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officialspec · 2 months

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What do you think gay men are attracted to in men that they can’t be attracted to in women?

It can’t be anything about femininity or masculinity obviously. That’s both sexist, and cultural so can’t be what drives men-only attraction.

It can’t be anything about stated identity because someone could lie just as easily as they could tell the truth in such a statement, and it makes no sense because homosexuality and heterosexuality exists in other species with no stated identities. It’s not like other animals without gender are all pan.

Saying idk it’s the vibes or some indescribable trait men have that women can’t but “I can’t explain” is a nonanswer.

Soooooooo what is it? Or do you think any sexuality but bi/pan is just cultural performance or an identity rather than an inborn orientation?

- [ ]

first off i hate this ask and i think youre a freak. in any other world i wouldve blocked you for this but unfortunately for both of us i actually like this type of philosophy. dont send this shit to anyone else though

i dont think its right to compare human sexuality to the same thing in animals, to get that out of the way. im sure until a certain point it comes from the same biological impulses, but human beings have way more complicated social structures and reasons for coupling that just do not exist in other animals. our social behaviours are what make us unique in the animal kingdom and that definitely extends to gender and sexuality. so theres that

people love to tout 'gender is a social construct' around like its a criticism in and of itself, which i think betrays a misunderstanding about social constructs in general. theyre the foundations we build language on to better understand each other, and affected by a whole host of cultural and historical factors. just because theyre subjective and complicated doesnt mean they arent real. in terms of the effect they have on peoples lives they may be the most real thing that exists

for example, 'kindness' is a social construct. the definition and ways it is enacted differ greatly across personal and cultural lines. but no one would ever suggest a world where kindness doesnt exist or loses meaning, because its an essential part of the way we interact with each other (in the same way i dont really see a world where gender entirely ceases to exist, mainly just one where people have more fun with it. im not a psychic though so who knows)

similarly, sexuality in humans is another social construct. i think the driving biological forces behind it are very real, but the labels people attach to those impulses are subjective attempts to express their inner world to the people around them if that makes sense. and those same biological impulses are ALSO subject to social ideas of gender, because those ideas are established at birth and reinforced over a persons entire lifetime

to use myself as an example, im a gay trans man. ive identified as other things in the past, because i was trying to pick apart feelings i had and express them to others in an attempt to find community. my identity might change as i get older and experience new things, or it might not. i identify as gay because im not attracted to the social concept of women, and someone i would otherwise be attracted to might lose all appeal after i find out they fall under that concept (this has happened before w transfems pre and post coming out lol)

of course, the real REAL answer to this is that trying to give queer identities rigid and objective definitions is a fools errand, and also lame as fuck. someone might identify as gay and be more attracted to general masculinity than men as a social category, maybe they fool around with a couple of butch women without considering themself any less gay. two otherwise identical people might be a butch lesbian and a gay trans man without either of those identities coming into conflict. they might even be the same person at different times of the week

the labels people choose to use are communication tools, not objective signifiers. if you dont understand them, they probably arent talking to you

social constructs are everything. we as humans have the unique ability to interpret our own messy desires and impulses into words that other people can use to form an idea of someone else in their mind. its how we build connections, and of course it isnt perfect because trying to squeeze someones entire personal history and the centuries of context that defined it into a handful of syllables is going to leave some room for error. but its all we have, yknow? so we keep trying. and i think thats much more human than any imposed objective 'truth' could ever be

tldr we live in a society dipshit. get with it

#ask #long post #i feel like i should tag for the ask bc it sucks but idk what so like. lmk #gender #trans stuff #i love you language philosophy i love you messy human relationships i love you contradictory identities

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alice-makes-things · 6 months

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Inspired by a conversation I recently had with friends, here is my “The JellyCat Orca Is Trans Masc and Non-Binary” theory.

(as you read this, bear in mind that I am neurodivergent and at the age of 6 my special interest was orcas)

If you’re not familiar with the JellyCat brand, they’re a British plush toy company that first became popular in the late 90s / early 00s but have recently skyrocketed in sales due to strong TikTok social media presence during the pandemic. They do cute and quirky plushes of everything from cute baby toys to stuffed animals to fruits and veggies to tacos and sushi. They’re all very soft and snuggly and a sensory delight. I’ve never owned one myself, because they’re extremely expensive, but if you enter any gift shop in this country there will be a JellyCat there somewhere.

Anyway, each of these toys are given a name and a little personality - think TY’s Beanie Babies, if you’re old enough to remember those. Anyway, enter Ollivander the Orca, who for the purposes of this post I will use he/they pronouns for:

I met Ollivander in a Blackheath gift shop a few months ago and was delighted by their existence but alas could not afford them. Now, for my theory.

Ollivander strikes me as a very masc-coded name. Like, it’s basically two traditionally male names smashed together (Oliver, Alexander), like somebody couldn’t decide between two names and just said screw it, why not both. The thing is, Ollivander has the ‘wrong’ markings for a male orca - compared to his body size, he has a small, curved dorsal fin, with no saddle markings at the base. Male orcas have tall, straight dorsal fins, with prominent grey saddle markings at the base (unless held prisoner by certain unethical US marine parks). Here’s a picture for comparison:

(for the orca nerds out there, I’m leaving out too many resident / transient orca dorsal fin comparisons here, because I think these are difficult to replicate in a stuffed animal; also Ollivander’s saddle markings are non-existent so there’s not much to compare there)

Compare Ollivander to Hamley’s Kai, or IKEA’s Blåvingad, who both have tall pointy dorsal fins, which indicate they are male:

Anyway, when my neurospicy self excitedly bounded up to the orca plush in the aforementioned gift shop, I was under the assumption Ollivander was a female orca - until I saw their name and description, which I believe is the same as on the JellyCat website:

There are no gendered pronouns in this label (which I love, because children should be able to gender their beloved toys however which way they like). So from then on, my own personal head canon became that Ollivander is a trans masc orca whale who couldn’t decide between the names Oliver and Alexander, and they use he/they pronouns. I love them and can never afford them, lol.

Anyway thank you for indulging my silly neurodivergent rant about orca plushies and their various gender identities.

#orca #Ollivander the orca #jellycat #neurodivergent #gender identity #trans masc #non binary

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phyrestartr · 5 months

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HOUND | Miguel x M!Reader

Geneticist!Miguel x Guard!Reader Part 1 W/C: 2.5K | Part 1 of 2

Slight NSFW, zombie AU, apocalypse AU, mentions of exploitation and abuse, body horror, gore, immoral research and experiments, power imbalance, reader is a criminal, miguel is a scientist, dark themes, part 2 ends on a positive note, reader is morally grey, bottom!miguel, top!reader, sorry there's lore lol

Note: Wanted to post this bad boy in full, but the second half sorely needs some revising T-T It should be finished and up fairly soon, though! I hope this is ~intriguing~ for those who like darker stuff! Also I did a light edit on this part, but I really just want to get it out so lol sorry if things sound stupid/don't make sense asdjkf;l

There exists a cure.

That's what Alchemax declared. And it was the truth, just not the full truth. Not something the public would be happy with, anyway.

The so-called "cure" was…unreliable, only recoding the RNA of select individuals for a reason that Alchemax's geneticists struggled to identify for the longest time. But after combing through the files of each expendable inmate and finding similarities, it became clear: those who'd been in the presence of nuclear energy, or high amounts of radiation, were suitable candidates for the vaccine.

"Guess it's a good thing we didn't shut down those mines," Aaron had sneered at the board meeting. "Otherwise we wouldn't have the army of immune mutants running around for us."

Miguel rolled his eyes. Sure, the idiot wasn't wrong, but he was taking it too far; plenty had died because of their experiments, and plenty more of the "immune" were sure to die with the unknown side effects of whatever the vaccine was bound to show in a matter of years (or in mere months, if they were unlucky).

"It's a start," Miguel begrudgingly added. "But intentionally damaging civilian RNA with radiation, and then repairing it with S-2099, especially when we're not aware of any side effects yet? The UN won't have it. Can't imagine civilians would love it either."

"Well, it's either get bit and die, stay afraid and die, or get painlessly exposed to a blast of radiation and then maybe die if 2099 doesn't fix them like we think," Liv offered with a shrug. "I, for one, would be honoured to die in the name of science."

