#i should not have to tolerate harassment because you feel that you deserve and still chase after the same pariarchal space that cis men have | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vodika-vibes · 2 months

Note

I seriously love your work and I’m so glad I caught your follower celebration in time!! May I please have jonquil and coriander with Captain Rex and F!Reader? Reader is a mechanic for the 501st? And Rex secretly loves her and carries her back to her quarters when she dozes off at her workstation in the hangar after long nights post-campaigns when she’s exhausted and is insanely curious about her tattoos that peek out from under her coveralls?

It's A Secret

Summary: You want Rex. Rex wants you. It takes a long night and a short conversation to make either of you do anything about it.

Pairing: Captain Rex x F!Reader

Word Count: 1619

Warnings: Smutty, though there's no actual detail

Prompts: Jonquil - you occupy my thoughts, Coriander - lust

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I hope this is okay! The actual smut didn't feel right for some reason, so I ended up deleting it. Sorry. 😔

You release an exhausted noise as you finish the last of the items on your list. As much as you enjoy your job, and as much as you appreciate the fact that you’re useful to the war effort, it’s still exhausting.

You end each day with aching muscles and an exhausted brain.

And while you’re glad for it, it makes it easy to sleep, you’re more than ready for the war to be over. Partly because you haven’t had a proper spa day in what feels like forever, but mostly because you’re worried for the boys you serve with, and you want them to take a break.

They deserve a break.

You stretch your arms over your head with a groan. All you have to do is clean up your mess and then you’re free for the night. Free to shower and crash.

Ugh, imagine having time for fun.

“Still hard at work, I see.”

You turn on your stool and beam at the man standing only a little bit away from you, “Captain! Welcome back.”

“Thanks,” Rex absently rolls his shoulder as he walks over to you, and you can’t help but marvel at how handsome he is. Sure, he looks like all of his brothers, but there’s something…regal about him.

It’s insanely attractive.

“Any word from up high on how much longer we’re going to be here?” You ask as you hop from your stool and start cleaning up, “I’m not sure how much longer the equipment is going to tolerate the muck.” You say with a scrunch of your nose.

Rex laughs quietly as he claims your abandoned stool, “The equipment or you, mesh’la?”

“Both!” You spin and point at him with a wrench, “The equipment is absorbing my bad vibes. I’m so tired of the muck!”

Rex laughs a little louder, “Sadly, we’re going to be here for a couple months more.”

“I deserve hazard pay.” You announce as you turn and throw your wrench into its place, and then walk back to your bench and organize some things that stay on your table.

“Mm, sure you do.”

You turn away from him and sigh at the mess that is the shelving. You really don’t have time to deal with this during the day, but it needs to be done. So you take a steadying breath, and pull your hair up off your neck into a knot, and you start to work.

Though, you pause when you hear Rex make a strangled noise.

“Something wrong?”

“Is that a tattoo on your neck?” Rex asks, his voice sounding odd.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I have a bunch of them. Just, they’re normally hidden under my jumpsuit.” You flash a small grin at him, and then turn your back towards him.

“Huh. I didn’t know you had any.” Rex admits, and you turn back to look at him when you hear him get to his feet, “I should go make sure that Fives isn’t harassing Jesse too much. Don’t work too hard, Mesh’la.”

“Sure, sure.” You wave him off, “I have to finish this, though. So I’ll be here for a while.”

And then he’s gone, and you’re able to focus.

Honestly, you’d think that the other mechanics would know how to clean up after themselves.

It’s late. Late enough that even he should be asleep, but Rex is filled with a nervous energy that he can’t seem to shake.

Well. Not nervous. Not really.

His mind is locked on the flash of blue he caught a glimpse of on his mesh’la’s neck. He is insanely curious about what tattoos she has, and, honestly, the fact that she has tattoos at all only increases his attraction to her.

And he already fists his cock to the thought of her lips wrapped around him on a nightly basis.

Well.

Not just her lips.

In any event, he’s wound too tightly to actually get any sleep.

