocaCola. This kind of flex is entirely unnecessary and therefore pathetic.
2. Karen and Billy
Okay, listen. I thought their interaction in season 2 was H I L A R I O U S.  But I’m someone who has looked 21 since I was 14, thanks to being an early bloomer. I get it. The cocky prowess of looking older than your peers. Getting to look adults in the eye and get that tiny bit of respect with nothing more than just looking like they do. And, as a writer, the contrast between thirsty, older Karen with young and equally thirsty Billy is an odd pair of puzzle pieces that fit really hilariously - largely because it’s so unexpected, maybe. And frankly, I think it’s one of the first scenes where Dacre’s acting really made my eyes fall out of my head, he did so well.
But it should have ended there.
I’ve been to a LOT of public pools in my day (I’m 26 but hush), and I have NEVER seen older women thirsting over the lifeguards. Ever. It’s predatory - an attribute most women understand all too well - unprofessional, and just downright gross. Their whole interaction in s3 is for “the male lens,” which Hollywood really needs to figure out by now is outdated, predatory, disgusting, and not good writing.
3. Glossing over Billy Chugging Chemicals
Bouncing off of #2, is Karen’s total negligence of Billy’s condition. Many people have pointed it out before, but a row of mothers being completely ???? about Billy’s condition is a raging red flag of bad writing.
(Also that it was written by men, because women are hard-wired to be super aware of other women - a tactic of living on guard in a man’s world all the damn time. So you can always count on a mother, grandmother, or a brave teen/20-something to be the one to walk up to a person who doesn’t look well in order to check on them, even if you’re complete strangers. It’s happened to me, and I’ve done this for other people.)
These women literally stare at him for every shift of work he has, and they.....don’t do anything????
Karen WALKS IN ON HIM DRINKING CHLORINE. It actually took me the second watch-through to realize what he was doing in that storage room, and god, my heart just broke. It’s the only time we actually see a glimpse of Billy making himself flayed like the others. It’s so fleeting (maybe because we already get so much pain from his plot, and we do see what happens with the other flayed people) but it’s also one of the reasons, I think, that we have a whole fanbase ready and eager for his return.
We didn’t get a good glimpse of him poisoning himself to the point that he has to rely on the MindFlayer to stay alive. I’m not saying any of us want that, no way, but that’s my personal headcanon: in s2, Will was super protected and therefore capable of being separated from the Flayer. All of the Flayed IMMEDIATELY low-key drowned themselves in ice water to lower their temperature, and then chugged chemicals. They all die twice.
4. Billy. Just......Billy.
This poor boy’s plot was so pointless. It’s a special thing: creating such a good character and then doing fuck-all with him. The moment you realize his only purpose in season 2 was an introduction is....the beginning of a lot of disappointment. And no, he DIDN’T serve as an antagonist for Steve, because what happened? He slowed Steve down.
That’s it.
He doesn’t keep Steve from helping the kids in the tunnels. He doesn’t break him and Nancy up. He doesn’t gloriously out Steve’s bisexuality to the town by being his shameless lover.
He literally does nothing except just......be there? Looking gorgeous and providing a juxtaposing characterization for Max. That’s all. Billy’s treated like an accessory.
Then we arrive to season 3 and....I guess the only justification for his plot is sort of classic Greek tragic hero. He’s the new Keg King whose hubris makes him stand too long outside the warehouse, and thus, his downfall.
But here’s what’s wrong with that: Steve Harrington.
We were so spoiled with good writing for Steve. Steve had an incredibly refreshing and valid character AND redemption arc. Frankly, all the good writing goes to Steve in this show, so we expected the same writing to go to the other douche bag king of the show.
And we didn’t get it.
5. 80s Bullshit vs. Modern Audience
You can tell they’re trying to straddle the line between, “this is how people talked back then,” and, “this pertains to a modern audience.”
Example: Mike saying to Will, “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls.”
I know they did multiple takes of this scene with different variations of this line, and that’s the one the editors settled with. Regardless, I know I am not the only person who screeched with rainbow pride for Will’s sake. And it’s not the first time they’ve touched on very hot modern topics. Hopper touches on homophobia in season 1 - a fact I completely missed until I read an interview where the actor, David Harbor, mentions it, himself. Then I rewatched season 1 and realized, sure enough, he reacts poorly when Joyce tells him that Lonnie calls Will a f*g. It’s not even fatherly, “that should be my son, how dare he.” It’s straight up, “this kid might not be worth finding if he’s gay.”
Of course there’s the more obvious occasions where Steve calls Jonathan a queer and Neil Hargrove should come with his own neon trigger sign. Slut is a term that’s carelessly thrown around (as high schoolers are wont to do, sure).
But the thing that’s bothered me the most is Steve saying to Billy, “Were you dropped too much on your head as a child, or what?”
Maybe it’s just me being extremely sensitive to mental health stuff (also, WHY does Steve ironically get all the triggering lines? lol), plus he says it very soon after we finally know why Billy behaves the way he does. Just.....*long sigh*. I hurt, okay. Some parts of this show really hurt, and I don’t like “it was the 80s” as an excuse.
6. Lucas and Kali or, the Diversity Check Marks
One black kid. One. Then they gave him a sister. Cool. Somebody give these people BLM awards.
*eyes roll so hard my cat chases them across the floor*
You know what this reminds me of? The East Asian actor who trended in movies like The Goonies and Indiana Jones.
The only thing that even remotely makes this small drop of diversity okay, is that they made Lucas a major player in The Party, and cast a dope actress to be Erica Sinclair, and likewise made her a linchpin in the Scoops Troop plot.
But touching back to #5, you can’t use “it’s the 80s” as an excuse, nor can you say, “it’s white bread Indiana.”
BUT but but but Kali!!!!
You mean the character in one episode? Two, if you count the opening of season 2.
Listen. For all the bipoc folks who wonder, “Do white people realize how.....WHITE everything is?” as a white person, I can absolutely say: 
Yes. We. Do. Fucking. Notice.
• • • • •
Well. That’s all lol If you made it this far, I’m sorry and thanks lol 
Tip your artists and comment on fics because lord knows that where my seratonin comes from.
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spectrumed · 3 years
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4. body
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Do I have body issues? Well... yeah. Who doesn’t? I absolutely do not like being fat, that’s something I’d change about me. And I probably should bulk up a little, go to the gym. My diet isn’t terrible, I don’t eat any fast food, but I could still always eat healthier. More greens, less beans. But most of all, my biggest body issue is that I don’t really associate myself with my body. My mind feels disconnected from my body. The day scientists invent a way for us all to live as brains in jars on wheels, I’m there standing in line for a chance to become all cerebral. Being physical, it’s just so messy, so awkward, so uncomfortable. You feel pain, you feel embarrassment, you feel horny. Nothing good comes from having a body. If you were just a brain, you could go on thinking and calculating and just generally having a good mental time. Or you’d start feeling suffocated and trapped trying to move your limbs and realising that they have been all chopped off. Hmm… Maybe it’s more complicated than I initially thought.
I don’t understand people who enjoy physical activities. Let it be clear before we delve into this long rant of mine complaining about all things gymnastic, this is not particularly an autistic trait. In fact, there are plenty of autistic people who may excel as athletes, their drive and obsessive personality traits becoming quite useful in developing that discipline that is required to fully commit to becoming an all-star jock. Not all autistic people are reprehensible nerds. Some autistic people are actually quite sexy. Some even have abs. But that’s not me. That’s not my clan of autistic people. I like drawing maps. I like thinking about things. I like making cocktails. The only part of my physical body that I like to put strain on is my liver. Don’t make me go on a run. There isn’t an armchair in this world that I wouldn’t want to sit down in, even the ones that used to be owned by old chain-smokers that have that awful aroma that sneaks into your nostrils and makes you worry about second-hand lung cancer. Sitting is great. I like sitting. Also lying down. Lying down is good.
Am I lazy? No, I don’t think so. Maybe a little, but here’s the thing. I can’t control the things I obsess over. There’s a great deal of overlap between autism spectrum disorder and attention deficit disorder. If you’re reading this and you’re a fellow friend on the spectrum, you may have gotten diagnosed with both. One of those rare times in my life I have attended group therapy, more than half the group were diagnosed with both. I, however, am not. But seeing as the two conditions are so intertwined, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that a facet of autism involves difficulties in trying to focus on something, or even trying not to focus on something too hard. If you were to judge my tenacity, my ability to keep going, based solely on how I perform during physical tasks, you’d think I was the least resolute person on the planet. But then you’ll find me, some time later, staying up until four in the morning drawing another map. A map that’s really just a different take on another map that I drew earlier, that itself was a reworked version of a previous map that I drew but didn’t like, that actually began as a second iteration of one map I drew that was actually wholly different, that was based on a map of Europe but if Denmark never existed. How many maps have you drawn Fred? Why don’t you go mind your own business, you nosy ferret.
The DSM-5 (the fifth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. You can think of it as something akin to a bible of psychology, which is definitely an inflammatory way to refer to it, but I’m gonna go with it! Because I’m a wildcard, and that’s just how I roll,) includes this section as part of its diagnostic criteria for autism spectrum disorder.
Highly restricted, fixated interests that are abnormal in intensity or focus (e.g., strong attachment to or preoccupation with unusual objects, excessively circumscribed or perseverative interests).
Now, I personally don’t relate to that at all. There’s nothing abnormal in my intense love for maps. The fact that maps aren’t as widely cherished as they ought to be is a fault of others, and I refuse to acknowledge that this may be a part of my character that could be perceived as quirky, or out of the ordinary. But, still, for the sake of argument, let’s presume that I can get, at times, excessively circumscribed. I’d like to say that I’ve only ever engaged in excessive circumscribing in my privacy away from onlookers, but I am afraid that I may have allowed some of my excessive circumscribing to happen in public. I definitely do apologise for that. I will try to do better in the future. But you never know when you’re about to experience some excessive circumscribing. The best you can do is keep it limited.
I don’t know how neurotypicals work. So, you don’t feel these kinds of obsessions? These moments of intense focus? These fixations? Then, you lack passion? Are you heartless? Soulless? Or are you just weak? Are you too feeble to hold steadfast working on a project all night long? To lose touch with your sense of hunger, your need for sleep, and all contact with any other human person? My fixations may come across as strange, but to me, your lack of fixations come across as bizarre. The world is endlessly fascinating. Have you never felt that compulsion to just fully immerse yourself in a topic that allows you to forget about your physical body for just that moment in time? The body cannot hold me. I wish to absorb as much information as I can. If I could astral project, by gods, I would astral project. To decouple your consciousness from your mushy brain for just that little bit, to go soaring across the landscapes, to explore the cosmos, just free of all things corporeal, that would be swell. How terrible isn’t it, when you’re deep in research, learning all about the mystical religious practices of the long-dead hierophants of the ancient world, to be drawn back into the present by the sudden need to urinate? There is something so dreadfully mundane about possessing a human body. If only we could all be celestial beings allowed to just be without the biological needs associated with having flesh and blood and bone and bladders.
I am not religious, nor am I spiritual. I do not believe that there is an immaterial world that lies above the material. I do not believe there is an astral plane. I think that one of the terrifying things about living is knowing that we do not possess such a thing as an eternal soul, that all things are temporal, and that ultimately, we have to come to terms with that. It’s not so terrible. In some ways, the temporal nature of life can be its biggest blessing. All things must pass. Sure, that does include the good times, like that vacation you spent as a child wishing that it would never end. But it also includes the bad times. The heartbreak you feel from a failed relationship. The grief you feel after the passing of a parent. The depression some of us are burdened with. Some days are worse than others. But they too will pass. One of the remarkable things about the human body is its ability to bounce back from injury. To change and evolve in ways we sometimes find unthinkable. The brain, likewise, is transformational, capable of incredible developments. We’re not fixed in stone. We’re not eternal. Which is a good thing. It is what allows recuperation and progress. I should be thankful to my body for being there, even when I’m not. After all, isn’t your body your temple?