Miguel coolly looked over at her. "Thanks for volunteering."

Liv's expression twisted. The energy in the room would've exploded if it hadn't been for Stone's interjection.

"We will not be commencing civilian trials. Not until success rates increase with approved subjects provided by the state." The man spoke so steadily, so reasonably, like sacrificing the lives of orange jumpsuits meant nothing.

They were dismissed soon after. Screens flickered out, holograms faded, and Miguel found himself alone with the other few scientists left at their Nueva York location.

He stayed seated, vaguely aware of the others filtering out and murmuring amongst themselves, but his thoughts demanded his attention–he knew, even if the government didn't approve of essentially soft-nuking colonies of survivors, that Tyler Stone would find a way to do it, and would label it an accident. The man, his birth father, was ruthless, cold, calculated–

"Sir?" A voice, your voice, cut through the silence. Miguel looked over his shoulder and found you still waiting, standing perfectly still by the door.

"Sorry, I was just…" Miguel sighed and rubbed his face before standing. "Nevermind. Don't worry about it."

Of course, you didn't say anything, instead nodding wordlessly and following your ward out of the room. Each step you took was punctuated by the shifting of your firearm against your thigh and the heavy thumps of your boots against the polished floors. Miguel used to hate your presence, think it unnecessary, but soon he grew to feel comfortable with you as his shadow.

You, his powerful, mutant guard dog.

"I can't fucking believe what this is turning into," Miguel muttered on the way to his quarters. "Too many unanswered questions, too many risks. And they don't care? We haven't even run further simulations yet–and we can run simulations with different alpha rays and different subject samples. It'd be harmless." The door hissed open and Miguel walked in, sorely wishing he could slam the door for once. Why did everything have to be automated?

"In. Now," Miguel called when you stopped short of his residence. You obeyed, wandering inside before the door slid to a close behind you, and locked.

You had reason to be nervous, Miguel knew that, too. Each key scientist in the building was assigned one of your kind, one of the immune mutants, and were free to do what they wanted with them. Sex, torture, chores–all of it was on the table. All of it had been asked of your kind. Done by your kind. Miguel figured that was why you kept a wall up. You hardly spoke, didn't request anything, never complained–all in an effort to keep the peace between you and your owner.

Miguel threw his white coat aside before stalking up to you. "Let me see," he mumbled as he held your jaw and tilted your head as he shone the light from his phone into your eye.

Your pupils reacted at twice the speed of a normal human's, growing into the tiniest of pin pricks when the bright white flare assaulted your senses. Your eye twitched the slightest bit, but you remained still for Miguel.

"Reactive. Not dead. That's good." He put his phone away, and examined the scarlet blotches contrasting against the natural hue of your iris. It was a relatively new side effect experienced by most of your batch, but you were amongst the more severe cases, if not the most severe case. Most of his peers didn't seem concerned by it, and Miguel could understand, seeing as it appeared to only be cosmetic, but the increased reactivity of your pupil accompanied with the bloody colour intrigued Miguel enough to keep tabs on it.

"Any changes lately? To appetite, sleep, anything?" He asked as he let go of your jaw, nearly smiling as you tried to follow his touch for a moment longer like a sleepy cat. "Maybe neediness?" Miguel teased.

You huffed lightly through your nose and looked around the main room of Miguel's living space. "Tired, I guess."

Miguel's nerves smoothed with the sandpaper scratch of your voice. "Tired. Might be the anemia again. We'll draw blood tomorrow, see if you need supplements or another infusion." Miguel found himself mumbling now, going on about your health and your changes, wondering out loud what the best course of action would be to help you adjust to whatever was happening to your body, but you didn't say anything. You never did unless provoked.

Miguel decided to provoke. He needed to speak, to be spoken to, to hear someone else’s voice right now. "What do you think about all this?" He called from the bathroom after washing up for the night. He poked his head out a moment later when you didn’t comment.

“I know you were listening,” he prodded again over the toothbrush jammed into the side of his mouth. “The other ones don’t, but you do. I can tell by that look you get.” he waited for you to respond while he brushed his teeth, but you didn’t. You hadn’t moved from your post by his front door, actually, stood against the wall, arms crossed and staring forward like you were listening to everything beyond the door. Miguel wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen you sit down. He didn’t know if you’d ever laid down before.

After he finished washing up for the night, he decided to try again.

“You really gonna keep me in the dark?” Miguel asked as he walked up to you, arms crossed as well. He couldn’t help but feel smaller and smaller the longer he waited in silence, waited to hear your gravelled voice. He couldn’t grasp why he was so desperate for a friend suddenly, but he was. He really was, and he wasn’t finding it in you.

“Forget it. Doesn’t matter anyway,” Miguel mumbled, turning away from you and rubbing his face tiredly.

“Don't have much of an opinion.”

“What?” Miguel turned back around, brows raised as he waited for you to continue. Your gaze peeled from the ceiling and fell to him, like you were waiting for a reprimand of sorts, but Miguel wouldn’t, not when he tried so hard to get a peep out of you.

You shrugged and looked elsewhere. “Don't care what happens to civilians. Not my problem.”

“It's the world's problem,” Miguel suggested. He didn't want to start an argument, but he didn't want you to feel so blasé about the fate of everything. “The more civilians that get infected, the more the world loses.”

“Thought that was a good thing. Last I heard, the world was pretty overpopulated.” You said it so easily. Miguel would have shrugged it off if he didn't know about the blood on your hands, the crimes you'd committed, the evidence that you really, truly, did not give a shit about humanity.

Miguel scoffed, a bitter, bewildered sort of thing. “Y'know, I used to pity you for this,” he started, gesturing to the soldiered-out state of yourself, “but you might be less human than those things out there.”

“Probably.”

“You don't even care,” Miguel laughed again. “Did you care when you killed that family?”

“An eye for an eye,” you replied.

“Right, right. Then what about your daughter? Did you care when–” the world spun before his back cracked against the wall. He grabbed your wrist and squeezed when your hands fisted in his shirt, ready to trigger your kill switch with one click of a button on his ring, but he didn't need to; you simply held him there, boring holes into his skull with your diamond-tipped stare.

“You jokers don't know when to quit,” you said. “Always have to drag a kid into the equation, ‘n then act so fucking shocked when you end up dead ‘cause of it.” A sigh slipped past your lips as you leaned in. Miguel wanted to meet you halfway. “Fuckers like you make murderers out of men like me.”

Oh. The violence rippling through your crackling voice went straight down, into the pit below Miguel's stomach and coiled into something frightfully decadent. He wanted your hands around his neck. He wanted you to mutter more threats into his ear. He wanted–

He wanted you.

“Let me touch you,” Miguel blurted. “Your skin.” You gave a reaction then, eyes blinking away shock and throat clearing with a strangled grunt, but you didn’t say no. You didn’t reject him. In fact, you looked him up and down in question, curiosity peeking through piercing eyes.

“You're a deranged fuck, aren't you? Getting all hot ‘n bothered from a threat.” You reached for the straps of your kevlar vest, then, and Miguel’s nerves jolted with the sound of the buckles clicking loose.

He scrambled to you and held your hands. He wanted to do it himself, to unwrap your bindings and see what laid beneath. Your hands fell, and Miguel took over.

The warmth bleeding from your clothes intoxicated him. He fumbled with your gear, eager to get to the base of your tight, black shirt and rip it off, but you didn’t try to take over for him–you watched, patient like a dog, letting your master doff your armour at his leisure (or, rather, his frantic, desperate pace). Miguel appreciated it. He wondered if you knew he'd snap if you tried to interfere.

Soon, your chest was bare. Exposed for him, dotted with memories of cruel bites, bullets, knives and surgical scars all over taught, humming skin. Man shouldn’t be allowed to touch you, Miguel thought. The imperfections were so gloriously human. You were so perfectly alive, standing here with him, breathing, emanating heat, allowing him to do what he pleased–he was the luckiest man on Earth.

Miguel couldn’t look you in the eyes as his broad palm pressed against your chest, right over the rhythm of your soul. His pants strained and tightened more as his touch wandered through the valleys of firm muscle; what did the rest of you look like? What did you look like when you fought, or when you fucked?