So here he is, wandering the ship, trying to get his mind off his mesh’la and her tattoos, and failing.

His feet bring him to the hanger, and then to the corner of the hanger where the maintenance team works. Sure, she won’t still be there, but being in her space might help him clear his mind.

Rex stops when he sees his mesh’la dozing at her workbench.

He should leave. He shouldn’t bother her. She works so hard-

He steps closer to her and brushes some loose hair off of her face. She shouldn’t be sleeping here, it’s not good for her back. He moves his hand to her shoulder, to shake her awake, when she mumbles something in her sleep and buries herself in her arms.

And Rex realizes that he can’t wake her up.

He knows where her room is, he could carry her to her room, but he doesn’t know the door code. He has no reason to know the door code. The medbay is an option, there are plenty of beds…but Kix’s head will explode if he brings someone there because he doesn’t want to wake her up.

The only other option is his bed.

He stamps down on the images flashing through his mind without really giving them a second thought. She’s tired, overworked, and needs someplace to sleep. He can sleep on the floor or at his desk or something.

Carefully he lifts her into his arms, and she whines before she rolls towards the warmth of his body.

Well…at least it’s late enough that no one is going to give him a hard time about this. Or her, for that matter.

Rex makes it back to his room in record time, and makes sure that the door is locked behind him, before he carefully settles his mesh’la on his bed. He removes her boots, and sets them next to the bed, and then he covers her with the blanket, and he steps away to sit at his desk.

He powers on his datapad and starts reading through some reports. It’s too bad that she never bothered to change out of her jumpsuit. He really is curious about her tattoos.

You stir when something wakes you up.

You’re curled around a pillow, though it’s not your pillow. It doesn’t smell like your shampoo, and you slowly realize that you’re not in your room. You blink at the bare wall in utter bafflement, and then you sit up.

“...Rex?”

He looks up from his datapad, and a small smile crosses his face, “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“...why am I in your room?” You ask, more confused than upset.

“You fell asleep at your workstation, and I didn’t want to leave you there. And it felt wrong waking you up.” Rex explains.

You glance at your chrono, 2 am “...have you been awake this whole time?”

“...I couldn’t sleep, so-”

You scramble out of the bed, “Rex! You need your sleep!”

“I wasn’t about to sleep in the same bed as you, mesh’la.” Rex points out.

“That’s very sweet, and very respectful, but Rex, I wouldn’t have cared.” You say as you walk over to him and pull him out of his chair, “You’re you.”

“...thank you?”

“I just meant. I trust you. I feel safe with you. I know you would never do anything.” You clarify.

“Ah.” Rex pauses, “That makes sense.” He lightly pulls his arm out of your hands, and sets his hand on your shoulder, “I would have to lay pretty close to you for us both to fit, mesh’la, practically on top of you.”

You release a frustrated noise, and stand on your toes to kiss the corner of his lips.

He blinks at you, surprised, and then something almost predatory slides through his gaze, “Mesh’la, I want to see your tattoos.” His hand slides to the zipper high at your neck, “Can I see them?”

You frown at him, you just kissed him and he wants to see your tattoos? That’s not at all how you wanted him to react. “Yeah, if you like.”

He eases the zipper all the way down, and then he pushes the rough material off your shoulders. You move to catch the top of your jumpsuit before it falls too far, but Rex is faster than you.

He catches your wrists and allows the material to fall around your feet. Rex brings your hands to his lips and he presses feather light kisses against the pads of your fingers, and you stare at him in awe.

“Rex-”

“Do you have any idea how much I want you?” Rex asks, his voice low and rough.

“...tell me.” You whisper up to him.

Rex’s hands slide up your arms, and then down your slides to lightly grip your hips. “Mm, I fist my cock to you every night.” He breathes out, his grip tight around your hips, “You’re always the first thing I think of when I wake up. I have dreams about burying my cock into you and fucking you into my bed until I’m the only thing on your brain.”

You slide your hands up his chest and then wrap your arms around his neck, “What else?”