I am able-bodied. Am I disabled? There’s naturally a lot of questions that surround how we ought to understand mental illness or neurodiversity in regards to disability. Does autism spectrum disorder count as a disability? Well, yes, it can be considered a learning disability. It is certainly something of a handicap, you are experiencing struggles that most people don’t experience. But to your average layperson, your typical dullard who spends their time watching reality TV, drinking beer, and being happy, what counts as a disability to them? Would they see me and think I was disabled? I’m not in a wheelchair. I don’t walk with a cane. Though I will occasionally “stim,” make small repetitive moments with my hands or legs, I do not exhibit any kind of physical symptoms. If I told them that I was disabled, they’d scoff and tell me that I’m just making it up for attention. They’d say I’m probably just trying to mooch off the government, scoring welfare checks while doing nothing to contribute to society. I’ve got all my limbs. I am not sickly. I am actually quite strong, due to being a big and tall man, I am able to carry quite the load. So, I have no reason to not be a fully productive member of society, right? And yet, here I am, feeling at most times utterly perplexed by anything physical. Probably because I am just lazy, right?
I don’t think laziness is a thing. What is laziness supposed to actually be? Tiredness? If a person is perpetually tired, then they’ve likely got a sleep disorder. To call them lazy would be callous. There are plenty of overworked people that get called lazy, especially by tyrannical overseers who think of their charges as mere workhorses whose only purpose in life is to toil away in the factory until the day they die. Intolerable parents who see their terminally sullen child and instead of wondering what is making them so upset decide to deride them for their lack of ambition. Are you lazy when you are procrastinating? No you are just being a tad irresponsible, maybe, deciding to skip out on chores in order to play video games or masturbate. But you’re not just doing nothing. People generally don’t enjoy doing nothing. We need something to occupy ourselves, to fill that vacuum we all feel whenever we’re just sitting still. I am someone who appears to be comfortable just sitting still, but that’s because I’ve learned, since a very young age, to entertain myself with my own thoughts. To fantasise, to daydream, to do anything I can to escape from the void that is doing absolutely nothing. Boredom, that’s terrible. Boredom is existential dread. Of all the motivations that drive humans, love, spite, jealousy, or pride, I think the need to evade boredom is one of the most prevalent. Humans would rather experience electric shocks than sit alone in a room being bored.
I am not lazy, I am merely… excessively circumscribed. For as much as this may be a specific diagnostic criteria for autism spectrum disorder, I think it is also a common trait amongst all humans. There will always be within us a pull to do something other than the thing that we’re really supposed to be doing, that does not make us lazy, that just makes us terrified of boredom. Sure, you know that you’re supposed to mow the lawn, but that's just so dreadfully tedious, you just would rather be working on perfecting your new stand-up comedy routine. Thinking up jokes to tell on stage is so much more stimulating than cutting grass. And who cares if your lawn grows a little wild? Lawns are a scam, imposed by fascists to make us think grass in its natural state is ugly. All grass is beautiful, whether it is cut short or it is allowed to grow long. Do the thing that fulfils you. Allow yourself to become immersed in passion, to forget about those things that hold you back, the little silly things we’ve convinced ourselves is important. Stay up late, if you wish. You’re gonna kill it on open mic night, bud!
Yes, it is a problem when your obsessions grow so singular that you forget to feed yourself. When you forget personal hygiene, when you become trapped in your own apartment looking like some feral rodent caught in a cage. Like always, the key is moderation, and I know that from time to time, you may have to entertain a boring task or two. Clean your room, brush your teeth, trim your pubic hair, try to give an impression that you are taking care of yourself. If for anyone, do it for your mother. She will be happy seeing you looking like a civilised individual, wearing clean clothes and not looking malnourished. But don’t ever chastise yourself for being lazy. Laziness is a sin that we’re all guilty of, and if we’re all guilty of it, is it really a sin? Or is it just part of what it means to be a human? To be a messy creature made out of flesh and blood and bone and the occasional bladder. In the end, I’m more happy than displeased at having a body. It’d be much harder to type on a keyboard if I didn’t have fingers.
Still, I wish I wasn’t fat.
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redara · 3 years
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Okay, big rant with SPOILERS, i honestly thought RE7 Chris was Hunk without a mask. Without the DLC, i thought it would go like this :
Blue Umbrella sends Hunk to "save" the Winterses and claim himself as "Chris Redfield", building trust with them, etc. We'll call him Hunk!Chris for now.
Fast forward to RE8, the Winterses are having a nice little dinner, when BAM BAM BAM, gunshots and ambush from men in masks - i repeat, IN MASKS - like the ones worn by Hound Wolf Squad. One of them wears a slightly different mask, is called 'Alpha', and he takes Rose away.
Ethan's convoy crashes, and he's rescued by Hunk!Chris, and is told to go to the village and meet Mother Miranda and the Four Lords. They're not acting hostile at first, but they show how they hate the men in masks - bear in mind, the Lords look just the way they are, big woman, scary creature, and all.
The difference is, they claim to be the leftovers of Umbrella's old experiments, and that 'Alpha' and his team wants to eradicate them for good. Mother Miranda lets Ethan stay with them.
Well, our boy Ethan can't sit still, so he snoops around the guarded village, only to be attacked by the lycans, the monsters and all. He finds clues from the villagers, enough to make him secondguess the Lords.
Now, important, this is RE8, and Leon always appears in even numbered franchise, so we're gonna put him here.
In helping the villagers, Ethan is assisted by Leon. He then sees Leon talking on comms to Chris, and Ethan concludes 'oh must have been a member of Chris' squad or something'. The convo may sound like this:
Leon to comms: Chris? Where the fuck are you? ...yeah, but - well, have you seen the village lately? There are lycans everywhere, how am i supposed to be there - ...*sigh* aye ay, captain.
Ethan: Well?
Leon: Well... I'm needed elsewhere now.
Ethan: Chris' not an easy guy to persuade, huh?
Leon: You tell me. In the twenty years that i've known him, he's only listened to me twice. See you around.
(yeah, whatever convo they be having, Leon is implying that he knows Chris the best, and that Ethan believes him, and they part ways).
Eventually, after prodding around the village, Ethan finds out too much, and figures out that Rose is actually safe and sound in Lady D's castle, so he tries to get her back. Lady D and her daughters deny at first, until they can't play nicely any longer, and shows their true selves. After killing them, Ethan finds out Rose has been taken away to another Lord's house.
Now comes the hunt.
So Ethan goes on Liam Neeson's Taken mode. He goes to Beneviento's house, asks questions only to be played with, so he has no option but to kill.
While heading to Moreau's place, Ethan encounters the Men in Masks, got captured, and taken to their hideout. They are all still wearing masks. Though he hears them saying things like, "he killed two out of four Lords", "do you think Miranda knows?", etc.
Ethan believes he's going to be taken back to the remaining Lords and killed for good, but then BAM, big fishy comes to the rescue.
So now Ethan goes to Moreau, fights him, and gets told to stay away from Mother Miranda. In the brink of death, Moreau's willing to spill the details, but he is shot dead by sniper instead.
Coming forward is Hunk!Chris, claiming to have saved Ethan, and being all friendly and stuff. Naturally, Ethan tells him of what he has done, killing three out of four Lords, and meeting the mysterious masked men. Hunk!Chris tells Ethan to just kill the masked men whenever possible.
So, Ethan travels with Hunk!Chris to Heisenberg's place. Quite a way. All good at first, until Hunk!Chris offers to split up to cover more ground.
Poor Ethan meets Heisenberg all alone, has to join in his little game, kicked twice to the bottom of the factory. The second time, he's crawling out of the vent, and sees bloody Hunk!Chris being held by two men in masks. So naturally, Ethan jumps to help.
Sooo Ethan manages to have one of the masked men in grip, gun pointed to his temple, and begins to negotiate.
Ethan: you okay, Chris?
Hunk!Chris: *grunt*
Masked men #1 to Alpha: his name is Chris?
Ethan: so are hundreds thousands of people in the world.
Alpha: what's the last name?
Hunk!Chris: ...Redfield.
The masked men look around in shock, but the Alpha approaches Hunk!Chris.
Alpha: So you're the copycat we've been looking for.
Ethan: copycat? What the fuck are you talking about?
Alpha looks at Ethan: Ethan Winters, right?
Ethan: yeah?
Alpha: this man isn't the good guy like he claims he is.
Hunk!Chris: bullshit!
Alpha: shut up.
Ethan: i'm not gonna believe the men who killed my wife - Chris saved my fucking life!
Alpha: it wasn't Mia Winters that we shot, it was Miranda. She disguised herself as your wife to get to your daughter.
Ethan: then where's Mia?
Alpha: Miranda had locked her up. She's safe with us. Now, put the gun down, Ethan -
Ethan: if he's not Chris, then who the fuck is he?
Yeah basically it's a big "fuck you" "no, fuck you" moment, until Leon arrives at the right timing to declare.
Leon: Umbrella's special forces, codename Hunk.
Ethan: Leon?
Alpha: took you long enough.
Leon: i had a detour. Ethan, i've known Chris long enough to know that he doesn't look like that. That man isn't Chris Redfield.
Ethan: wha - why are you agreeing with him?
And Alpha finally unmasks, and shows the face we all recognize, and says, "Because i am Chris Redfield."
Sooo, Real Chris elaborates on how he has been hunting Blue Umbrella, about Hound Wolf Squad, about Mother Miranda and her real plan. Leon is apparently sent to deal with the identity theft, and he elaborates on info regarding Hunk, Blue Umbrella, all working together with Mother Miranda.
All in all, they get to an understanding. Ethan is fucking seething for being betrayed, but more importantly, he wants to help. Before all of them can compose themselves, Heisenberg drops by, clapping, having been listening to the whole thing. He manages to separate the group, Ethan going with Chris, while Leon goes with the rest of HWS.
Cue boss fight of Heisenberg vs Ethan and Chris.
Now afterwards, the duo heads to Mother Miranda. They split up, Chris to plant a bomb, while Ethan is supposed to wait for Leon and backup. But the backup never comes, and Ethan drives head on to face Miranda on his own.
Well, this is where Chris sees what Ethan really is, how he still survives despite being injured and all that. And Ethan seems to have come to terms with his unusual condition, that killing Mother Miranda is a one way ticket for him.
So Mother Miranda dies, Rose is saved, but Ethan is also dying. Chris forces Ethan up and running, carefully, as the body is crystallizing. But Ethan is at his limit.
And as you all know, he knows he has to sacrifice himself to detonate the bomb, cause let's face it, he will never make it out alive. Even if he does, barely, he doesn't want to live as a BOW. So he hands Rose over to Chris, asking him to please tell Mia that he's sorry, and that he loves her and Rose, and that everything's gonna be okay now, he's gonna set things right.
Aaand boom.
(sorry)
That's about it. No fast forward to some years later at the ending.
I'm also thinking that perhaps in mid story, there should be a time when the players get to play as Real Chris as Alpha, only that it's never mentioned who he is. The players only see from first person perspective, and his voice is like coming from radio (ya know what i mean), and it's shown how he goes so far to save Mia. How Mia reacts to him all scared and is all like, "who are you?" With no explanation, then it shifts back to Ethan.