His hand slipped down to the tight adonis belt cinching your waist, and then lower, following the trail of fine hair disappearing beneath the waistband peeking above your cargos. The bunching and folding of thick material melted Miguel's mind in a vat of suggestion and insatiability–were you really that big, or was that fabric just making it an illusion?

He didn't need to wait to find out, though, not when you guided his hand down over the very real curve of your goods packed away. And, yes, you were big. Miguel's eyes snapped up to yours. A smug look greeted him.

“Looked like you needed some encouragement.”

Miguel might have laughed if his heart weren't suffocating him, climbing up his throat. Your clothed cock under his hand was ruining his cognitive functions too, to be fair.

His fingers, long, clumsy things, hurried at your buttons and the zipper keeping everything in check. Miguel's ears filled with the rhythmic drumming of desire when he finally got the damn thing undone, but you grabbed his wrist. You stopped him.

Miguel scoffed out a held breath and tried to wrench free, but your grip held firm. “You can't back out after–” But when he looked at you, he froze still; your expression electrified the senses, the slightest narrowing and shifting of uneasy eyes freezing Miguel colder and colder by the second.

“Bathroom. Now.” You popped just one of those buttons back into place before turning to the door.

“Wh–” But you shoved him, hard, and sent him stumbling into the sterile white space as explosive carnage rippled through the room in his wake. The thing collided into you seconds after you'd gotten your charge out of the blast zone.

It was big. A mass of human features and flesh and maybe something else weighing on a hulking frame. You barked a name, maybe the name of one of your fellow watch dogs, but it didn't change the thing's trajectory as it tore towards Miguel on all fours like a hound out of hell.

But you were quicker. You grabbed it by the nape and ripped it off its warpath with too much effort, just narrowly avoiding it barreling into the attached room by seconds. Its momentum, forced toward the wall, threw it into a dizzied tantrum; limbs flailed, mouths gnashed, and a symphony of mismatched voices wailed from their putrid prison.

Miguel's body locked. What ifs plagued him, suddenly. If it got him. If it bit him. If you hadn't been there. What if–

“Close the damn door,” you demanded, and your voice sounded a bit shaky, too. Miguel looked at your broad back as you stood bravely in the way of the beast and its target. “Doctor–”

“I–but you–?” Miguel stumbled and choked on his words and his reasoning. He didn't want you to fight. He didn't want to die. He didn't want you to die. Miguel hit the button to make it closed, but the door stalled halfway.

“Fuck it.” Barbs burst from your fingertips and dug into the door, forcing it to bend to your will and close. Miguel didn't like how you disappeared inch by inch. He didn't like seeing that thing behind you get up. He didn't like that look you gave him just before the door snapped shut.

The next few minutes passed like years.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #atsv imagine #atsv reader insert #male reader insert #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x male reader #miguel x male reader #male!reader #atsv male!reader insert #atsv x reader #atsv x you #miguel x you #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #phyrestartr

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napolonio · 10 months

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Do you accept asks? It's okay you can just delete this if you don't. So I've been detaching from ego and at times I feel at peace, then the ego is triggered and I'm back to being anxious. I think I'm expecting this "special" experience to happen like this euphoric feeling, cause I know that I'm not the ego, or whatever it thinks or feels, but I guess I'm expecting the thoughts and feelings to stop completely. And they're still here. Which makes me feel like I'm not detaching correctly lol. Do you mind sharing how you were able to let go of your ego for good? Thanks!

See, I think that many of us will continue to make use of a body, concepts and live in a world of perception, so really, ego will still be there in some shape or form. What you really need to realize is that you are not it.

To understand ego is to understand time. Through life when we operate as a body, we learn concepts, we learn rules, we learn structures, and that's how ego gets shaped. It is used to navigate life. You know that if a car is driving at high speed, you should not cross the street, that's ego. You have learned social qeues so that you can interact with others, that's ego. "If ___ happens I should do ___". It's a literal program. Now, all ego knows is illusory, because it's the past, it no longer exists. You see life through the past, you aren't really in the now, so really what does ego know? How can ego be helpful in the now if it only operates based on something that does not exist?

Say you were betrayed by a friend. What does the ego do? It feels like its sense of identity has been menaced, so it has to defend itself. It internalizes this experience, it keeps the memory and uses it as its favorite accesory. Friends are fake, you're unlucky and everyone betrays you, you need to keep your defenses up. Not only are you giving yourself this identity, but also your friend, perpetuating the whole story thinking that keeping such memory alive in the now, will bring you a different future and keep you safe in the present.

You wouldn't dare forgive your friend. They deserve your cold stare and hatred. What if you thought about forgiving them? Forgiveness not in the conventional way, but in a new meaning. Forgiveness being an act of correction. What forgiveness really is, is the realization that the betrayal was illusory, it was never real, your friend is innocent. Your ego would feel so frightened by the sole idea, it will feel so vulnerable and unprotected. But you can't really stop identification with your own identity, while also keeping alive the menacing stories you have of seeming others. They're not separate from you and how you see them, directly affects you.

As long as you keep alive your labels of this world, its people, the body, you will still continue to need that ego that created this world. It will keep you bound.

The reason why I think mentioning other people is important, is because seeming others is one of the reasons ego exists. Ego sees others as an enemy. You can let them close, but not too much. As long as you keep stories of others, it will have an effect on you. You can't get rid of your own stories and keep others' alive. Because imagine again your betrayer friend, say you think you successfully "let go of your ego" and the friend comes into frame again, you still hold their story, what will happen? What you mentioned in your ask, ego gets triggered, and what does it bring back?? Correct, your identity of being an unlucky person who has fake friends.

This applies for everything you have learned about this world, society, science, objects, history, all of it. None of it is the now. Continuing to see life through those lenses, is to keep the past alive.

So, to conclude ego=past learnings. If you realize all is now, ego becomes useless. If you trust and surrender to your true nature, you can learn to live as God/imagination/consciousness, and cease the contract with the ego.

It's not linear. Personally I'm not a huge fan of trying to rush things, I enjoy patience. Which brings me to my favorite ACIM quote "infinite patience, brings immediate results".

Also, something fun that not everyone on here might be a fan of, challenge yourself to do things you don't usually do because it's soo "out of character". Say you ask for dark coffee every day, now choose the craziest drink in the menu you can think of. Say your bed sheets are always dark colored, buy a bright colored one. Do/say something that makes you cringe. Dress in a way you would never 😈. It's very funny, I do it every day lmao. Challenge your perception of self. If you feel like you can't, start by imagining it. Imagine yourself doing out of character stuff. You'll see you'll naturally stop being the character.

Disclaimer: as I mentioned at the beginning, most likely you will continue to make use of a body, therefore don't put it in situations of danger. It still has to eat (because I've seen some people asking about eating in imagination 🥴), it can't fly, don't cross the street without looking both ways. This work is mental, so don't feel the need to prove something in the "physical", that's very foolish to do, considering that you probably are still attached to the body and your concepts of it and of this world. Meaning it can be endangered if you try to defy those concepts.