He chuckles and he moves his lips to your neck, “Love the idea of marking you up. Making sure everyone knows that you’re spoken for.”

You release a breathless laugh, “Possessive.”

“Mm, maybe.” He nips at your neck, “I want you in my bed, pretty girl. Naked and wet and needy-” He trails off, dragging his lips from your neck to your ear, “What do you think?”

“Please.” You whisper up to him.

In the end, Rex wasn’t able to see your tattoos until morning as he was a little…distracted.

#star wars #tcw #vodika-vibes follower celebration #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #18+ fic #clone thirsting #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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granulesofsand · 11 months

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🗝️🏷️ discussion of RAMCOA with nonphysical examples, sh/suicide

For every person I see opening up about RAMCOA, there’s another telling the world to never so much as glance in its direction. We are shit at tone sometimes, so not to be rude, but I do have reasons I dislike the silence.

Reading about tortured children should never be comfortable, and if you have no reason to suspect a similar history, you can filter away the nastiness. We will never be able to have that ignorance, even if our front-facing alters don’t remember.

If you do suspect a history or end up having one, congrats! Time to start deprogramming. Chances are if you went through this flavor of hell, the stability you have is a cover for your involvement, past or current. Either way, I’ve never seen someone survive without any side effects, and addressing the problem is the only way to actually solve it.

Omega (death/sh) programs can be activated by looking into trauma material. Any trauma material. And a good amount of other stuff, like trying to leave your area or not reporting back to an assigned group member. Our omega programs have been passively problematic for years, and our first active cases were around 4 years old. It’s a common program line, and some groups install functioning versions very young. We did not know about any kind of abuse at 4, despite being trafficked and regularly hurt our whole life. It was triggered by existing too close to a ritual site, and we had sh behaviors and runaway attempts for ‘knowing too much’.

We were taught by abusers that what they were doing was good and normal at the same time they were teaching us we were dirty for living it and nobody would believe us. Pretty much all of that category was just convincing us not to tell on them, with punishment for breaking cult rules. We’ve read about survivors taking the ‘Golden Rule’ as ‘Silence’, and we have a similar experience. Any breaking of the quiet without direct harm at their hands is another inch towards safety. If we can convince ourselves they really did lie about their omnipotence, we can shake some programs based in those beliefs.

We were told that our system/body specifically was bad and wrong, and that these things happened to us because we deserved it. We don’t hold the same standard for outsiders, and their stories make us think we might not have been predestined for the life we got.

Outsiders who have no trauma history, and sometimes those who do, can be pretty insensitive. We have been harassed for having been sexually assaulted, called names for telling/not telling parts of our story, and insulted in various unpleasant ways because we were forced to perpetrate. We still commonly get a reaction of disbelief, even after months of building trust and then giving only vague summaries. The more people hear about this form of maltreatment and its effects, the higher their tolerance will be when someone needs them to show up.

It makes us feel more secure in our own memories when other survivors have similar experiences. To know that it can actually be that bad, it isn’t the norm, and others have gotten out and started healing is more weight off our shoulders I knew we carried. I, and other alters, have shame pits that we can sink into quick. The pure validation of knowing it happened, the flex tape of understanding it wasn’t their fault, the basis for comparison we have never had in anyone but our abusers. It helps us, even if it also hurts.

Silence is what they wanted. ‘They’ being the pedophile rings, cults, and other organized groups that rely on programming children and anyone else they got their hands on for profit. I genuinely do believe more people fit into our community than currently admit, and the gray doesn’t become visible until you open your eyes to the damn black and white.

#did osdd #dissociative identity disorder #traumagenic system #actuallydid #ramcoa #tw ramcoa #ramcoa vent #ritual abuse #organized abuse #mind control #manipulation #did system #osddid #sysblr #syscourse #polyfrag system #polyfragmented system #system

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thefrogdalorian · 3 months

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How can you still ship Dinbo when shippers have been so disrespectful to Katee AND she said it wasn’t going to be romantic?