Reading back, this is hella long to write, but yeah this is what i thought upon seeing RE7 Chris, like the fuck, that can't be Chris. And working with Blue Umbrella? Really? I think real Chris would be having Racoon flashback from just hearing the word 'Umbrella'.
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thesassenachswiftie · 3 years
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Lover - Chapter 13: “Soon You’ll Get Better”
Read on AO3
Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 // Chapter 7 // Chapter 8 // Chapter 9 // Chapter 10 // Chapter 11 // Chapter 12
Summary: Claire and Jo go Christmas shopping; Claire gets a call at work that Lamb’s in the hospital in Boston where she fears she will need to spend the holidays without Jamie. In short: angst, but make it festive.
" This won't go back to normal, if it ever was It's been years of hoping, and I keep saying it because 'Cause I have to
Ooh-ah, you'll get better..."
CW: cancer, hospitals, illness of a loved one,
Notes: First of all, if you’re still here, thank you for reading, and thank you for bearing with me as I took a small hiatus. Hopefully I will be getting back to a more regular posting schedule, but work is really draining right now and it’s hard to find enough hours in the day to do everything. 
As you know, each Chapter of this fic is based off a Taylor Swift song by the same name. This one was particularly difficult to write/approach because I actually haven’t listened to this song in over a year. In early Summer 2019, a tumor was found on my grandfather’s brain. This was also the summer I discovered Outlander, and the summer Taylor Swift released Lover. The day after Lover came out, I broke down sobbing in my apartment listening to this song and thinking about my grandfather, knowing his condition was worsening. That night, I recieved the call that my grandfather had passed. He was the kindest, purest soul and I write this chapter in part as a tribute to him. Many of the experiences Claire and Lamb share are based on my own experiences with my grandpa that summer, and this version of Lamb is very much based on my Grandpa Jim. 
That being said, you may want to grab a box of tissues before reading, but hopefully not all your tears will be sad. I’m hoping to post again before Chistmas, but in case I don’t Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays--and Happy Hanukkah to any Jewish readers I may have--here is a Hanukkah present for you!
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 Chapter 13: “Soon You’ll Get Better”  
         “All I want for Christmas is yooouuuuu” the sounds of Mariah Carey rang out throughout the small boutique gift shop in the heart of the village of Northport.
           “Good God, we’re only a week into December and I swear I’ve already heard this song three hundred times. I’m not exaggerating either. Two hundred and eight-four at the very least.” Jo scoffed exasperatedly.
           “Are you complaining?” Claire asked in reply. “It’s a great song--a classic really.”
           “Do you know how many incredible, amazing, beautiful, jolly Christmas songs there are in existence?” Jo was gearing up for one of their famous rants, “Yet, the radio stations only ever play the same eighteen songs, I swear!”
           “It must be more than eighteen.”
           “Fine. Twenty. Take this song for instance: Ingrid Michaelson has the most hauntingly beautiful cover of it--do you ever hear it? No! You only ever hear Mariah!”
           “I, for one, like Mariah!” Claire interjected, playfully defensive.
           “Who doesn’t? But she’s not the only powerhouse female vocalist out there! I’d just like to see a little diversity in my holiday music, is that so much to ask?”
           Claire giggled. Her best friend always had an opinion on everything and she loved them all the more for it. “Do you think Jenny would like this candle?” Claire unscrewed the lid a locally-made jar candle, taking a sniff before placing it under Jo’s nose. It smelled like Lavender and Sage with just a hint of Eucalyptus.
           “Does Jenny keep a lot of candles around, with all those children?” Jo chuckled back. “It does smell nice though.” Jo had only met Jenny a couple times when visiting Claire, but they had a knack for reading people and Claire was glad to have them along as a shopping partner.
           “I suppose candles aren’t really her thing. Jenny seems very practical, but I don’t know what she would need that she doesn’t already have, and Jamie’s been no help!”
           “I think you’re on the right track with the self-care/relaxation vibe, but maybe not something the children can use to burn the house down. What about an artisanal lotion set?” Jo inquired, gesturing at a nearby display.
           “Oh that might work!” Claire took a squirt from the bottle labeled ‘tester’ inhaling deeply as she rubbed it between her palms. “Ooo that’s nice, I would appreciate this if I were a hardworking mother.”
           “If things keep going the way they are with your man, LJ, you might just be before you know it” Jo made a lewd gesture with their hands, raising their eyebrows to make it clear exactly what they were implying.
           “Jo! You’re terrible” Claire shrieked, smacking her friend playfully on the arm. Besides, not much of that happening these days if you haven’t noticed, Jamie is literally across the ocean.”
           “Well, at least you can’t get knocked up from phone sex,” Jo replied. “What are you getting him anyway? I’m thinking something lacy and strappy, with little bows on it of course, to be festive. There’s a place down the street that might have something like that.”
           “Hmm” Claire exhaled. “We’ll see.” Claire knew lingerie was definitely going to be part of Jamie’s Christmas gift, one she would be most excited for him to unwrap. God, she missed him. It had been over a month and they were settling into a routine, video chatting every night, sweet texts back and forth throughout the day, the occasional phone sex when they were both sick with desire for one other--but nothing was the same as the feel of their bodies pressed against each other in the heat of the moment, chasing each other’s climax. Claire couldn’t wait to be reunited with him in every way.
           It was two days before Christmas break, only a few days left until Claire would find freedom for the next ten days and, most of all--the comfort of Jamie’s arms. Claire was sitting in her school nurse’s office, inhaling deeply during the first quiet moments she’d had all week. There was an uptick of student visits in the past couple weeks--a few were legitimate concerns tied to cold and flu season: students whose parents sent them to school when they weren’t quite well enough, overachievers who wanted to maintain their perfect attendance dragging themselves to school despite their bodies protestations. Most of her patients however, were suffering from something much more insidious: the eagerness to start their winter break early by skipping their classes. This time of year the air of the school felt different, students and teachers alike were burnt out, apathetic, and ready for a break. This attitude in the students fed into the teachers’ attitudes--overworked with the end of the marking period, trying to squeeze in Christmas shopping and decorating between grading. Claire did not envy Jo nor any of the other teachers during this time, but their exhaustion was so palpable in the air of the school that she was starting to feel it too. By tomorrow, most teachers would be shutting their doors and playing a holiday film, giving up on instruction all together--hopefully that would make for a quiet day for Claire. Really, if she could just get through the rest of the day it would be smooth sailing until Christmas--until Jamie.
           Her silent musings were broken by the blaring sound of her office phone. She was expecting a teacher, calling to send a student down, but instead it was the school clerk, Glenda. “Hi Nurse Beauchamp, we have an outside call for you, it seems like it may be a personal call so if there’s any students with you we can send someone down to watch them if you’d like to take it privately here in the office.”
           Claire's heart sank to her stomach. What could it be? She took a deep breath and swallowed to brace herself before replying “last student just left.”
           “Alright, I’ll transfer you now.” The click of the call transferring sounded through the phone.
           “Hello, this is Miss Beauchamp”
           “Hello Miss Beauchamp, I’m Tammy, a nurse at Mass General we’re calling because you’re listed as the emergency contact for Quentin Beauchamp” a nasally voice croaked through the phone speaker--the voice was impersonal like that of a cashier saying “have a nice day” for the thousandth time, not fitting of a potential harbinger of death.
           “Yes…” Claire replied, nervously, questioningly.
           “Mr. Lambert was admitted this morning after showing signs of cognitive distress. An initial cat scan shows a mass on his brain. He’s currently undergoing testing to see if it’s cancerous.”
           Claire’s lungs felt like they were about to collapse. Lamb had been diagnosed with prostate cancer several years ago, but had been able to live with it through treatment. Claire also knew that cancer was insidious and could spread throughout the body rapidly and without warning. She knew it was very likely that the mass was cancer. She tried to find her medical professional voice, but a diagnosis was different when it was someone you loved. Instead, she croaked out, “when will you know?”
           “We should have the results by tomorrow. He’ll stay here overnight for monitoring and we’ll decide whether to admit him long term from there.”
           “I’m on Long Island, should I drive up?”
           “I’m afraid it’s too soon to tell, it could be nothing, but--” Claire cut her off, knowing exactly how bad it could be.
           “I understand. I’ll drive up this evening.”
           “Alright, he should be back in his room by then, he’s out getting his tests done now. It’s room 713 when you get here.” Claire wrote the number on a bright blue sticky note on her desk as the nurse spoke. “Have a nice day Ms. Beauchamp”
           “Hmm” was all she could reply, as if she could possibly have a nice day. She hung up the phone, and finally let the deluge of tears she’d been holding back free.
She allowed herself to cry for a few minutes to get it out, but she knew she had to get to Boston as soon as possible. She picked up the phone again and dialed the main office.
“Hi Glenda, it’s Claire. I need to take the rest of the day off--I have to go to Boston, my uncle…” she couldn’t say it out loud for fear of unleashing the tears again “Is Principal Gowan there, I need to let him know.”
“Oh Nurse Beauchamp, I’m so sorry to hear that, let me know if you need anything. Mr. Gowan’s in his office, I’ll transfer you to him now, if he doesn’t answer just pack up your things and go, I’ll take care of it”
“Thanks Glenda, I really appreciate it”
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           After getting the ok from her kind and understanding principal, Claire rushed back to Jamie’s apartment, hastily packed a bag (likely forgetting several things), informed Jenny where she was going--which was met with sympathy and genuine concern--and hopped back in the car for the journey to Boston. She entered the hospital doors several hours later, the buttons of her coat were tangled in her hair as she rushed, breathless, to the front desk to receive her visitor’s pass.
           When she arrived at Lamb’s room, he was asleep. She didn’t want to wake him, but she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze to let him know she was there before settling into the armchair beside him to await his awakening. He looked so frail and small in the hospital bed, not at all like the strong, spirited man who had raised her. He had left the television on--some sports channel was playing a highlight reel of various golfing moments. No wonder Lamb fell asleep. Claire was staring at the screen, but her thoughts were elsewhere: worried about Lamb, wondering if she’d remember everything when she hastily packed, wondering what the future held. Would she have to spend Christmas in this hospital room? A golf ball soared across the Scottish Highlands on the screen. Jamie. Jamie was coming home Christmas Eve, she was supposed to pick him up from the airport, supposed to spend her holiday break with him, experience her first Hogmanay with the Murray family, be surrounded by love and laughter and family. Lamb was supposed to be fine, he was supposed to take the train down, spend Christmas with them. Every plan they had made was shattered into a million pieces. Would she even be able to see Jamie? She thought about the presents she’d bought for him, not yet wrapped, piled in the closet but definitely not hidden, especially considering it was his apartment. Of course he’d understand--she could tell him where they were, but the magic of unwrapping would be lost, it would feel entirely unsentimental. It was bad enough that she felt her gifts weren’t sentimental enough--what could she possibly get him to show how special he was to her? How could she communicate that with an object? If she were a painter she would paint him a painting, if she were a songwriter she would write him a song, but she was simply Claire, and practical gifts were all she knew. She had purchased a cozy blue sweater to match his eyes and keep him warm in the brisk London winters, a cool multi-tool the size of a credit card that would fit in his wallet and help him solve a variety of problems, a protective case for his phone, and a box of artisanal beef jerky.  She had also procured a complicated piece of lingerie with a big red bow across the chest for him to unwrap the night of Christmas, which she knew he would enjoy. Everything was thoughtful enough and mostly practical, but she longed to be able to give him something truly special--a grand gesture to match her feelings for him. Claire glanced back at her uncle and immediately felt guilty being so selfish. I hate to make this all about me. Lamb always had a knack for helping her realize what was important when life’s situations overwhelmed her. She needed him for perspective, but how could she talk to him about this? How could she tell him how she felt? She knew it was wrong, but she was mad at him for getting sick so close to Christmas. Who am I supposed to talk to? What am I supposed to do if there’s no you? The tears were welling up in her eyes as she watched her most beloved uncle sleep--hooked up to machines, pale and listless in the hospital bed.