#ask #ego #nonduality #nondualism #a course in miracles

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transmutationisms · 7 months

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thoughts on adhd diagonsis and the rising numbers of it? heard a couple different theories, including a school therapist saying that he thinks children are just getting misdiagnosed because they’re cutting recess times, but interested in your thoughts! lol

yea i talked about this a bit here but i would add for clarity:

this kind of narrative of 'rising rates of' [any dsm diagnosis, in this case adhd] is kind of misleading on the surface because these numbers, and cultural and medical attitudes toward these labels, vary widely. matthew smith gives a very abridged introduction to varying attitudes toward adhd globally, and points out that countries that have 'embraced' the adhd diagnosis and its corresponding drug treatments tend to be countries where pharma companies have pushed to expand their market for these drugs, and have been able to succeed in partnering up with local and regional medical guilds and practitioners' professional interests. which is to say that any 'rise' in 'adhd' should be interpreted with an eye to material factors, meaning, specifically, profit-seeking and broader patterns of imperialism and global market expansion.

none of this is to say that the impairments people experience in adhd are any less real, debilitating, or distressing. however, when we ask about those impairments becoming more widespread or severe, often the conversation becomes rapidly re-routed to cover only a narrative of individual cognitive or neurological 'failures' constituting a distinct 'disorder'. elided from this framing is the idea that an impairment of this sort arises not just from the individual's brain-mind-body, but from the extent to which that person is being accommodated by their social context, specifically demands for productivity, sustained attention, &c in the home / school / workplace.

the core research methodologies & data interpretation in the psy-sciences embed social valences into neuro-psychological investigations, heightening the perceived contrast between, eg, 'normal' and 'adhd' brains / neurotypes / &c. susan hawthorne points out that this is a powerful feedback loop: social values are embedded in the scientific investigations, the results of which are then of further social interest, and together social and scientific values tend to converge, mutually reinforce one another, and strengthen the ideas and data interpretations supporting the concept of a discrete, pharmacologically actionable, transhistorical and cross-societal brain disorder.

i truly cannot overstate the extent to which it matters that when ritalin arrived on the us market in 1955, psychiatric diagnosis of and pharmacological prescription for children's behaviours were in a very different state to how they are today. it is quite common (in psychiatry but also in other branches of medicine!) that diagnostic definitions and categories change, or even come into existence altogether, at the behest of pharmaceutical companies who need a diagnostic label in order to ensure insurance coverage for patients interested in taking their patented drugs. this combined with marketing direct to patients, and paid promotion to physicians, is a critical piece of the history of the adhd diagnosis.

because i always feel the need to make this crystal-clear: i do not oppose or object to people seeking or using stimulant medications lol. i <3 stimulants. that's not what this is about. i want you and me both to be able to use white-market amphetamines whenever we damn well please and you don't need to justify that on any moral or medical grounds. xx

#adhd #psychiatry

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cows-wearing-my-sweater · 10 months

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acolyte

"what could be worse than having nothing to depend on? / we used to be friends"

word count: 1272 warnings: lots of angst lol notes: i have written a fic in months but !! hi again !! missed posting these a lot <3

There’s something inexplicable about him.

Matty’s hands move up and down the frets of his guitar easily. You curse the fact that your eyes are drawn to him with the same level of ease. Two dark curls droop over Matty’s forehead as he plays, eyes nearly shut and lips parted almost imperceptibly. You see it, though. The song he’s playing isn’t one you can name, but you recognize it. It feels like a song you heard last summer, like maybe if you could drink his melody you would remember it again.

You hate the label “friends with benefits,” mostly because it feels far too simple for the situation you’re in. “Friends with benefits” makes you feel like you’re just a quick fuck for someone who can tolerate you – surely that’s not what you are to Matty. No, this is different. It’s slow with him. There’s purpose and contemplation behind every deliberate kiss he places on your body, he takes his time coaxing noises out of you when you’re straddling his lap and hungry for everything you know he’s capable of. You want — rather, need — this to be something more.

Typically, you can deal with Matty on bad days. “Bad” meaning days where he incessantly (albeit accidentally) reminds you of the nature of your relationship: fleeting moments of passion and a lack of commitment. You received a text earlier in the morning asking you to come over. Not for sex, not for the aforementioned passion, but just to exist near each other for a while. Ever since the beginning of your hookups with him, normal platonic hangouts had come less frequently; they always held a sort of tension, at least in your mind. Should I tell him or should I speak through our touch? But the request today had given you a glimmer of hope, a flutter in your heart.

And it really had gone quite well at first. The moments you spend with Matty with no strings attached, no sexual undertones, are some of your most cherished. You could let yourself fall for him like this without hesitation, and occasionally you let yourself believe he could do the same for you.

Something in the air shifted over the course of the day, though. It’s a festering frustration, one that spreads its tendrils further and further despite how little you want it. Just like Matty himself, it’s inexplicable. You look at him, your heart breaks. This could be mine; why isn’t this mine? Because of it, everything Matty does in your presence seems to send a pang of annoyance through your entire body. His words sound pretentious, his actions too big and too loud, the looks he gives you feel calculated and judgmental.

Which is why you’re here, idly lying on the sofa, trying very hard to be mad at him. Trying very hard to hold a grudge against him for more than five minutes. You’re sure it’s all in your head, but you consider for a moment that maybe this is good. It’s either anger or infatuation, and the latter doesn’t seem to be an option. Besides, how else are you supposed to cope with the purgatory of being somewhere between a lover and a one-night stand? If anything, maybe I’ll get a good hate-fuck out of this. It’s a crude thought, but it crosses your mind.

The movement of Matty’s fingers on his guitar strings evokes memories of previous nights with him, with his hands. His kisses in those moments feel larger than the universe, whisking you away from the side of reality in which he’s not yours. His lips are a prayer that you say every night, over and over, waiting for it to be heard. Agile fingers strum across the guitar. You could swallow him whole, you could tear him to pieces, you could have a life together, you could—

“You’re awfully quiet today.” The music stops.

You hesitate. “Am I?”

Matty just looks at you for a moment, eyebrows raised, big brown eyes boring into yours. His lips part, then close as he chooses his words. “You can tell me if you don’t want to hang out like this. Or if I did something.” He doesn’t say it like an accusation, or like he blames you; he just sounds sad, and you can hear the silent question: Is this how things have to be between us?

That’s all it takes for your eyes to begin welling up. “You didn’t do something,” you tell him, and really, you mean it. “It’s just…” The words weigh heavy on your tongue. “Matty, I don’t want to do this anymore.” You quickly flick your eyes back to his to gauge his reaction. “I can’t just blur the lines of whatever the fuck we are together and feel totally okay.”

He stands up and moves to sit next to you. Matty takes your hand in his, calloused fingers swallowing you. You’re small here, and his touch makes you want to cry out for him. He could kiss away the hell he brought. Any other day and he would be making his way down your neck, soft touches to ease your aches. “How could I not want you?” he would tell you. His love would wash over you like an orgasm; it’s the only way he would ever say it.

None of that happens today, though. All of a sudden you realize the hand that’s holding yours is trembling. The words don’t come to Matty’s lips. The deafening silence plagues you with guilt. What the fuck am I doing? you ask yourself. And then Matty says it. “You know we can’t be together.”

It was a long time coming. “I know.” But you don’t really know, you were never given an explanation. It’s okay to be friends, to fuck, to give yourselves to each other, but for some unspoken reason a relationship was off the table.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he says. “But I don’t know how to be with you right now. I want to be good to you.”

You are good to me, you almost scream. You are so good to me. “We could just try,” you say. You hear the weakness in your voice. You want to wretch.

“I would hurt you.”

“I don’t care.”

“You do. You will.”

Matty is right and you so desperately wish he wasn’t. How easy it would be to hate him rather than let go of him. He could ruin you and you could despise him and there would be satisfaction. But all you have left now are questions. “Are we still friends?” The question sounds small and childish as you say it.

“I think so, yeah.” His voice shakes, but refuses to give. It makes you want to hold his head in your hands and press kisses to his cheeks until all is well. Remind him of love and how simple it can be.

You don’t know where to go from here. Matty’s guitar lays forgotten on the other side of the room as you sit together, silent. The next words uttered may be the last ones – what are you supposed to do with that?

Something inside you vows to never speak again.

Matty’s hand still holds yours, resting together atop his leg. Despite it all, you remain intertwined. You pray that this means something. Somewhere in the room, you find the courage to ask Matty what your heart has been aching to know. “Do you think we could fall in love again? Later, I mean.”

He gives you a soft smile, a sad one. “I like to think we could.”

#matty healy fic #matty healy x reader #matty healy angst #matty healy #angst #naomi’s writing !

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featherwingfae · 2 months

Text

So the nonhuman theme of the day that I've been seeing on the Internet seems to be self doubt both due to internal and external influences.

My response to this theme is this. You are who you are. And no one can tell you who you are but you. (The rest of the post is pretty much just this^^ in way more detail than necessary. You have been warned lol. Buckle up this is gonna be a long one. Literally took all day to write 😅)

Most of us live in a society where we've been told since infancy who we are are and what we must be, and if we don't fit in the predesignated boxes then there must be something wrong with us and we just need to be forced into a box. But just think about the vastness of life for a second. From macro to micro there's just so much to everything it's breathtaking. Everything is layered. Why should one being's existence be any different. There is what is seen and then there is everything else. Some thing's don't need to be understood by others, because they are not there for others. They are simply there. Wether we understand them or not. And that in itself (I think) is quite lovely.