Hello! I'm going to put most of this answer under the cut because it contains a lot of fandom discourse for one fine Sunday afternoon. But I wanted to give your question a full answer so I can direct any future questions I may receive of a similar nature to this answer because honestly, I am not a blog that revolves around shipping and I really do not want to be one! But thank you for asking a question without being aggressive, I am more than happy to answer :)

TL;DR: I hope the disrespectful idiots step on a lot of Lego. As much as I may share a ship with them, they do not speak for me and I cannot control their behaviour. I certainly do not condone it. Also, I ship Dinbo because I personally enjoy the idea of it and as much as I respect an actor’s opinion on their character, I do not necessarily have to share it. An actor should never be harassed for an opinion, that crosses an awful lot of lines that should never be crossed. I hate that that happened just as much as you do.

Ultimately I believe in ship and let ship. I stand against harassing real life people over fiction and more than anything: always always ALWAYS treat others with kindness!

Firstly, want to start off this answer by saying that I absolutely love Katee, she’s great and she brought SO MUCH to the character of Bo. I am thrilled she was able to portray her in all her forms, we're so lucky. To make such a successful leap from animation to live action is testament to how talented she is as an actress and I feel like she deserves so much more praise than she gets. It’s sad because in all of her comment sections after Mando S3 there were endless disgusting 2% jokes after ONE tiny comment she made on a much longer podcast appearance where she shared much more interesting stories. I think that was maybe the same one as she spoke a little about Dinbo but tbh, I haven't actually watched it because I can't stand podcasts... they make me cringe 😭

Anyway, those basement-dwellers focused on borderline sexually harassing her because of how attractive she is to them, rather than appreciating her talent. That just… absolutely sucks for her. I feel terrible for her. It was so widespread too and lasted for months… really hard to watch, tbh. But as far as I’m aware, it wasn’t Dinbo shippers that were leaving those comments.

Now, that’s not to deny that Dinbo shippers have taken things too far at some point, I’m sure they have! It wouldn't be the first time shippers in a fandom have crossed a line and sadly, it won't be the last. But I personally didn’t see it because I try and stay out of fandom discourse as much as I can. I really only have the energy and appetite to interact with the chill, respectful people on my little corner of the internet. If I ever saw anything that disrespected her, I would 100% call it out.

However, I do know there was that one panel appearance where people booed her or something? Ngl, I never watched the clip because just hearing about it made me cringe too much… (wow I really have a low tolerance for these things). I think, though, that it is a case of entitled assholes being entitled assholes, regardless of what they ship. It isn't a ship that makes them behave that way, that's the excuse, but really it's their idiotic, selfish nature. I think it would be a shame, then, to tarnish entire groups of people who might be enjoying a ship in a perfectly respectful way with that same brush, I don’t think that helps keep fandom spaces kind places to be. Absolutely screw all the people who have been disrespectful to Katee, I don’t condone that AT ALL. But equally, I am not responsible for actions of everyone who happens to ship the same thing as I do.

As much as I admire Katee and she absolutely DOES NOT DESERVE ANY NEGATIVITY FROM FANS, she is an actor at the end of the day. An actor’s opinion on a character is exactly that... their opinion. They portray them as their personal interpretation of the character and how they’re directed to, of course. I'm not arrogant or deluded enough to believe I know more about Bo-Katan Kryze than the person who portrayed her. I don't at all think that, but I think I can still disagree with Katee's opinion because, y'know, I'm human and humans don't always agree on everything.

The great thing about media is that audience can come away with a totally different view of the same character. Once the work is out there in the world, it takes on a life of its own, for better or worse. Sometimes beyond what even the creator intended originally. It’s like, for example, after you finish reading a book and you discover that other readers interpreted the exact same words in a completely different way. Some of those opinions you might agree with or entertain, some you completely disagree with and wonder how the hell they can even think such a thing. A portion of such interpretations probably aren’t even what the author intended, like this golden piece of tumblr history: the curtains were fucking blue.