           Claire slipped into the adjoining bathroom to try to compose herself--she didn’t want her uncle to wake up and see her upset, she knew he would try to comfort her, to be the rock he always had been for her. She was here to be his rock this time, she needed to stay strong for him. She looked at herself in the mirror, telling herself it was going to be ok--her uncle was strong and he’d been fighting a long time--he’d continue to fight. Soon you’ll get better. She had to convince herself it was true, pretend it wasn’t real, it wasn’t so bad. She knew it was a delusion, she could see it all over her glass face when she looked in the mirror. She was genuinely afraid that this could be when she lost him, if not physically right away, he could be lost mentally. She’d been hoping for years he would get better, but now it seemed he’d taken a turn for the worse. She took a few deep breaths and offered up a prayer. She wasn’t usually religious, but they say desperate people find faith, so she decided it was time to try. God? Jesus? Whoever is up there. I know I don’t much deserve anything from you, I’m not sure I’m exactly on good terms with you, but I’m inclined to believe you care and you are good. Besides, I’m not really asking anything for myself, not really. I just pray my Uncle is ok, I pray he gets better. He has to. Please don’t take his brilliant mind away from him. Please let him be ok. Please, I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever it takes to help him. Just please, please, don’t take him away from me. I need him. Please let him get better. Please let him get better. Claire continued to repeat the words like a mantra as she returned to her bedside chair. She stared at the collection of orange bottles on the tray table. Please let them help him get better. Please let him get better. Please, please, please let him get better.
           Claire had no idea how long she sat there, repeating those words to herself, but her silent appeal was interrupted when a nurse entered the room to check her uncle’s vitals.
           “Hi, I’m Brenda, I’ll be the nurse on duty tonight.” Brenda erased a name on a small whiteboard in front of the room and replaced it with her own.
           “I’m Claire, I’m his niece.”
           Brenda had made her way over to the other side of the bed and was checking the monitors beside the bed, making notes on the chart in her hand. “I hate waking them up, but I’m going to have to.” Claire was glad that she was much kinder than the nurse she had spoken with on the phone earlier—had that really been earlier? It seemed much longer since that phone call. “Excuse me, Quentin? Sir?” Brenda gently nudged his arm to awaken him. Lamb’s eyes fluttered open and he looked disoriented, Claire watched him carefully hoping that his disorientation was solely from being awoken mid-sleep and not from any neurological damage.
           “Hi Uncle Lamb” Claire stammered, hoping she sounded cheerful anyway.
           “Claire! My girl! You came all the way to see your old uncle!”
           “Of course I did! How are you?” she replied warmly.
           “Oh, I’m fine, they’re taking good care of me here.” Lamb’s voice sounded genuinely content and Claire felt comforted for the first time since the hospital had called her earlier that day.
           “Hello sir, my name’s Brenda, I’ll be your nurse tonight. I just need to ask you a few questions and check your vitals.”
           “What is your name?”
           “Quentin Lambert Beauchamp”
           “Good. When is your birthday?
           “March 23th, 1939”
           “Good, and who is the president?”
           “Well, unfortunately…” both Claire and Brenda giggled at how Lamb began his sentence. Claire was well aware of Lamb’s opinions of the current president of the United States, and was glad to see he hadn’t lost his sly sense of humor or his disdain for the man.  She was also glad he knew who the president was, hopefully his mental capacities were more promising than the worst-case-scenario her mind was conjuring.
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           Claire stayed by her uncle’s side for the rest of the night, only leaving the room twice, once to find something to eat from a vending machine, and once for her nightly call to Jamie. She allowed herself to break down when talking to Jamie, sobbing over the phone. Jamie did his best to comfort her through the speaker, desperately wishing he could be there for her in person. Claire wished the same, longing to curl up in his strong embrace, and bury her swollen face in his chest. She couldn’t bring up the fact that she might have to spend Christmas in Boston. She was enough of a mess without facing the reality that they wouldn’t see each other, and when Jamie promised they’d see each other soon at the end of their call, Claire hung up quickly as another wave of emotion overtook her and she buried her face in her hands to cry some more.
           The next morning, the doctor came in with Lamb’s results. Claire grasped Lamb’s hand, unsure of who was holding onto whom for comfort as the doctor explained that the mass on Lamb’s brain was in fact cancerous, but it was still relatively small and had been caught early. He explained that they could operate on it and remove it, however there was no guarantee that it wouldn’t come back or that they’d be able to get it all out. It was moments like these where Claire desperately wished she was already a surgeon, that she could feel in control of the outcome--though could she operate on her own uncle? Would she be able to hold her hand steady enough to do a good job? No, perhaps it was best left to the veteran surgeons in Boston.
           After discussing all the details and options with the doctor’s, Lamb decided to go through with the surgery. It was scheduled for the day after Christmas and Claire resigned herself to the sobering fact that she’d be spending the holidays in the hospital. As the florescent hospital lights lit the room with an unnatural glow, Claire couldn’t tell him she was scared. She had to stay strong, she had to keep it together and remain positive and supportive.
           ----------
           Claire spent the next few days devoted to her uncle, rarely leaving his bedside. Lamb had forced her to spend the nights at his apartment, which was probably for the best. She wasn’t sleeping well to begin with and the recliner at the hospital was only making matters worse. Claire was present and doting on him from morning to night though, helping her uncle order his meals, assisting him when he needed to use the restroom, adding and removing pillows and blankets as needed, or anything else he needed or wanted. Lamb had been moved to the cancer floor, and the window of his new room had a nice view of the Boston skyline. Lamb was making the best of a bad deal, he bragged about his ‘luxury accommodations’, he cracked jokes often, he liked the nicer nurses, he ordered extra dessert with all his meals and was in generally pleasant spirits. Claire could see the cracks in his cognition though. Sometimes he would change the topic he was discussing mid-sentence, and he couldn’t seem to keep time straight. Whenever anyone would mention Christmas, he would act surprised to know that it was coming up, and at one point he hinted at Claire that she might just get those roller skates she wanted for Christmas, a gift she had not asked for since she was eleven years old. He didn’t seem to know what year it was or how old Claire was. He did know who Claire was though, and for that she was thankful. He also knew who the president was whenever the nurses asked, always beginning his answer with a short preamble to make known his disdain.
Before they knew it, it was Christmas Eve and Claire couldn’t hide the sadness she felt on her face. She was glad to spend the evening with Lamb, but she had been looking forward to her first big family Christmas. She had filled in Jamie about Lamb’s condition and her subsequent stay in Boston over the course of their phone calls that week. She had also describe the Christmas gifts she had purchased for the Murrays, Jo, and Lamb, so Jamie would know the rest were for him. Jamie had agreed to put the Murrays gifts in gift bags and distribute them for her. They were meant to exchange family gifts that evening, the morning being reserved for Santa, and Claire was heartbroken to be missing out. In a matter of hours, and for the first time in two months, her and Jamie would be on the same continent, yet they wouldn’t be able to see each other. There was no way Claire could get into the Christmas spirit under these conditions. The hospital, despite being modestly decorated, was not the most festive atmosphere. Even a troop of Girl Scouts caroling their way through the hospital halls did nothing to assuage the weight of losing everything Claire had been looking forward to for the past two months.
           “What’s a matter, my dear?” Lamb asked, showing genuine concern for his niece.
           “It’s nothing, I’m fine, I promise, I’m just wishing things were different today.”
           “Why today? Is it something special? I can’t seem to remember.”
           “It’s Christmas Eve. You were supposed to come to Long Island and meet Jamie. We were going to spend the holiday with his family.”
           “Yes, I remember, that’s today? Oh dear, I haven’t gotten your gift yet I’m afraid.”
           “That’s fine, Lamb, I’m afraid I left your gift at home, so we’ll have to do that part later. We can take a raincheck on gift exchanging. I was just really looking forward to you getting to know Jamie.”
           “I’m sure I’ll meet the lad soon; he seems really special to you.”
           “He is; I know you’ll like him.”
           “I already do.” He patted the top of her hand and turned his attention back to the sitcom on the television, providing humorous commentary to try to cheer Claire up.
----------
It was late Christmas morning. Uncle Lamb was napping again and Claire had switched the television to the Hallmark Channel--usually her guilty pleasure this season, today it was simply reminding her of how her Christmas was proving to be less than magical. For her there would be no Christmas kisses, no magical snowfall, no saving the small town family business or learning to love Christmas again. All that awaited her this Christmas were fluorescent lights, beeping monitors, and nurses visiting every 6 hours to check her uncle’s vitals. This Christmas would be decidedly the most un-magical she had ever experienced. She had had her share of unconventional Christmases in the past, in fact, she never really was a Christmas person, but it had started to feel special to her when she was living in New York. This Christmas though--this was one she was looking forward to more than ever before. Claire spent most of the morning crying, grieving over all she was missing. She should have spent the morning curled up in Jamie’s arms, watching the children open presents. She could picture the Murray’s living room, trashed with colorful wrapping paper from end to end, each child in their own private world fascinated by their latest favorite toy, Jenny and Ian beaming through tired eyes.
Claire was surprised Jamie hadn’t called her to fill her in on the details yet. He had called yesterday when his plane arrived--groggy and jet-lagged, his communication skills were not the most eloquent, but he tried his best to make her feel better. She hadn’t heard from him at all this morning though, not even a Merry Christmas text. Surely the jet lag would have woken him up as early as the children, and they must have been done opening presents by now. Claire tried to rationalize that Jamie was just spending time with his family, but she couldn’t help feeling hurt and ignored. She thought she was important enough to him that he could take a moment away from his family to at least text her, or to find some way to make her feel included from afar. Had his feelings changed in their months apart? Did coming home to a messy apartment turn him off? Did she find his Christmas gifts and come to think she didn’t care enough to get him something more thoughtful? She thought about calling him, but a mixture of pride and fear kept her from acting first, not to mention she couldn’t stop crying over these sappy Christmas movies.
Suddenly, a voice from the doorway rang through the room, “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!” Claire looked up in confusion, momentarily unable to comprehend her surroundings and the disruption that had just entered them. Santa? No. The tall figure filling the door frame was dressed like Santa, beard and all, but the unmistakable Scottish burr gave away his true identity. If Claire hadn’t already been crying, she certainly was now. Jamie was standing in the doorway, dressed in a Santa suit, carrying a large, blue IKEA bag overflowing with wrapped presents and what appeared to be Christmas decorations.
“What?” Claire could hardly believe he was there, she rose from the chair and the couple met in the middle of the room for a hearty embrace. Claire buried her face in the soft, fluffy suit covering Jamie’s chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Perhaps the setting wasn’t a snow covered street in a small town, but this was her own Hallmark movie moment--and to be honest, those Hallmark guys had nothing on James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser. Jamie held her close, and tight, planting kisses in her curls and whispering softly to her.
“I’m here, mo nighean donn.” He caressed her shoulders with his thumbs, not releasing his embrace in the slightest, breathing in her scent, trying to absorb her fears and pain.