I am Fae. Not just because of ______. I am Fae because it is simply what I am. It's what feels right.

It's ok to just exist. It's ok to live without ever fitting into boxes or labels. And if you find a label or box that fits you, that's ok too. It's your existence. Do what makes you happy. I've also found that sometimes, finding that feeling that you fit somewhere, comes first and the reasons why come after. Be patient. I know it's maddening sometimes when you've got a million questions bumping about in your head, or even just one or two burning ones, but life is a journey. A mystery to uncover through experiences.

I could give you a whole laundry list of reasons why I can call myself Fae. But at the end of the day, the only reason I need is that it feels right. I don't need to act like the stereotypical Fae (from folklore, media etc), I don't need to have magical experiences, I don't need memories. Keep in mind that your nonhuman identity does not need to match anyone else's.

If you're a Fae who loves technology and finds the modern age fascinating. Guess what? There's nothing wrong with that. (I LOVE Minecraft 😁 Though that may or may not have to do with the fact that I get to fly around and build whatever I want from nothing. Yes I'm obsessed with creative mode 😅 I usually get bored in survival)

If you're a Therian who's never enjoyed being on all fours or who doesn't like gear. It doesn't make you any less Therian. Do what makes you happy 😊.

If you're some ancient entity and you use an ungodly (hehe) amount of emojis and/or abbreviations (ex. Lol, omg, etc) it doesn't make you any less ancient or awesome. Do what you enjoy. You are too old to not be having as much fun as you can experience. I'm also an ancient creature, you really think I want to spend my time not doing what makes the happy chemicals 😊✨👁️🪽😁.

If you're an Alien who's not obsessed with space stuff. That's ok. Human portrayals probably don't do it justice anyway, and there's so many other things to be interested in. Like have you seen mushrooms? Those funky little guys come in so many varieties it's absolutely delightful 😊🍄✨.

If you're a vampire who can't stand the sight of blood. Don't worry about it. I can almost guarantee you're not alone (plus there's a lot of different types of vampires. If you know you are/were definitely sanguine then you're still valid 😊).

If you're fictionkin and you're absolutely nothing like your fictionkin type/character. That's ok 😊. People often change with their experiences, it doesn't make you any less yourself.

That last one applies to most nonhumans identities in general honestly 😅.

If you're an angel that doesn't/didn't have big feathery wings. You are still an angel. The universe is filled with too much color and variety for me to believe that all ______ have the same or very similar designs. I've never heard of an angel with dragonfly or beetle wings. That doesn't mean they don't exist 🙃.

You can be a plant who loves salads, a placekin who hates going outside, an objectkin that doesn't use it/it's pronouns or is super expressive, a vampire who adores sunbathing or just sunlight in general, a carnivore that doesn't like meat, an avian that's afraid of flying or heights, a demon with a heart of gold, a deity with social anxiety and/or low self esteem, an herbivore that loves going hunting, a dragon who prefers minimalism, an aquatic creature who doesn't like water, a void that's constantly overthinking, you can match all the known stereotypes for your nonhuman identity or none at all. You can have phantom shifts constantly or never get any, you can have countless identities, you can have just one, you can remember your past life/lives in detail or remember nothing at all, you can believe in past lives and souls, or not, your identity can be psychological, physical, spiritual, etc.

It's s your identity. No one else's. Just because you choose to share yourself or your identity with someone else does not mean they own you or your identity. It is, was and always shall be, yours. (Btw please please please, be careful who you share your nonhuman identity with. Not everyone is going to "get it". And not everyone is going to accept it. Stay safe, mentally, physically, emotionally etc.)

They say names have power. They also say not all things are what they seem. Whatever your nonhuman identity looks like, only you can know what it truly is. Understand that I am not saying that the appearance of one's nonhuman identity should be dismissed altogether, especially when one is still questioning. I am saying, that we shouldn't rely solely upon appearances. If your nonhuman identity fits in the category of x as far as appearances go but x just doesn't feel like it fits, then chances are, you're not x, or there's more to it than just x. I've known I was Fae since right around 2019. However I doubted myself for a long time because as far as I knew Fae were "supposed to have insect wings" and on top of having big feathery wings, I have a lot of them. In fact many of my nonhuman features could be considered angelic. However I've never felt particularly comfortable identifying as an angel. It just never felt like the right fit. It took awhile but eventually after I'd already accepted that my "angelic features" didn't make me any less Fae. I remembered why I had those features to begin with, and it all just clicked into place.

It's ok to not have all the answers or even the correct answers right away. Life is experiences. From moment to moment you are who you are. Things may change, new truths may be revealed, that doesn't make you or your identity any less real. You are whoever you are right now. Wether that is someone/something from everything you have ever been or ever shall be or just one thing right now, unconnected to anything else. You are not fake for changing. You're not fake for not changing. Most have doubts about themselves about all sorts of things. To the point where it seems like doubt is just part of the human world experience (not saying it's only a human world experience, just that everyone here seems to doubt themselves about something or other) and perhaps working through our doubts is a lesson of this place, then again maybe not 🤷. In the end what you believe is up to you😊.

Now, I'm not expecting that this single post from a total stranger will erase all your doubts. Not at all. I didn't write it to erase doubt, but rather to give it a little bit of something to fight against. To plant just one more seed in the hearts and minds of others who might need it or whom it might help in any way. This post is far from the only one out there, fighting doubt in its many forms and faces. And what I've said has already been said in many times and ways. But it's my take and not everything will click with everyone. If this post helps even just one being, then it has served it's purpose. Each and every single one or plural of us is unique in our own ways. And I truly believe that's one of the most wonderful things about life as a whole.

If you've read this far, I apologize if I got a bit carried away and made this post longer than necessary but it means a great deal to me and things that matter to me are very difficult to "sum up" 😅. And if you follow me. I warn you now that most of my posts will probably be a bit lengthy if not extremely so.

And now my dear creatures, crawlers, beasts, beauties, hellions, heavenlies (no I don't care that that's not a word it is now lol), magicals, marvels, wonders, wanderers, wildlings, winged things, whimsies, and whatsits (and everything beyond and in between) I wish upon you a most wonderful day/night. May you always know/remember that your existence makes the world a more magical place. 🌍✨ (And in my opinion we could use all the magic we can get 😊)

👁️🪽✨🍄🍀🪻🌱🥀❄️🌟✨

Till next time.

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 10 months

Note

I know you said you’d cry if someone requested it, but - like…

Would you write a short thing about Aemond cleaning his asshole? It’s definitely what the entire fandom needs, lol, and you would do it so well!

Here you go, my boobear. Thank you for waiting so patiently.

Cleanliness is Next to Godliness

Pairing: Aemond and the privy, I guess? Warnings: This is a crack fic. The request is all the warning you need. Word count: ~1k

Author's note: This is written as a joke between a mutual and I. If you're easily offended I implore you to employ the liberal use of "don't like, don't read". Community labels are for cops.

Aemond strives for perfection in all things. Growing up, he is teased mercilessly by his brother Aegon and his nephews, Jace and Luke. They perceive him as weak and pathetic, a Targaryen without a dragon. Truthfully, a more shameful existence does not exist for those of Valyrian ancestry; born with the blood to ride a dragon, yet unable to claim one.

When Aemond becomes the rider of Vhagar, the greatest dragon in all of Westeros, he makes a point to ensure it is an accolade he is worthy of. He studies history and philosophy to keep his mind sharp, trains with the sword to mold himself into a fearsome warrior and works hard to ensure he is viewed as nothing less than perfect.

This extends as far as his habits in the privy.

“What do you mean you don’t shit? Everyone does! I do it all the time!” Aegon says with heated exasperation.

“Not me,” Aemond says simply. “I am above such things. That is concentrated evil that comes out of the back of you.”

Maintaining a flawless facade requires diligence and discipline. Through trial and error, Aemond has managed to uphold his stoic reputation as a man with no taste for depravity for almost a decade.