This kind of thing has happened to me with my own writing before! People thinking a plot will go in a completely different way to what I intended. It's always a strange feeling, but as long as you don’t berate the author/fellow readers with different opinions, I think it’s perfectly reasonable to draw your own conclusions about it. After all, art is meant to be interpreted in many different ways. That’s the beauty of engaging with and creating art, to me.

At the end of the day, we're all bony sacks of meat with our own individual lizard brains and it would be boring if we all thought the same! Of course I still respect Katee’s opinion. If she says she wasn’t playing Bo to have romantic feelings towards Din then I’m not going to say she’s lying or get frustrated at her! That’s genuinely how she played it. Equally, it won’t really change my opinion because I know what I, personally, believe I saw in their interactions! Katee is more than welcome to share her thoughts, I would never think that she should stay quiet because I disagree with what she said… but equally I don’t have to let her words stop me from shipping something I enjoy! Plus I don’t think any of the cast know how Mando will end. Maybe they have some general plot ideas set out but nothing is final yet.

Ultimately, I’m equally happy for Din to end up with Bo or another love interest, if it makes sense for his character and feels right for the story, as I am for it just to be him and Grogu. The love he has for Grogu will always be the most important thing in his life. Loving a child like that changes you as a person and I love that we got to see how he evolved into a much better man because of it. Not to be a simp or anything but he truly is the best man in the world and I love him so much my chest aches.

A final point: I think if we just took actors and creators’ words as gospel then fandom would ultimately become a much duller place to be. Speculation and shipping are FUN (when done respectfully, of course). There’s so long to wait between seasons that if I just watched Mando repeatedly and never considered a different way to view the story… I just think it would be boring for me, personally. Enjoy the show however you want, watch it and interpret it however you want...but equally I will do the same! If you don’t share my ships and headcanons then that’s totally fine, as long as we can both respect each other and not lose our humanity.

Like I’ve said before, I welcome ALL Din ships and headcanons for Din or indeed for any characters. We may disagree on some of them, but ultimately, I am not right and you are not wrong… we’re all just nerds on the internet. And I’ll always try to make my blog a friendly, welcoming place to be for anyone who stops by, I really take that vow to you and anyone reading this very seriously.

I hope that answers your question and you can see where I’m coming from. I'm glad to have said my piece and I think any future questions I get like this, I'll just direct to this answer because it really sums up how I feel.

Thanks for reading if you made it this far. I just wanted to end this with what I said at the beginning: ship and let ship, don’t harass real life people over fiction and treat others with kindness… that’s my philosophy and it’s one that I’ll always stick by :)

#inbox #anon #dinbo #also pls note i am not a spokesperson for the entire dinbo fandom lol some of them might entirely disagree with what i wrote!!#discourse

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will-you-pick-me · 18 days

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So. I hate that this even has to be stated, because it should be a GIVEN, but.

This project and all people involved in the process of making it DO NOT, under any circumstances, tolerate:

- Racism

- Ableism

- Transphobia

- Homophobia

Or any other kind of bigotry, hate speech, harassment, or general shitty behavior. We are appalled at the things we are seeing being sent to other creators askboxes, even fans askboxes, and are severely disappointed in the community for behaving in this manner.

We know this is a small-but-loud minority of hateful members, but still. It's not acceptable. In no world should someone be called a "monkey" (HELLO??? DO YOU HEAR YOURSELF???) or sent transphobic messages in their askboxes.

Frankly, it's a bit terrifying. Where will the line be drawn for these harassers? How far is too far for them? What will they do next? Do I need to worry about my friends or fans in this community being sent death threats, next?

I'm appalled, but moreover I'm genuinely concerned about this community. We came here to share stories, be creative together, and have fun with a wider community who love the themes and tropes we love. Now, it feels almost as though the community is being turned against eachother from the inside out. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if maybe some TERFs/SWERFs or other bigoted people are capitalizing on the drama to stir shit and have a smokescreen under which to send their hate - it's unfortunately a tactic I've seen happen too often in too many communities.