All of the commotion had awoken Uncle Lamb and after witnessing the couples’ embrace for longer than was comfortable, Lamb loudly cleared his throat to remind them of his presence in the room.
“Uncle Lamb!” Claire unfolded herself from Jamie’s embrace, keeping one arm around his back. Jamie sheepishly pulled the fake beard down around his neck to reveal his face and removed his Santa hat, clutching it tightly in the palm that wasn’t holding Claire. “This is Jamie, my Jamie. Jamie, this is my Uncle Lamb.”
“Well, I’m certainly glad it’s not Santa Claus, or we’d have a lot of explaining to do to the lad!” Lamb chuckled back.
“A pleasure to finally meet you, sir.” Jamie reluctantly released Claire from his grasp to step beside the bed, extending a firm but gentle hand to Lamb. “I’m sorry it’s not under better circumstances.”
“Pleased to meet you as well, lad” Lamb replied, patting Jamie’s hand with his before releasing their handshake. “And don’t you worry about me, I have the best nurse there is taking care of me.” Two sets of proudly smiling eyes met Claire across the room.
“Oh I dinna doubt it for a second. Your niece is a rare woman.”
“Glad to see we’re in agreement. Now what’s all that?” Lamb gestured towards the large tote discarded near Claire’s feet.
“Aye, I thought I’d bring you two a bit o’ holiday cheer.” Jamie pulled a large cardboard box from the bag and extracted a small tabletop Christmas tree from it, unfurling each branch carefully and placing it on the countertop across the room, plugging it in to reveal fiber optic lights changing colors dreamily. “I usually insist on my Christmas trees being more, well, alive, but under the circumstances this’ll have tae do.” Jamie and Claire spent the next half hour or so festooning the room in garlands and placing tiny ornaments on the small tree. Claire tried to ignore that more than half of the bag was filled with brightly wrapped gifts, not sure whether she was hoping they were all for her, or hoping that they weren’t. After all, she didn’t have anything to give him and she didn’t know if he had looked through his gifts yet nor if he had appreciated them.
While they decorated, Jamie filled Claire and Lamb in on the events of the last few days. Jamie had called Jenny to tell her not to bother picking him up from the airport. He had planned on renting a car there and driving straight to Boston. Claire could hear Jenny’s voice loud and clear through Jamie’s imitation “ya clotheid! Have ya gone daft? Yer barely able to form coherent sentences amidst the jet lag from yer Christmas Eve flight, and ya wanna drive five hours tae Boston in that state!?! Claire willna appreciate ya ending up in a ditch on the side of the road as a Christmas present ya eejit!” Jenny had made a fair point, and Jamie had agreed to sleep at home and left shortly after he awoke that morning, staying only long enough for the children to open their stockings, and to watch their faces alight with surprise at the sudden appearance of piles of presents under and around the tree.
“I’m glad you took Jenny’s advice, but most of all I’m glad you’re here.” She embraced him again. “You didn’t have to do this though, Jamie, I know how important your family is to you.”
Jamie stepped back and lifted Claire’s chin with his thumb, looking into her eyes. “You are important to me, Sassenach.” he replied, with a sincerity that penetrated Claire’s heart. Claire responded by kissing Jamie chastely on the cheek, knowing her uncle was only four feet away--politely trying to ignore them and watch the television which he had flipped to an all-day marathon of A Christmas Story on repeat. Jamie’s welcome intrusion broke up the monotony of hospital life and seemed to give Lamb a better sense of what day it was.
“Now that we’ve got the place looking good and festive, I believe it’s traditional to exchange gifts on Christmas day.”
“Jamie, it’s too much, I--”
“Oh? Thought they were all for you, didja Sassenach?” he teased. Claire blushed. Of course; she hadn’t really--but who else would they be for? Surely Jamie wouldn’t spoil Lamb, a complete stranger to him, quite so much, and no one else was there. She looked dumbfounded as she tried to come up with a defense but Jamie stopped her. “Dinna fash, Sassenach, Jenny wrapped your gifts for me and Lamb before I could see and I bought them along too. She thanks ya for the wee lotions, by the way.”
“God bless Jenny! That woman is a Saint.” Claire also silently thanked God that she had left the present she was planning on wearing for Jamie that evening in her dresser drawer, that was not a gift she wanted Jenny to see, and was definitely not something she wanted him to be opening in front of her uncle.
The three exchanged gifts, save Lamb, who had nothing to give but smiles and approval for the young couples’ thoughtful gifts. Jamie was genuinely appreciative of Claire’s gifts, although she kept insisting that she hadn’t finished shopping and there was more to come; to which Jamie humbly rejected, claiming it wasn’t necessary. Jamie’s gifts to Claire were thoughtful and meaningful, the most touching ones being a print of a painting of the rose garden he had ordered from the Botanic Garden’s gift shop and a bracelet engraved with the words perennis amor, which caused Claire to tear up and embrace him tenderly in spite of her uncle’s presence.
The three enjoyed the rest of the day thoroughly. A Christmas Story played in the background and they laughed and shared stories with one another. Jamie was a born storyteller and Lamb was elated to have a fresh audience to recount his many adventures to, so conversation flowed naturally between them, with Claire occasionally interjecting. Claire mostly just sat back and admired the two men who were most important to her, filled with joy that they were getting along, that Jamie was there, that it was Christmas. For the first time in several days she had hope and peace. She was surrounded by love in that hospital room as well. She had all the things Christmas was said to bring, and for that she was grateful. Jamie had made her greatest Christmas wishes come true without her even asking and she felt lucky to be alive.
The hospital staff served their version of Christmas dinner for the small family, and while Claire was sure it paled in comparison to whatever Jenny had made, it was quite delicious, especially considering it was hospital food. Jamie ate in the armchair next to Lamb at Claire’s insistence, since the two were deep in conversation, and Claire sat in the chair on the other side of Jamie, taking in her magical Christmas scene, better than any Hallmark movie could depict.
After dinner, Jamie was fading fast, listening to one of Lamb’s stories with heavy eyes.  She took one of the spare blankets and covered Jamie. “Looks like you’re still not over your jet lag”
“Hrmmphh, I ‘spose not.”
“Do you want me to go get you a coffee? I doubt the cafe downstairs is open today, but there’s a cappuccino vending machine a few floors down that isn’t terrible.”
“Aye Sassenach, that’d be bonny. If it’s not too much trouble.”
“None at all, my love, I’ll be back soon.” Claire squeezed his hand before leaving the two men alone.
Jamie listened to her footsteps down the hall, and waited until he heard the ding of the elevator before he cleared his throat to speak frankly to Lamb. He sat up straight in the chair to ward off the sleepiness, having a few important things he wanted to say before Claire came back.
“Lamb, I need you to know, Claire is the most important person in my life. I love her sae much and I’d do anything for her.”
“I’m glad to hear that, I can see how happy you make her. She lights up when you’re around, it comforts my old heart to see.”
“I need you tae know, I’m very serious about her. I ken we haven’t been together that long, but I know--I know deep in my wame that I’m meant tae be hers. I want ya to know that I intend on spending the rest of my life making her happy, and while I havna bought a ring or ennathing yet, I wanted to ask yer blessing” Jamie paused for a moment before adding, “just in case.”
“Of course you have my blessing, son. I couldn’t be more glad to know that Claire will be so well cared for after I’m gone, truly.” Both men looked somber, knowing full well that this could be their last conversation, hoping dearly that it wasn’t. Claire returned with three cappuccinos in hand, surprised by the mood in the room.
“Everything alright, gentlemen? Don’t tell me Ralphie shot his eye out!”
“Och! Everything’s fine, Claire! I’m just tired is all, I’m sure this wee cappuccino will cure me in no time!” replied Jamie, eagerly taking a cup from Claire as she set another on Lamb’s tray table. The rest of the evening was quiet as Jamie took a nap, while Lamb and Claire watched A Christmas Story more intently then they had all day. Claire didn’t want to leave him alone so early on Christmas so she let Jamie nap until Lamb was asleep soundly for the night. The sense of joy she had felt all day was still present, but the nagging worry she felt about Lamb’s coming surgery was starting to settle in as well. Claire woke Jamie gently and Claire whispered softly to Lamb that they’d return in the morning, squeezing his hand before the couple quietly left the room.
----------
They walked out to Jamie’s car, since he still had his stuff packed in it, but Claire drove them back to Lamb’s apartment where she’d been staying. The cappuccino was helping Jamie stay coherent, but he was in no state to drive. They were quiet on the drive home, but kept their hands locked between the seats, grateful just to be in the presence of one another.
When they arrived at Lamb’s apartment, Jamie was so tired, he didn’t even want to brush his teeth, let alone do any of his usual nightly routines. However, he had spent the morning sweating in a polyester Santa suit over his clothes, and although he took it off shortly after his surprise arrival, he felt in need of a shower. Claire showed him where the bathroom was and made sure he had everything he needed, and got herself ready for bed.
Jamie showered quickly, not bothering to wash his hair, and only cleaning the parts of his body where any stench would be most concentrated, figuring the water would take care of the rest. A few minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist, ready to collapse into bed, but not before embracing his sorcha. He scooped her into his embrace and she buried her face in his bare, firm chest, warm from the shower. He smelled clean, and fresh and most of like Jamie. “I’m so happy you’re with me, Jamie. You have no idea how much it means to me that you’re here.” the emotions of the day hit her again and her voice caught at the end of her sentence as tears filled her eyes once again. Jamie kissed her forehead softly, down to her nose, and landed on her lips, giving her the firm, passionate kiss they’d both been longing for all day--and for months before that.
“Mo cridhe.” Jamie breathed when they separated. “I’m here. I’ll always be here for you. I’ll no’ leave you alone when ya need me.”
“Oh Jamie” Claire was still crying, “I’ve been so worried. I’ve been trying to stay strong for Lamb, but I feel like this won’t go back to normal--if there ever was a normal with him. I’m scared he’s going to get worse, or--” her sentence dissolved into a fit of sobs, which she tried to stifle on Jamie’s shoulder.
“You don’t have to stay strong when you’re with me. I’ll be here to help you shoulder the burden. I’ll be here to soak up your tears. There’s two of us now, Claire.” He pressed a kiss into her curls. “You can feel your feelings now, mo cridhe. Lay your cares on me. Come now, let’s get ya tae bed. I’m no’ sure how much longer I can stand myself.”
Claire fell asleep wrapped safely in Jamie’s embrace, free to be herself fully. Free to be vulnerable she felt safe, she felt loved, she felt comfortable, and most new to her--she felt she had the hope and strength that she could carry on, no matter what was to come. She slept better than she had in weeks, secure in the embrace of her eternal love.
End Notes: Thanks again for reading!! By the way, the Ingrid Michaelson song Jo mentions is hauntingly beautiful and you should listen to it. Also, I hope you liked Jamie's surprise. This was going to be a lot more angsty of a chapter but Jamie refused to let Claire suffer and had other plans. I know this was full of a lot of emotional ups and downs, and hopefully we can all find some comfort in the fact that just because Christmas/the holidays may look different for a lot of us this year, it can still be special, and there's still light, joy, love, hope, and peace to be found in the midst of the darkness.