There is a minor hiccup on his thirteenth name day when Aegon takes him to a pleasure house on the Street of Silk. The nerves that flutter in his stomach cause him to depart before he engages with any of the women that have been offered to him—not before he leaves a dirty protest on the floor, however, an offense for which Aegon takes the blame. His brother has to pay a fine of a golden dragon for the cleaning costs.

When Aegon questions him about it, Aemond simply shrugs and says, “I am above such things.”

Aemond awakens each morning in the space between the hour of the bat and the rooster, when the Keep is still quiet. As requested, the servants have left him a basin of water and a cloth, as they do every day. They know better than to ask why. Aemond carries it with great care to the privy and sets it on the floor, seating himself on the privy to move his bowels.

As he sits and strains, he ponders on the last time his Uncle Daemon had visited King’s Landing. He’d spent an age using the facilities, coming out afterwards with a smile that was almost proud upon his face, clapping Ser Criston Cole upon the shoulder and announcing, “I’d give that a moment if I were you, Ser Crispin. I’ve made quite the stench.”

He wishes he could shit so brazenly; Daemon is an accomplished soldier, an infamous dragon rider and shameless in his privy habits. Aemond both envies and admires him, but he is too deep into his ruse of not having normal bodily functions to backtrack now. Later that afternoon, Daemon had sliced Vaemond Velaryon’s head in half. Aemond is unsure of which act he is more impressed by; the thought of both makes his cock stir in a manner which disturbs and excites him.

Having had full elimination, Aemond sets about ensuring he is perfectly clean, removing all traces of his defecation from his person using the basin of water and cloth that he has brought in with him.

It is a task that is tricky to manage with just one eye. Over the years, there have been incidents where he has accidently daubed the wall with feces, to be later discovered by furious maidservants who have the unfortunate task of cleaning it off. Thankfully, his mother automatically places the blame on Aegon and he goes free without suspicion or a scolding.

He is better practiced now, however, and leaves no trace of his misgivings behind. Cleanliness is next to godliness, his mother once told him; he sends up a prayer to each of the Seven as he dabs at his soiled ring of muscle. It passes the time and helps occupy his mind from the humiliation of what he is having to endure.

On this particular morning, Aegon throws open the privy door as Aemond squats over the basin of water, his eyes going wide first with shock then delight as he takes in the sight before him.

Aemond freezes, mortification shooting hotly through his body from head to toe. Aegon reeks of wine; he must have decided to stumble back to the Keep, instead of sleeping it off in the bed of whichever whore he’d taken for the evening.

“I knew it!” Aegon slurs with a grin. “That is concentrated evil coming out the back of you! Just wait until Jace and Luke hear about this!”

He staggers away, his laugh maniacal as Aemond shakes with rage and embarrassment, hurriedly pulling his breeches back up.

Aegon says nothing further on the matter as the days pass, and Aemond assumes he must have been too far into his cups to remember. He breathes a sigh of relief. His reputation remains untarnished.

That is, until he flies to Storm’s End to take one of Lord Borros Baratheon’s daughters as his wife.

Luke arrives as they are getting acquainted, and Aemond wastes no time in ensuring he feels unwelcome. “Look at this sad creature, my Lord,” he says smugly. “Little Lucerys Strong. You are wet, bastard. Is it raining, or did you piss yourself in fear?”

Luke smirks and quips back. “Was your coat tarnished brown when you put it on, or did it get in the way while you washed your arse in the privy?”

Aemond flies into a rage. It is that day that Luke and his dragon, Arrax, meet their end at the jaws of Vhagar. To anyone that asks, it is a terrible accident, but Aemond knows the truth. So does Aegon. But his brother never says a word. And so, the One-Eyed Prince keeps his brown eye clean in private, and the matter is never spoken of again.

The battle between factions of House Targaryen indeed began over a throne, but not one made of swords as the history books would have people believe.

#hotd crack fic #aemond targaryen crack fic

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cowboyellies · 9 months

Text

august e.w. (1)

summary/ author’s note: hello! this is my first tumblr fanfic (also my first post because I’m not really sure yet how this website functions lol) I decided since it’s august to write an ellie fic inspired by the taylor swift song! (and the folklore love triangle in general) for those already aware of the story, ellie is supposed to be james, dina is betty, and the reader is augustine. the characters are all supposed to be in the summer before they start college (18) so a slight difference from taylors lyrics. other than that the story is pretty much the same (aka angsty with a sad ending for poor reader </3) this is gonna be a multiple part fic so buckle up!

for those not knowledgeable in the folklore cinematic universe: after an awful fight with dina right before the start of summer (and dina’s three month long summer trip) ellie is left with unanswered questions about her and dina’s relationship and their future. ellie then meets you and pretty soon you begin a summer fling, leaving you questioning whether she was ever yours to lose?

warnings/themes: angst!!lots of it, cheating (womp womp), ellie is stupid and kind of a dick, reader is delusional and a little pathetic (me core), alcohol and weed use, eventual sexual themes (prob not in great detail because i suck at writing smut) talk of non consensual groping, homophobia (fun!)

word count: 2.1k

---

you decided to leave the prom an hour and a half early. the music was lame, the tacky decorations didn’t do nearly enough to mask your public school’s moldy gym, and your date, who you had made sure to inform multiple times that you were just going as friends, tried to stick his tongue down your throat in the middle of the dance floor. you said goodbye to your small group of friends who were still partying with their dates, and made it to the exit of the sweaty gym, making sure to toss the lame corsage you had been given in the trash on the way out. since your debt ridden public school had cheapened out at the last minute and moved the prom’s venue from a nice event hall two towns over to the gymnasium, your friends decided to skip the whole overly expensive limo thing and just take your cars. you made your way to your old but lovable station wagon and began driving the opposite way from your house. you knew if you came home this early your mom would bother you with questions so you figured you’d stop and get a slurpee to pass the time.

and that’s when you saw her, the girl you had seen earlier in the night awkwardly standing near the punch bowl fiddling with her thumbs while her date danced energetically with her friends. you had seen ellie williams before but never paid much attention to her. she had a famously close friendship with dina woodward, probably the most beloved girl in your small town yet she herself kind of flew under the radar. It wasn’t until tonight when you saw ellie in her black suit, arms linked with dina as they entered the dance that you realized they were definitely together. given your small town’s outdated views and ridiculously rampant gossip mill they could obviously never label themselves as together publicly, but you could tell. you knew the small town closeted lesbian look all too well.

you noticed now as you approached the reddened stop light where you both would be waiting for the next minute that she looked really sad. her posture crumpled as she trudged along the broken cobblestone, a look one could only describe as heart broken across her face. Impulsively you felt your fingers moving to roll down the car window. you weren’t the type of person to involve yourself in anyone’s personal problems, but the mixture of your own shitty night and ellie's grim expression moved something in you to open up that window.

“hey!” you called out to her across the sidewalk. her saddened daze broke and she looked up at you surprised, so lost in thought she forgot anyone else in the world existed. “get in!” you yelled, shocking yourself in the process. you watched as her face changed from confusion to wariness. you watched as she mulled the proposition over in head, registering your prom dress as a sign you had come from the same place as her and therefore most likely were not trying to murder her, only give her a ride home. she hurried over to your car before the light could turn green, shutting the door with intense force behind her making the both of you slightly jump. soon after the light turned green and you began driving to the 7-11 which was only a couple of minutes away, a 90s song quietly played in the background as you nervously tapped your fingers on the wheel, starting to regret your decision as you weren’t sure what to say.

Ellie opened up her mouth a few times to talk, but realized she wasn’t sure what to say either. This night had worn her down to exhaustion and for the first time in hours sitting silently in your car provided her with a surprising sense of calm. as your car finally pulled into the neon lit 7-11 parking lot you finally turned to look at her. her expression while still sad had lightened a little and you noticed now under the intense lighting how pretty her freckles were.

“do you want a slurpee?”

—

you and ellie sat on the hood of your car quietly sipping your slurpees, yours a mixture of cherry and coke, her’s blue raspberry. the parking lot where you sat was vacant, the only other car there was likely the worker of the 7-11 behind you.