While I have no proof that this is what's genuinely happening, I would like to encourage fans and creators alike to keep an eye out, block hateful anons where you see them, and if you feel safe and mentally well enough, check blogs that show up in your block lists to verify this suspicion.

I do not want anyone to retaliate to these blogs, as that would be lowering yourselves to their level and involving yourselves in drama that would be stressful on your mental, emotional, and possibly even physical health. I do, however, think it may be a POTENTIAL STRATEGY (note I say potential, here) to share these blog names PRIVATELY, and ONLY for the purpose of blocking and blacklisting - nothing else.

Again, do not retaliate to these blogs if you do happen to find out who they are. I strongly discourage that action and am not advising it in any way.

Retaliating against them would do several things:

- Give them an "excuse" to continue sending hate.

- Involve you in potentially dangerous drama.

- Expose you and your friends to hate campaigns and all associated hate messages.

- Continue a cycle of drama that nobody needs.

- Generally making the community even less safe.

So please, IF YOU DO find out who these people are, share PRIVATELY and SOLELY TO BLOCK/BLACKLIST.

In general, let's make this community safe, not only for races of all kinds, but also for every disability that we possibly can (we understand that some accommodations contradict eachother, which is a symptom of how varied the disability spectrum is, but that's deserving of a whole post of it's own), every sexuality under the sun, every gender expression and lack thereof.

We stand with the queer, disabled, and POC members of the yansim community, who quite frankly have made this community POSSIBLE. There's no denying they are a large percentage of this community and as such deserve respect for building the foundations of this place.

To my fellow creators, stay strong, turn off anons if you feel the need to, and don't let the hate drown out the work you're putting into this world.

To fans, please show eachother and creators your support, keep making fanart and blurbs and fanfics and headcanons, and in general keep putting good out into the community to keep it alive and drown out this hate and drama.

We CAN make it through this, we CAN keep going, and we CAN continue creating wonderful stories - together.

Stay safe, hydrate, eat, take meds/breaks from binders and gaffs/sleep if you need to, and we love you.

💗

#mun talks #updates #important #barring anything severe this will be the last we speak on it so. yeah

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phoenixduelist · 6 months

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BASICS !

Name / Alias: Jasmine

Pronouns: she/her

Type of muses: canon | OCs | both | other (specify)

GENERALITIES !

Triggers people MUST tag: None.

Interest tracker / checker: I have it and it's mandatory | I have it, it's not mandatory but I'm more likely to follow back / interact with the people who fill it | I have one and I prefer it if people fill it in | I have it but it's to people whether to fill it or not | I don't have one | other: I don't have one but probably should have because the Véghváryverse has gotten out of hand

Rule passwords: I have one and it's mandatory | I have one and it's optional | I don't have one | I send passwords | don't sent passwords | when should I send a password?? If I send it while the other person hasn't followed back I feel like I'm being pushy & almost demanding a follow back. If I don't send it and follow them, then they will think I didn't read the rules.

3-5 ESSENTIAL RULES PEOPLE HAVE TO RESPECT

My blogs are +18 only. I know you feel ready and don't know why is this thing so common; I felt the same way. You will get it when you're older.

Don't use Amber Heard as a faceclaim if you would like to write with me. I don't tolerate Johnny Depp slander either.

Like my characters, my writing style is also intense. Grand storylines, deep emotions, detailed fight scenes, serious conflicts. As @erthlyheavn once called the 'genre' (and I'm still extremely honored): Jasminean tragedy.

3-5 IMPORTANT PET PEEVES TO KEEP IN MIND

Tiny ass icons (less than 100x100) with a distorting psd slapped onto it with a fancy border. I CAN'T SEE SHIT. Let alone make out the character's expression. This isn't a dealbreaker though, I just don't understand the appeal of something so microscopic supposing to convey emotions.

Extreme formatting to the point I have difficulty reading it, despite my eyesight is great.

Haven't really happened, but expecting Rozy (or any of my muses) to be immediately down to have sex with yours. She might feel attraction at first sight, especially if the first meeting is a swordfight, but she's a trauma ridden gray asexual. It will take some time.