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werevulvi · 3 years
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So I've been away from tumblr for a while. Not sure how long. Maybe a month? I'm writing a book (fiction) so I've been and still am busy with more fulfilling distractions from reality than social media. The book I'm writing is about a woman, Olga, who's transitioning like me, but then she's an assassin. I don't wanna get into all the itty gritty details of that until I'm done, but writing that book has been serving as a great distraction from my gender issues. Except I need to take breaks from my hyper-focused super intense writing spree at times to not accidentally boil my brain. What? Is working on a project for 10+ hours a day, every day, for over a month a little much? Sorry I can't hear you over my autistic hyperfocus. And those breaks get me tossed right back into... mostly dysphoria. That’s what I wanted to rant about.
I know this is an unfair accusation, but sometimes I wonder just how paranoid and anxious feminism has made me. I fully abhor victim mentality, but sometimes reading feminist posts, articles, etc, about the various evils of men (crime statistics, female victims' accounts of male violence, etc) makes me feel... like a victim, and hopeless, for being female. And it requires a lot of effort to dig myself out of that pit. I need to remind myself that I can trust men, that most of them are not violent, that they're not the real enemy, and that women are not so different from men. Otherwise what? Otherwise I'd give into my PTSD and get drowned out by my dysphoria.
PTSD says all men are dangerous and want my pussy, either to harm it or fuck it. PTSD says it's my fault I'm a victim of sexual trauma, because I am female. And I dunno why, but sometimes feminism echoes that sentiment, and that's not great for my recovery, or my long term pursuit of happiness. Dysphoria says I'm too different from men and that's why I hate being female. Dysphoria doesn't want any special treatment just because I'm female. Feminism echoes what my dysphoria says, sometimes, and that's not great. Dysphoria wants equal treatment. Receiving equity due to my "failed" sex feels like... I dunno, like wanting to crawl out of my fucking skin and set it on fire, I suppose. Bad female skin humiliating me. Because that again reminds me that my sex being female is what's wrong, and not the treatment of women as "weaker" and more emotionally frail. Then my solution is to get rid of my femaleness, so that I can be strong, fast and free. Independent enough to open a fucking jar. I feel trapped in the unfairness itself.
I still want to be different from women, not from men. I want to stand out among women, and I'm jokingly boasting about how I'm such an NLOG (Not Like Other Girls) and proud to be different, in masculine ways. I'm proud to be hairier, having a deeper voice, and that female socialization didn't stick to me as much. And likewise, I feel good when I'm similar to men, blend in among them, am compared to them as an equal to them, and that I managed to pick up on some male socialization. This is more subconscious, and not something I really think about.
I still wish I was male, and that impossible dream still hurts, I guess. I've been trying to distract myself from those thoughts by writing my book and... having sexual fantasies in which I am male. Clearly my own home made therapy that made me connect somewhat with being female (3 years ago) was ineffective in the long run, but now I can't possibly make myself believe I'm a man again, just because I still/again wish I was male. It comes and goes, yes, but it's seemingly in a curvy line that over time points me in the dysphoric direction, and not in the desisting direction. And that's what's so hard. That I basically have to force myself to this realization that... I can't talk myself out of my dysphoria, and that that little bit of connection I got to my sex 3 years ago, was an appetizer for a meal I'll never have. That feels cruel.
And I keep telling myself I don't have dysphoria. Nah, I'm just transitioning for the heck of it. If only!
I don't wanna be trans, and I don't wanna be dysphoric. I wanna be male, but that's different. I can't even see myself as a man simply because I am not male and can never be. Thus, I'm a woman, and unhappy with it. Yet, I clearly can't function as a woman socially either, and that frustrates me. I'm happy that I can look and sound so convincingly male in my appearance, and I'm really excited to go back on testosterone, but I... I feel trapped, in a medical condition I cannot escape. And it doesn't matter what fucking caused it, it's not going away! Point is it's not going away! I've tried for sixteen years! I am tired! And now I can't even call myself a man without laughing all the way to hell and back.
Everyone wants to be trans nowadays. Everyone who benefits from a new label. But I don't. Clearly I don't have an easy time with it, and it might be because I just have a shit ton of sex/physical dysphoria, and not even calling myself a man helps. It just adds insult to injury. I don't wanna play pretend, goddamnit, I wanna be a real boy! That's "problematic" to say, because I shouldn't shatter other trans people's dreams. Well, mine's shattered and I wanna whine about it. I don't blame them for their identities. How could I? Ignorance is bliss, and I miss bliss.
I think that's why I feel like I'm a woman who just wishes she was a man, and kinda always have. I wrote it in my diary when I was 16, four years before I even came out as trans, before I knew anything about trans ideology or gender critical or anything, but I knew I was dysphoric and fit the loose criteria for FTM transsexuals, and I didn't like that verdict. It felt like a death sentence, and now... now it feels like a cruel joke.
I don't think I'm really all that different from trans men. De-gendered, perhaps, but still just as bloody dysphoric and still just as much of a testosterone junkie. I'm just a less happy go lightly kinda FtM. I've always been a bit of a nihilist. The "if you leave the half full glass it will eventually dry the fuck out no matter how much water you keep pouring up into it, because the nature of water is to vaporize" -kinda nihilist, not the "the glass is half empty" -kind. Yes, there is a difference. I'm not a pessimist, I'm a hardcore realist, and reality is... being trans sucks and I can't do fucking shit about it. I want a solution, not rose tinted goggles. But at this point, I'd take that too. I've tried... but they keep falling off.
Perhaps I'm too autistic to get gender identity, or maybe I just don't have social dysphoria or gender incongruence, perhaps it just feels so fucking pointless. Words... they're just blah blah blah. They have whatever meaning we put in them. So I changed my personal meaning of "woman" to include my dysphoria and beard, and since then I'm fine with calling myself a woman. But woman is still just a word. It's what I am that I dislike, not what I'm supposed to call it. My problem is not in how people perceive me. They can perceive me as a stranded jelly fish if they so wish, it doesn't change reality that I'm an adult human female. And it's reality, that biological reality, that bothers me.
And I don't like that I realised that, because biological reality is the one thing I can't change. I can change my identity, but my identity as a woman is not the problem. The problem is my sex is still persistently female. And I don't wanna change what is not a problem. Why fix what ain't broken? I get that my sex isn't broken either (well it might be now, considering I've smashed it with testosterone) but I just don't wanna be a woman. Because dysphoria. No point in arguing. It just goes round and round in circles. I can't make a logical argument for why I don't like ketchup either though. It always comes back to "but I just don't like it."
I just get sad, sometimes, over being female, and uncomfortable. And I get envious of men's bodies, and then I get sad I can't have that. And I try to emulate what men's bodies do, which makes me feel a bit better, but then I remember I'm still female, and I try to be okay with that. Sometimes I even half succeed, and feel like "yeah, being a woman is actually kinda badass!" but then I remember that a cranky uterus and estrogen exist in my body, acting as if they want me to suffer a slow (very slow) death, and I get sad again. Is trying to like being a woman even worth it, considering that's mostly been going downhill since I was 3 years old? Well what the hell are my options, aside from that?! Pretending to be a man? Pretending that the nonbinary labels could do anything at all to benefit my existence?
I'm sorry, but I don't see the appeal, in either of those options. I'll try to just exist. That became my focus; just existing. But I can't distract myself 24/7. Because as soon as I stop distracting myself, for even just a minute, I get caught in the inevitable doom that is my dysphoria, and how hopelessly trapped I am inside it.
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crstapor · 3 years
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Terror White
“You’re either with us or against us.” - George W. Bush

1.
On January 6th, 2021, domestic terrorists invaded the Capital Building in an act of political insurrection. Their intent was to overthrow the will of the people by preventing certification of a free and fair democratic election. They did so at the behest of their political leader (who was impeached a second time for inciting this gross transgression of his oath of office), other voices in their party - the so-called GOP - and talking head agitators inhabiting the far-right media echo chamber. Nearly to a man, a woman, a they, each of these terrorists were white.
Images of ‘good old boys’ traipsing down the halls of the people’s house waving confederate battle flags, kicking feet up on the Speaker’s desk, walking off with public property or smearing their shit on the floors pervaded the internet. These images provided by the villains themselves, posted shamelessly to social media profiles.
As a result of this treasonous, insulting, juvenile, despicable, and ultimately futile effort five people died. Even still, hours after the fact, a majority of members of the so-called GOP voted in accordance with the will of these terrorists. They voted to overturn the results of a free and fair election in the world’s oldest modern democracy. They did so because they believed there were serious ‘concerns’ (‘concerns’, let’s be clear, that started with them and like the Ouroboros, ended up with the confusing, if unhygienic, phenomenon of not knowing where their mouths or assholes ended or began) with the 2020 presidential election. After over 60 court cases arguing that point only one was ruled in their favor. None of the 50 States comprising our union found any evidence of wide-spread fraud. Indeed, a federal agency tasked with monitoring election security stated unequivocally that the presidential election of 2020 was one of the most secure in a generation.
And yet? There they were. Spouting conspiracy theories, assaulting police officers (those stalwart stewards of the ‘law & order’ they otherwise claim to love), brandishing spears and bearskins, stealing mail, leaving death threats to the Vice President, fundamentally acting the fool. A bunch of bullies let out of detention with rage and rebellion on their minds.
Let me be clear: each and every one of these terrorists should be hunted down by law enforcement and charged to the fullest extent of the law. They should then be prosecuted and the judges in each and every case should show or allow no mercy. These barbarians must never be allowed to storm the gates again.
Fine.
But that’s not the really interesting question here. The far-right has been producing assholes forever (one of the few things the ‘right’ is truly consistent at). What’s actually interesting is how these insurrectionists arrived at the conclusions they did. Which is to say; how did their ‘thinking’ bring them to this point.
2.
While it might be tempting for some on the left to see that last sentence as a joke, let’s remember we’re sitting at the adult table. These terrorists, being human, sharing our genetic code, are people - real, live, eating, shitting, fucking, anxious, sleeping, scared, afraid, terrified people - just like you and me. As much as it would be easier if we could see them as Uruk-hai instead of our brothers and sisters, sadly? That’s what they are. Family. Part of the Human Condition.
Though humans that are clearly very, very, very sick. My diagnosis? Mind Cancer. Let me explain, under the assumption my readers understand the difference between mind and brain. As such, I am not asserting that the terrorists are physically sick. From their pics and videos it’s clear many are - obesity, hypertension, anal retention - though that isn’t the point. It’s their mental programming, their minds, that have been infected. Infected with what?
Put simply? A disjointed ontological phenomenology obscured, obfuscated, and accelerated by persistently chaotic epistemological aberrations. Said plainly? Their ability to process reality has been impaired.
Why? Racial resentment, poor economic opportunities, an aversion to books and learning? Yes. All that. Plus? The internet, which has created a new Dark Ages.
Paradoxically, one built on light.
3.
Look. Self-interested demagogues intent on self-aggrandizement are nothing new. Nor are their ability to rally or rile a downtrodden populace. Sadly, demonizing the ‘other’ is also pretty par for the course in these scenarios. An old story, all told. What’s new this time is how it happens.
In a single second - count it out! One Mississippi - a beam, or photon of light moves 186,000 miles. Roughly seven times the circumference of the Earth. The new speed of hate. The internet, that modern marvel ushering in Humanity’s first truly post-scarcity resource, is built on light. Philosophers have for millennia wed knowledge with light. And now we all (well, those of us in the post-industrial world) carry a terminal connected to this internet in our pockets. A stunning marvel of human ingenuity. One would imagine that access to such a wellspring of knowledge and information would have a truly edifying affect on the Human Condition. Perhaps, in aggregate, or retrospect, it will. At the moment?
Yeah ...