“so…” you began to speak, putting an end to the comfortable silence. “prom was pretty great huh” you joked. she shook her head and smiled lightly, turning to look at you the first time that night. she noticed quickly that you were very beautiful, a fact that hadn’t crossed her mind in the midst of her heartache. she wondered suddenly why you had left the prom as early as her, another thought that hadn’t crossed her mind.

“so um, dina, was she your date?” you asked, trying to keep your voice as nonchalant as possible, already knowing the weight behind your words. you noticed her body stiffen and soon regretted bringing it up.

“sort of yeah,” she replied, her voice harsh. an awkward silence rested between you two until she began to speak again. “what about you, no date?”

“I wish, I had a date, jamie dawson. I thought we were just going as friends until he tried to grope me during the cha cha slide,” you cringed, taking another slip of your slurpee.

“gross. he’s a dick.” she replied. he was a dick, ellie had thought so ever since she caught him looking at dina’s ass while she cheered at last year’s fall pep rally. she wanted so badly in that moment to yell at him, inform him she was taken. but of course she couldn’t.

a similar situation is what led to her current shitty mood. she showed up to dina’s that night, crumpled corsage in hand as she nervously knocked on her door. she was greeted by dina’s dad. mr. woodward had always scared ellie since the first time she had met him in eighth grade. he made his disdain for ellie clear to his daughter, as he disapproved dina having such a close relationship with a girl like her, a girl who skateboarded around town in her dirty converse and boyish clothes. he hated how close they were and even though they had always done their best to hide the real nature of their relationship, he always suspected something was going on between them. when mr. woodward saw her at the door standing in her thrifted suit, his face crumpled in contempt, the first hindering in ellie’s confidence that night.

she brushed past that as she made her way into the woodward’s foyer where dina and her friends resided. ellie knew most of the girls due to cheer performances and all the time’s dina had dragged her along to events like this, but she was never really close with any of them. along with dina’s friends stood their dates, most of them douchey football players who were among the bunch of boys who found pleasure in shouting homophobic insults at her in the school halls. the one nice one among them she recognized was jesse. ellie knew him from her astronomy class and had always liked partnering up with him for group projects, his sense of humor was similar to hers and they always found themselves being scolded by the teacher for laughing during lectures.

she creeped inside awkwardly waving as the crowd eyed her entrance. dina wasn’t in the room and she quickly began to panic until jesse snapped her out of it by dapping her up.

“ELLIE!!!” he shouted as he wrapped her in a bro hug. she found herself being thankful to whichever cheer girl brought him as her date.

soon after dina descended from the stairs, scanning the room to see if ellie arrived yet. when her eyes landed on the auburn haired girl she broke out into one of her signature bright smiles. when she reached ellie she quickly wrapped ellie in a hug, making sure not to let the gesture linger considering her parents were in the corner setting up their fancy digital camera. “took you long enough,” she teased

“sorry I forgot your corsage and had to go ba-”

“I’m just teasing you, I don't care,” she replied gently, reaching down to grab the plastic corsage container. ellie blushed, noticing since she’d arrived all of dina’s friends sporting much fancier corsages. “I love it!” dina beamed. opening the box for ellie to put it on her. dina’s parents eyed them from the side of the room, suspicious of the intimate gesture. The only reason they allowed dina to go as ellie’s “date” was because dina told them no one had asked her. that was a blatant lie, there was a day the week before prom where three boys had asked her in one lunch period.

the group lined up for group pictures and ellie stood nervously, trying to look as platonic as possible posing next to her girlfriend of almost two years. soon when people began branching off to do couples pics, dina’s parents beckoned her over. ellie stood in her original position but could clearly hear the whole conversation.

“we noticed that nice boy jesse is going stag, why don’t you two pose for some pictures together?” dina’s mom prodded, stroking dina’s hair. ellie tensed.

“mom n-”

“come on sweetie, when you're older don’t you want to show your kids pictures of your date from your senior prom? not pictures of you and your friend,” her voice hardening on the word friend. dina began protesting more but suddenly mrs. woodward was calling jesse over to them. ellie watched in the corner as the woodward’s began posing the two of them together. dina sported a tense smile while jesse, confused by the situation but happy he got to be in that close of a vicinity to a hot girl smiled brightly.

after the pictures the group made their way into the big limo dina’s parents had rented. dina linked arms with ellie and quickly noticed her tense nature. “hey, i'm sorry about that,” she whispered softly.

“s’ okay” ellie replied, forcing a small smile. she knew dina wasn’t at fault for her parents' insane actions, but that didn’t stop her from hurting whenever they pulled stuff like that.

the rest of the night continued on regularly. ellie still felt awkward amongst dina’s friends but tried her best to put on a front for her. as she and her friends danced energetically to early 2000s hits, ellie stayed to the side, letting her girlfriend enjoy the night without having to subject her to her awkward dancing. she figured she would pop in during the slow songs, the light swaying they required being the only move she could handle. that’s why when the ridiculously corny ed sheeran song that for some reason dina loved came on, ellie began making her way to the dance floor. she stopped suddenly at the edge of the floor when she saw dina smiling as she swayed with jesse. ellie’s heart dropped when she saw their joyful expressions, jesse spinning dina at a completely different tempo than what the song called for, both of them laughing hysterically

in retrospect ellie should have known this supposed act of intimacy she had walked in on was just jesse dicking around and trying to ruin the slow song for the rest of the couples on the dance floor, but seeing her laughing and holding onto his hands made ellie want to hurl. so much so, she quickly exited the gym. trudging alone in the dark scraping her doc martens on the rundown cobblestone street until you came along, offering her a ride.

you watched as ellie finished her slurpee, her face bitter as she recalled the night's events. you didn’t press her on it any further, knowing by her expression whatever had happened was bad.

“where do you live? I’ll give you a ride. I have to kill time before I get home anyway,” you said as you slid off your car's hood and began unlocking it.

“thanks,” she replied, mimicking your actions. after she got in the car she began thinking back to your last sentence. “why can’t you go home?”

“don’t want my mom asking annoying questions. you know, worrying about me and shit,”

“I get that,” she thought of what joel would say when she returned home, all bleary eyed and disheveled looking. she realized she should probably wait to go home until she knew he was asleep. “actually, um if you don’t have anywhere to be… could we just drive around for a bit?”

you smiled softly and placed your hand on the ignition, “sure.”

—

authors note: sorry not much happens in this chapter I promise it will get good in the next one I just wanted to introduce the story a little and try to explain ellie and dina’s relationship before I got into writing more about the reader and ellie🫶

#ellie williams #ellie william angst #ellie williams au #tlou #tlou2 #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams fanfic #august #august by taylor swift #folklore love triangle #modern!ellie williams #modern au #cowboyellies

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aroacesafeplaceforall · 2 months

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Hi, I'm aroace. you "do not ship canon aroace char" is deeply misleading. I shouldn't explain it to you but aromanticism and asexuality are spectrums. Where Alastor falls on that spectrum depends on how who writes him. He can be comfortable with a particular "messed up" idea of "romance" that does not align with the normal concept of romance. He can be into kinks/fetishes without being into traditional sex - and he will still be ace. Hell, he's a serial killer, and guess how high is the percentage of sexual deviants among serial killers.

Grey aromanticism and grey asexuality are a fucking thing and it's genuinely a shame fellow aroaces try to shame those of us who are on the grey part of the spectrum into thinking that aroace characters cannot be shipped. Yes... they can. Just like aroace people can be in romantic and sexual relationships of non-traditional kind and still associate themselves with the labels.

Comparing homosexuality, often seen as non-spectral (though many people can argue and we should Not Be Like This About Labels), with spectrums of aromantic and/or asexual attraction is deeply misguided. It makes me wonder if you are fully aware what you're talking about.

*I've been in the fandom since the pilot and I never heard about Viv confirming his aromanticism, just his asexuality. If new information dropped, I'd love to hear it - but if he is just ace, you guys should now be assigning aromanticism to him just because. Romantic asexuals exist, it's normal.

Bestie… how about you check the post you’re quoting?