At the moment it seems that the more access to information humans have the more they double down on tribal identities, wish fulfillment, instant gratification (read: porn), perceived slights, fantasy lands, Rick Astley videos, or the jibbering incoherent rantings of simple capitalists fomenting the fragile emotional states of low information individuals who feel they have no place in this world. This is a fundamentally devastating epistemological conundrum. Why? For centuries the barrier to the future was the amount of information, knowledge, you could access or process. Yet here and now? Here and now there might be too much access. Too much information. More so, the striking fact that our ability, as a species, writ large, to process or parse this information has not kept pace with the information at hand. A sad equation that inevitably leads to moments like 01/06/21.
4.
The Trump Terrorists of January 6th, 2021, weaponized the internet to facilitate their attempted coup. As did their ‘dear leader’ throughout his humiliating single term in office. In fact, it was the geometrical acceleration of connectivity and interconnectedness enabled via the web and its insanely capitalist platforms that allowed for their ‘movement’ to incubate and evolve. While it is true that neo-liberal policies advocating globalist economics and monetary policy are at the current root cause of most ills genuinely affecting rural, or poor, or uneducated MAGA-heads, it’s also true that apart from an Independent from Vermont no one in the political economy of the last couple decades gave much of a shit about these poor and dispossessed inheritors of old racial mythemes and toxic narratives of self-reliance. No one that is, other than their ‘dear leader’. Never mind he didn’t intend to ease their suffering in any material, or structural way. He talked about it. He tweeted about it. And then he gave them a little song and dance at the rallies. Breathtaking stuff.
However, it wasn’t just the performative act of playing ‘authoritarian’ that got them hot and bothered. No, it was at the same time the eternal need to belong to a group, the legitimate feeling of economic obsolescence, coupled with these new tools of information transmission. Tools that at once gave them powers unheralded and seemingly ensconced them in a protective shell, a perpetually larval manifestation of all their baser inclinations. A reactionary ‘safe space’ from which they could launch a thousand ships of intolerance and hate. What good is truth if you can’t weaponize it? What good are facts if you share them with everyone else?
And so we find ourselves revising Plato. There isn’t just one cave in which we are chained, kept from reality. There are multiple tunnels, alcoves, deeper caverns in which we might dwell. Furthermore, if lucky, there are different days, vistas, egresses in which we can escape from the confines of ignorance. Much like the lucky Mormons, it would seem the far-right believes there are plenty of planets in which ‘Truth’ can dwell. Never mind that multiplying ‘Truth’ in such a way doesn’t actually produce more truth.
In fact, it reduces ‘Truth’. Impoverishes it. Hollows it out.
Which is sad, really. For the major harm caused by these rebels isn’t to our democratic institutions, nor our mythological vision of our nature, nor that ever-loving economy - but to the very fabric that binds the social contract on which all the preceding rely.
That fabric being, specifically, a shared objective reality.
5.
How can we survive if we can’t agree on basic facts? Can a multi-racial, multi-cultural, representative democracy exist when a large percentage of the comprising citizens don’t believe in, or even acknowledge, that that’s actually what’s happening? Is White Supremacy so fundamentally a part of our nation’s DNA that the country can’t exist without it? If so, for those of us who vehemently oppose White Supremacy, the question might then be: is the country worth saving?
Most versions of Western Ethics indicate that violence is not the cure. Nor do I advocate such a position. At the same time I’m deeply troubled, because due their illness these actors are neither rational or coherent. Ergo, we can’t reason with them either. So what next?
To corral the revolutionary, if inchoate, spirit of these sick, fringe minds diseased as they are by hate, grievance, and digital oubliettes would any policy proposals be acceptable? Perhaps as fantastic an idea as the images from 01/06/21, what if the Federal Government decided to halt its obsequious sycophantry to corporate America and ‘elites’ and instead actually, seriously, emphatically reinvested in the heartland, in Main Street, in the working class? Wouldn’t it be ironic if a little more socialism was truly the cure these hatemongers require?
6.
Maybe we should step back and listen to the wisdom of George W. Bush.
Confronting what was at the time the most disheartening terror attack on the homeland, Bush made clear not all who could otherwise be lumped in with the terrorists were terrorists. In the same way that, yes, not all Trump voters are Trump Terrorists.
Even so. Bush made it clear you needed to pick a side.
With us - toward a diverse future in which the promise of the Founders is emboldened and expanded for all who live between our shores. Or against us - back to your stunted hovels and holes with all the other low information troglodytes you like to cosplay revolution with.  
Choose.
It’s your call. But choose quickly, because history is watching, and only one path moves toward the future.
C. R. Stapor Longmont, CO 01/16/21
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flowerslightning · 4 years
Text
Have you heard about PFA and MFA?
or the full name is ‘Psychological First Aid’ (PFA) and ‘Mental Health First Aid’ (MFA)
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Can we relate it with Cloud Strife? As we all know, Cloud had mental illness and was struggling alone. Let’s take a quick look on this topic then and see if characters in FF7 ever give PFA/MFA to Cloud or to each other. This is going to be a looooong post although I tried to simplified it, so, yeah. Good luck reading this !
Disclaimer : I’m not a psychologist. I’m still a student and psych is not my major field. During my intern, other than we got exposed a lot about psychiatric disorders and ways to deal with them, we also got trained psychological first aid in emergency department. If it wasnt because of this quarantine, i would have finished my training in emergency field. There might be false interpretation here or there, forgive me for that and pls correct any mistake in this post
This will probably trigger LTD. Sorry, but I had to, Pls read this post with open mind. Keep in mind I like both Tifa and Aerith, i have no grudges agaisnt Barret, Vincent, Nanaki or Cid so I am not being bias with any of them. I forgot a lot of stuff in OG (I played it when I was really really small), so I will be using lots FF7R and AC references here (and a bit from OG, depends whatever I remember)
Good to go? Allow me to rant. Read it slowly and if u skip some of it, u’ll probably mislead my actual words, and u’ll be triggered af. Don’t come at me with madness if u dont read the whole post properly
What is PFA and MFA? Generally speaking, if Basic First Aid is about covering the wound to prevent further bleeding, then PFA (Psychological First Aid) and MFA (Mental Health First Aid) is like applying a bandage on ur mental to avoid u continue being distress. 
Usually, PFA is often associated with disaster event or terrorism, where large number of people got affected. Meanwhile, MFA focus in one person who is developing mental health prob or already in mental crisis due to certain traumas, such as vehicle accident, house burned and etc
 Pls note that, certain people NEED MFA while the others may NOT NEED it. It is important to respect their needs/wants. Some victims may refuse verbally but they ACTUALLY NEED it (CLOUD STRIFE) and maybe some victims look like they dont need it, but they want it, and its super fine to give it
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PFA/MFA not only done by the professionals and it is not a professional counselling, although necessarily training is needed if u want to approach deeper in this field. PFA/MFA is also not a psychological ‘debriefing’ - in which MFA/PFA doesnt need to involve a detailed discussion of the trauma event with the victim, but instead, it is an alternative way to psychological debriefing that helps for long-term recovery. (unless if ure a pscyhiatrist, then u have to forget about MFA and ask detailed questions regarding the events to help the patient to recover)
MFA and PFA both almost the same, but I will mention more about MFA here.
MFA (Mental Health First Aid) is not just about comforting “Oh, are u alright. I’m sorry for what u’ve been through”, but it is also about assessing their needs and concerns, protecting them from harm, provide practical support and support them feeling able to help themselves and others.
The main key for these two term is RESPECT - respect victim’s dignity, respect both parties safety and respect victim’s rights to make decision. Even without the PFA, we should respect these three in whatever circumstance we are in. 
A lot of us honestly were born with natural skill of MFA bcause of our own empathy, instinct or experiences and some got trained professionally. Some of them already had MFA due to high common senses they have.  
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Some of the Do’s and Dont’s when giving MFA include;
Do’s : 1. Be trustworthy | 2. Respect their decision | 3. Be aware of and set aside ur bias | 4. Make it clear to them u are available for help even they push u away | 5. Respect their privacy and personal space | 6. Do remain calm and soft when the person in distress | 7. Listen and don’t interrupt their talking | 8. Help in terms of basic needs | 9. Create connection the person with others | 10. Give hope to them | 11. Provide private place to talk about the event | 12. Respect their strenght | 13. Advice small necessary matters or give simple words of encouragement | 14. Acknowledge positive features of what victims have done
Dont’s : 1. Rush in whatever the thing theyre doing with u | 2. Be dismissive | 3. Make promises u know can’t keep | 3. Ask anything in return for helping them | 4. Exaggerate ur skills | 5. Force help on people, being pushy | 6. Pressure them to tell their story | 7. Judge that person | 8. Put the person in risk of harm as result of ur actions | 8. Force them to accept ur idea/Listening to ur rant | 9. Talk rough | 10. Being bias with the people | 11. Touching that person too much | 12. Talk with the person in negative terms | 13. Abandon the person’s feeling
To simplify, there are 3 ways for MFA to begin, and I will only talk about one of them, the one that is the hardest to do, that is when u notice someone looks distressed and ure concern about them, and leading u to approach them first without them noticing ur concern. [Am I putting the right words here?]
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In Cloud’s case, who do u think the first noticed Cloud behaved oddly and went to help him first ? - yeah Tifa. U probably would say “OFC she went to help him, she met him first at the train station. That guy looked sick af, who wouldnt ask if he was alright. If Aerith/Yuffie/Jessie met him first, they would do the same”. Okay guys, that was not my point. 
Let’s focus one by one characters and see what Do’s and Dont’s MFA (Mental Health First Aid) they’ve done to Cloud and other charas. Keep in mind, none of them know what Cloud had gone through, but Cloud had showed some obvious sign he was unwell and only a few of them noticed that and took action for it. 
The symbol [X] means the Dont’s in MFA and ( ✔) means the Do’s in MFA.
Biggs Jessie Wedge -
I know there’s a thing about man helping man’s psychology and Jessie being flirty with a guy.They [X] thought Cloud was like how they saw Cloud. and they considered it as normal. They didnt see Cloud under distress so they dont have the need to concern his mental status. The good thing about them was, the three of them (✔) respect Cloud’s strenght, giving Cloud the confident to be in action. But, Jessie [X] had zero respect on Cloud’s personal space
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I wanna highlight about Biggs. Biggs had an attitude of overthinking stuff, but it wasnt so bad that would cause him harm, he just cared too much about his friends. So I believe Biggs was the type that would notice immediately when his friend being strange and would give MFA (Mental Health First Aid) with his own instinct even without the person asking it.
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During the Sector 7 Plate attack, where Biggs was severely injured, when Cloud said he was not a fan of kids and Biggs said Cloud had so much in common (in common of what? Cloud with the kids or Cloud with him?), Cloud gave him ‘a sad look’ and Biggs reached out his hand to Cloud’s head. Biggs (✔) remain calm and soft when dealing with Cloud’s feeling (who faced traumatic event but Biggs didnt know about it) on that moment despite his current physical status. And also he (✔) wished goodluck to Cloud, leading to prevention distress on Cloud
Marle -
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Marle [X] judged Cloud for someone who had no skills, but she entrusted Cloud to take care of Tifa’s well being. Not knowing who Cloud was, Marle noticed Cloud looked glum, she (✔) offered her ear for Cloud to rant and knew right away he was not having enough sleep, then (✔) advising him to sleep more . Lol, she was [X] biased with Cloud and Tifa. Not her fault, she only knew Tifa’s story, not Cloud’s. After the Sector 7 plate fall, we saw her being the most active member to help with the remaining citizens there. Marle without a doubt had given the citizens there PFA (Psychological First Aid) , by helping them with their (✔) basic needs, (✔) create connections, (✔) put away bias, (✔) remain calm and soft. 