This is for all aroace characters. Not just some random ass demon (??) from a show I’ve never seen but people seem to be obsessed with…

Sure if they’re called aroace SPEC then go ahead and speculate… but if they’re called AROACE then well kinda different situations lol…

it’s also a different situation if someone is posting shit like “IF I EVER SEE YOU SHIP (canon gay man) WITH (women character) IM BLOCKING YOU SO HARD” and then turn around and say “AROACE IS A SPECTRUM IM NOT BUT OTHERS ARE AND I SAY THIS!!!”

I’ve also stated multiple times that I have far less of an issue with it then some of those posts might make you believe. I’m pretty sure I did a post somewhere about my “here’s how you don’t fuck up” rules.

I can’t quote it but I know some highlights:

-if your aspec you can ship, I know your not going to be gross about it (hopefully)

-acknowledgment of aspec identity in the fic no matter the contents

-if someone is written as sex-repulsed; don’t do the opposite. Same with romance-repulsed

Sincerely,

An aegosexual/aromantic pansexual, who’s been doing this shit for about 2 years now and known about aspec identity/advocated for, for far longer

#asks #ask #aromantic #aroace #asexual #aro #ace

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xx-slug-xx · 9 months

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Hey @rittz :) this is my side blog so I’m replying to you in a post. If you want to reply to whatever I say here, then I’d really appreciate it if you just did so through reblog if that’s fine with you lol

First of all, I’m not uncomfortable with my identity whatsoever. I wouldn’t even say I exist in a middle ground either, and I’m also not uncomfortable with that fact about myself. I cannot control my identity, and I’m perfectly fine with that, but that doesn’t mean that my identity isn’t complex. I love being complex! This is especially true when talking about sexuality. Humans are complicated creatures after all, so I am no different. I actually don’t lean on any one single label to describe my sexuality, because multiple labels are able to define me in some way. I don’t know what to tell you, but I find it redundant that people expect every person on this planet to adhere to there personal expectations for any given label, especially for those in the LGBTQ+ community. I’m not apologetic about that, or the fact that I don’t fit into your personal definition for any given term. You say I’m “not actually asexual”, however, you know nothing about me besides the post that you commented on. You don’t know my life, my sexual history, or what lead me to use the label in the first place. People use labels for different reasons. Most people don’t just uses a label because it sounds cool. They choose a label that they personally feels best defines them. I am no different. Labels for my sexual identity aren’t for others to apply to me, it’s for me to apply to myself based on my own personal life experiences.

I find it funny that you have claimed to not be aphobic. However, most of the points you’ve made have been, inherently, aphobic talking points. “you’re too young”, “you don’t have the sexual experience to know”, “not being a sexual person can be normal”, and “you haven’t found the right person” are all aphobic talking points, and yet, you used all of them in some capacity. You can claim you aren’t aphobic all you want, but it’s obvious that you have internalize aphobia in some form due to how you discuss this issue. And to address these points, I’m an adult (21) whose more than capable of knowing what I want, and I have absolutely no desire for sexual intimacy with another person. It’s not that hard to understand, both for myself and for others. My age doesn’t dictate anything about my sexuality or how much I am aware of it’s affect on me, and the same goes for others in the LGBTQ+ community. I find it rude that you make assumptions about my sexual history due to my age and due to the fact that I do not fit into your personal deffiniton for “asexual”. It’s much more rude when you know you’ve said aphobic things and are inherently being exclusionist, and try to deflect it by saying you aren’t. This goes for anyone. It’s a bad argument when you say one thing while trying to make yourself look better by saying that the opposite is true. It’s not too dissimilar to “I’m not racist, but-”, though obviously, it’s not exact. You can say you aren’t trying to be rude and whatever else, but that doesn’t make what you have to say change it’s meaning into something that someone won’t take as being objectively rude.

You’re right in saying that asexual and allosexual are not sliding scales. It’s a spectrum, but that’s sexuality in general. People use labels for different reasons. Personally, I have found that using the asexual label to define me is a whole lot easier when I have to discuss my sexuality with others. If I were to go into depth, it would be an essay. I’m not going to confuse others with a long-winded response to a simple question. Telling people “I’m asexual” is more comfortable for me and for others. I also do not need to explain my sexuality in depth to anyone, and that includes you. Nobody has the right to know everything about me, let alone why I chose a specific label. That’s the whole point in labels, partially, in my opinion. A single word that can be used to define and simplify a very complex aspect of a person, that’s how I see labels.

It’s also more than strange to me that you, someone who isn’t asexual, is trying to define what the term means for us. This assumption is based on the fact that you only refer to other people as being asexual, and not yourself. If you don’t apply to this label, then who are you to tell us how we are supposed to use it? Now I could be wrong in this, if so, then let me know.

You’re also trying to imply that I imagine allosexuals as people who are always horny. Which isn’t true for me and how almost every person defines the term “allosexual”. You’re coming up with arguments that are based purely on hypotheticals. Your also implying that libido and sexual atraction are the same thing, which they aren’t. I, and anyone else, can be horny and not want to be sexually intimate and/or experience attraction. Don’t equate a biological response to stimuli that people experience and say that every time someone feels horny (or really, any form of arousal), then they are feeling sexual attraction. That’s a very dangerous way of thinking. An example for why this is true would be people with P-OCD who experience any form of arousal from their intrusive thoughts, which is quite commonly found in any sexually-themed intrusive thoughts. Key word is intrusive thoughts, as they are unwanted and people who experience these thoughts are often disgusted by them. Though it’s unwanted, they feel arousal nonetheless. This arousal does not mean they are attracted to these thoughts, or the idea of acting on them. It’s just how the brain and body work together. You can do your own research on the topic if you don’t believe me.

The LGBTQ+ community is full of labels that can change meaning depending on how an individual defines that term for themselves. An example would be calling yourself “gay”. Gay is most often used to define people who experience homosexual attraction. However, different people will use it in different ways. It doesn’t just mean that someone is a gay man or a lesbian. A lot of bisexual people, pansexual people, and others will use the term “gay” to describe themselves. People generally call themselves gay if they feel any sort of attraction, in any amount, towards someone who isn’t the opposite gender. People also commonly call themselves gay if they are attracted to agender, non-binary, and/or genderfluid people. However, for some people, when applied to that specific individual, “gay” means they are only attracted to people of the same gender. The point is, the label “gay” doesn’t just have one stagnant meaning applied to it. It all depends on how an individual is defining it for themselves, not for others. The same can be said for asexual people as well, from my personal experience with myself and the asexual community.

From my experience with people who describe themselves using “asexual”, or any other label under the ace umbrella, their lack of sexual attraction has a much larger role in their sexuality than any sort of feeling of allosexuality does. Aceflux, grey ace, and demisexual are all a few examples of labels people use when they fit into the ace spectrum in some fashion. If you try to argue that these well established labels for peoples’ sexualities do not exist, then I cannot feel comfortable arguing about this with you. It is not appropriate to discuss the existence of other people and their experience with their sexuality in a way that at all insinuates that they are “wrong” or that these sexualities “do not exist”.

I typically use the label “aegosexual” because I fit into that term to the T. However, most people don’t know what that word even is. I also don’t want to explain it to people constantly. Because it fits under the asexual umbrella, I just use “asexual” when I’m in the real world. Or, I just say “queer”. It’s really not a big deal and it doesn’t hurt people. It doesn’t even muddle the original term in any fashion, from my standpoint at least, because it tells people “oh, this person doesn’t like sex, doesn’t have sex, and doesn’t wish to have sex”, which is true for me. That’s all it needs to be, and I don’t owe people any more than that, or even anything if I really think about it.

Quite frankly, anyone who tries to tell me what I’m allowed to call myself based on my perception of my own life experiences is a fool to me. I’m a random internet stranger, and people only know me based on my posts. I don’t post every aspect about myself, and I don’t need to either. If I find a different label that better defines me, then I will use that one. Or if I find that something about my sexuality changes in the future, then I will change my label. But right here, in this moment, this is the label that I feel best defines me. Nobody is going to convince me that I’m wrong about something I’ve had to live with my whole life. I don’t tell you what you can call yourself, you shouldn’t tell me what to call myself either.

#lgbtq+#discource #lgbtq discourse #asexual #asexuality #ace pride

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