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Barret Wallace -
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Barret was the same like Biggs Jessie Wedge. I’m sure Barret thought Cloud was just fine. Barret saw Cloud as a mercenary with stinky attitude,[X] judging him like that causing Barret to gave him the same attitude too. But overall, he (✔) respected Cloud’s strength a lot
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However, after the Sector 7 plate fall, Tifa and Barret were the one that hurt (mentally) the most, Tifa as usual locking her emotions, there we could see how Barret comforting Tifa by (✔) giving words of encouragement and proceed on (✔) hugging her to show his empathy. Barret also (✔) remain calm and soft spoken when talking to the survival victims of Sector 7 citizens. He also (✔) acknowledged what the citizens had done to survive
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Vincent Valentine - 
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Don’t be surprise Vincent was listed here. This guy here was like another version of Cloud but more mature. In addiction, they both kinda share the same pain. So, I personally think Vincent understands Cloud pretty well. In AC, where Cloud was mentally ill, Vincent saved Cloud from Kadaj and brothers and (✔) took him to safer place. That was a common thing to do. But let’s go deeper, Cloud never told him about himself, but Vincent already  (✔) aware of Cloud’s trouble with the geostigma stuff and Cloud’s current mental status. Vincent, (✔) calm and soft like always (✔) didnt hesitate to asked if all of these were just about ‘fighting’ and it made Cloud to ‘re-think’ further about his problem. He (✔) didnt pressure Cloud here, instead he was (✔) helping Cloud to understand the condition he was facing, and this lead Cloud to avoid distress.
Aerith Gainsborough -
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I know Aerith was special. She was an important character and devs created her to be ‘loved’ by the fans so that her death would be tragic. Aerith did almost all the things that shouldnt be done when giving MFA to mentally ill person. Some of u may say “Duh, Aerith didnt know anything about Cloud thus she had no intentions of giving him MFA”. Yup, ure right. Aerith didnt know about Cloud’s mental status but so as all the other characters in the series. 
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Aerith was [X] being pushy with Cloud, in lots of ways, from making him as a bodyguard for free to forcing him to wear a dress. She [X] forced Cloud to accept her idea about meeting Andrea, dance and gown. She also [X] forced Cloud to help picking the flowers. Aerith [X] didn’t let Cloud to have his own decision [X] neither giving him a chance to talk,  and [X] abandon his feelings (cough..uhm, Aerith resolution). She also had [X] no respect on Cloud’s personal space and [X] too much touching and leaning to him. Aerith also [X] put herself in danger and that worried Cloud.  She [X] looked down on Cloud in someways too
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However, at the Sector 5 slum, where the hooded man appeared, Aerith noticed Cloud was having trouble with himself, she (✔) encouraged Cloud to keep himself together. Also, throughout the entire game, Aerith always remind the team to (✔) have hope in everything. Her positive vibrant attitude was what (✔) made everyone able to believe in themselves. She also (✔) ensure Marlene’s safety and protected her. She was able to (✔) remain soft and calm when approaching Marlene. Remember Betty? Aerith took her time to helped her out and she even (✔) respected the little girl’s strength, (✔)slow and steady when saving her and (✔)soft spoken
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Tifa Lockhart -
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Tifa met Cloud at the train station, saw him being ‘not-so-fine’ state despite Cloud claiming he was completely okay. Tifa didn’t know what Cloud had gone through and  she (✔) didn’t pressure him to talk about it. She even helped him to (✔) find a place to sleep even when Cloud never asked for it. Tifa unconsciously was the first person to give Cloud MFA without knowing what Cloud had faced previously. And Cloud, on that moment, he really needed a help. Tifa also (✔) stated that if Cloud need anything, she would help him with it
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Tifa (✔) remain calm everytime Cloud had sudden headache, she didn’t leave him alone and (✔) didnt put any pressure on him by asking question. During the (✔) Alone At Last, they had privacy Tifa asked about what happened after he left Nibelheim. She (✔) listened and didnt interrupt him, (✔) neither pushing him to talk more. Moreover, Tifa (✔) put a distance with Cloud, dunno if she was the one who was being uncomfortable or she actually (✔) respect Cloud’s personal space and privacy. Tifa (✔) didn’t force him to stay at Midgar, she asked him and was glad Cloud would stay for a while. Tifa was no doubt (✔) respect all Cloud’s decisions too. Also, don’t forget, Tifa also helped Cloud to help (✔) make ‘close connection’ with the Avalanche members and people in Sector 7 slums. She also (✔) didn’t do much touching with Cloud (Well, I mean, she didnt touch him in clingy way)
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In AC, Tifa (✔) encouraged Cloud to have hope for Geostigma and the family
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Tifa did [X] put herself in danger by becoming Corneos bride participant and that gave Cloud trouble (but Tifa ensured him she would be fine on her own previously) And btw, in OG, I read about the fans questioning why Tifa [X] didnt tell Cloud the truth. I would like to argue this matter. TIFA IS A CHARACTER WITH REAL HUMAN FLAWS, she too had her own traumatic event and was not really sure of herself on what to do. However, considering what Tifa had done for him, Tifa had helped with Cloud’s psychology the most.
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I know Cloud was putting up a font, and that made him to have condescending attitude, and people couldnt see what Cloud was hiding behind the the bravery face. However, all of us as fans acknowledged the pain Cloud was suffering in the entire FF7 story. Some of the characters like Tifa, Marle, Vincent, Biggs noticed it and they took actions for it, while others, I do personally thing, they were hurting the Real Cloud’s mentality more. 
Long story short, Tifa was the one who gave mental health support the most to Cloud, followed by Vincent (AC), Biggs and Marle. Aerith did the worst with Real Cloud's mentality + she then died, mking Cloud be more miserable,
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However, Aerith actually had the best way to give MFA/PFA to children, but maybe the worst to Cloud. While Tifa gave the best MFA to Cloud which helped him to get himself together through out the entire time
Alright thats the end of my talk. Thank you for being with meee
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potatopossums · 3 years
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Idk man, sometimes I like the aromantic fb groups I follow, and other times I kind of hate the comments.
Uh yeah it's a long one. Affectionate aro-spec rant inbound.
Today, I was reading a thread about "allos developing feelings after sex" and how that was "such an alloromantic experience."
It felt fucking alienating.
Maybe I read "feelings" to mean something different than "instantly wants to marry/date this person." That is not my definition of "developing feelings." But the wording is so vague, and I don't have much of a vocabulary outside of these experiences. I mean, I still use decidedly alloromantic terminology sometimes, because I grew up with it for so long, and I find it difficult to use other terms, even if they're technically the correct definition for what I'm experiencing.
But my main gripe was really with this demonization of "feelings." Feelings of intimacy? Feelings of tenderness? Wanting to continue? Sure, it depends on the people involved; each relationship has its own rules and boundaries and goals. Aromantic people can easily do romantic-coded things and enjoy them. They can also just as easily avoid those things. That's up to personal choice, and I'm not knocking that.
But it bothered me how unanimous it was in that comments section that a casual sex partner expressing a desire to "do more than sex only" might be off-putting. Sure, I think the intention was that a sex partner suddenly wants to date you, and yeah, I would say no to that advance, too, were I in a similar position. But if a friendship/FWB/QPR formed organically from a casual sex situation? Sure.
And on the flipside, it also bothers me that sex can't possibly be seen as an emotionally bonding experience. Again, romance entirely aside, I would consider, especially as a largely demisexual person, that sex with someone I was actually physically attracted to would also involve emotions. It would enrich my relationship with that person. That doesn't make it romantic for me. My tendencies are just very close knit. I enjoy deep relationships and tend to despise surface level ones. This has more to do with my learned history of passivity, and less to do with romantic feelings. I don't feel romantic. I feel close. I desire closeness. That closeness can manifest in a lot of different ways. Romance, in my experience, likes to wear the costume of intimacy and parrot the lines, but it doesn't signify intimacy. Closeness comes from self and mutual honesty. And from some shit just lining up well.
Feelings (as in emotions) are part of the human experience. They're temporary, and that's the important bit (and that was the only bit on that thread that I actually agreed with; alloromantic people do tend to view feeling as fact in a romantic sense, but everyone is prone to misreading general feelings as fact—for example, a common trap is "I'm afraid, therefore I must be in danger." Feelings, thus, are not necessarily factual.) But emotions are also reactions to something. Experiencing emotions is a normal thing. Having sex with someone casually for an extended period of time will likely let you get to know that person a bit. Amatonormative conditioning can easily kick in, regardless of orientation. And amatonormativity promises something—something substantial.
Happiness.
Clearly, this promise doesn't hold up. Romance is bullshit, unhealthy, an obsession with being unrequited, and an overinflated lens of glorifying pain for the purpose of promised reward (which never comes). We all know that.
And yet, it still reels some of us in. Conditioning at its finest, eh? Remind me to stop watching movies with any shred of romance in them.
But here's the thing. I'm aro-spec and I have fucking ADHD. Those two experiences, for me, have been the absolute worst combination.
I'm only beginning to come to grips with my ADHD and how it affects my perception of the world and my orientation(s) within it. One of the things I've noticed about myself is that I chase highs. Those highs simulate the deficiency in dopamine and reward signals inside my brain. I kind of don't function normally when I don't have those reward chemicals. I don't feel senses of accomplishment often, even when I've done lots of things. This is a really common experience with ADHD, hence why depression and anxiety can sometimes be considered side-effects of ADHD. Of course feeling like you've done nothing would make you anxious and depressed.
But especially in terms of social relationships, these sorts of reward chemicals can factor in to great amounts. I mean, I'd like to say that romance writing & fantasizing has been one of my most persistent hyperfixations in life. It's a concept teeming with overwhelming emotions, which tend to set off chemical responses in the brain that can induce dopamine, or dopamine-like effects. Thus, drama feels good. And for someone who never feels good... well, drama can become a drug. It can become seemingly the only thing that helps one feel good—about themselves, about their life, their accomplishments, their abilities—especially for undiagnosed adults.
It's a really tumultuous reality. And the back and forth is absolutely chaotic. Hyperfixations don't go on constantly. But they can start at any time. They can be triggered so easily. And amatonormative and positive conditioning doesn't help. Again, it's a happy drug for your brain. Evolution probably intended that. And now it's gone very awry in me.
Here's my thing though: me wanting intimacy, me wanting closeness—that does not equate to romance. Me experiencing feelings and desiring those feelings also doesn't equate to romance. My brain has a chemistry issue. It likes these chemicals, like, way too much as it is. Amatonormativity already conditioned me to chase these highs, and those highs have an even stronger and more dangerous effect on me and my perception of reality, especially as someone who is statistically more predisposed addictive behaviors.
So imagine trying to sus out that you're actually aromantic underneath all that. But you also are really touch starved. Oh, and you're a lesbian. Not even a little bit bisexual. Totally very gay. And you have sensory issues. And you have those handy-dandy side effects of anxiety and depression hanging around.
There's a lot to parse through every time I have an emotion at all.
So genuinely: yes. I agree that it sucks when someone you only wanna have casual sex with suddenly wants to have a romantic relationship with you.
But also: I'm aro, and I'm also not over here having sex with random strangers. I'm over here having sex with good friends. I'm over here being polyaffectionate. I'm over here chasing the highs of pretty people, sensual intimacy, and awesome orgasms.
And none of that shit rings alloromantic to me.
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