That being said, treating OC X Canon ships like it's the fucking 8th deadly sin.

2-5 THINGS THAT WILL LEAD TO INSTANT (SOFT) BLOCKING

Porn bots duh.

Blogs without displayed +18 age (I am fine with personal blogs if they are +18)

Terfs, racism, homophobia, Amber Heard supporters etc

Anon hate, unless I'm feeling snappy enough to answer.

2-5 THINGS THAT LEAD ME TO UNFOLLOW / SOFT HARDBLOCK A MUTUAL / SOMEONE I INTERACT WITH

We all know and put in the no racists etc list in our rules but I haven't seen many 'don't interact if you're anti sex work'. So if I see anyone speaking poorly of sex work in general, sex workers of any kind from full time workers to selling feet pics on Onlyfans; saying they deserve whatever treatment because of their line of work, daddy issues/uneducated/unintelligent jokes, use of slurs: get the fuck out of my sight and be very glad I'm not your neighbor. My blogs are all safe spaces for every kind of sex workers.

Portraying pedophilia/rape/sexual abuse in a positive light. It's not the same as having those in your character's backstory, nor if your character has a warped mindset on it due to what they been through. I am able to tell when the mun themselves write it as a kink instead a character's trauma response.

Being soooooo 'anti callout' that they refuse to heed the 20+ page google docs of evidence and still interact with known abusers in the rpc. And I'm not talking about 'they called my friend stupid and have a similar theme as them' petty shit. I'm talking about grooming, pedophilia, slandering, manipulating, doxxing, harassing, stalking. If you let that fly because their writing is good, they make you graphics or for whatever the sorry attempt of an excuse; what the fuck.

Giving me unwarranted, unwanted, condescending criticism about my writing. This doesn't mean I don't accept criticism, far from it. I also ask for feedback from time to time. I don't care how this will sound: I know I'm a good writer. I researched everything, poured history, psychology, years of development, depth, nuances, despite her strengths/talents she is balanced on the power scale (especially with the latest addition of the necessary recovery after pulling her sword fuckery), just very difficult to deal with. You do not get to dismiss that nor try pull me down because you will only end up pissing me off for eternity. Just say 'Our writing styles don't match' and unfollow. No harm done with that. But giving me an incorrect lecture when I didn't even ask for it is one of the very few things that will get you blocked without a word, because I'm still courteous enough to not leave an essay how you had no right & break down why you're wrong in your inbox before the block. Don't make me tone down my writing style and insult me for it because you don't want to/incapable of matching it.

2-5 REASON YOU DON'T TO FOLLOW (BACK) SOMEONE

Writing style and/or preferred topics the other person wants to discover don't or barely overlap with mine.

Shittalking Ocs in the rules like 'canon gave us enough developed characters'. Are we seriously gatekeeping...creativity???

Overly...detailed or harsh isn't a good word for it; but if the rules are like blocking without a word in case of liking too many posts, reblogging a meme instead of the source, sending too many messages etc. Which is fine how you want to curate your space, but I have way too many problems to worry about irl and I don't want to feel like I'm on a minefield where one wrong move is game over forever when I'm supposed to have fun. I'm way too stressed for this.

Even if everything is fine but I don't feel that spark. When I follow, it means I'm very much interested, intrigued in your character, your portrayal and want to throw my psychotic captain & the disaster crew at your muse(s). But there are some cases when I simply can't feel that. And I don't want to disappoint anyone by giving replies without soul in them.

tagged by: fucking stolen what did you expect, this is a pirate focused blog

#Context: I had and still having aftershocks of a brutal epilepsy mixed panic attack; pumped full of meds and during this I'm brutally honest #Don't worry; you get the sweet Jasmine back instead of the bitchy one after a 14 hour sleep #🩸ooc 🗡 | out of tragedy #the Hardblock reasons section became a collection of burning hot takes-

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kulemii · 2 years

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5/23/2022.

for the first time in about 3 or so months, i woke up on a monday without the slightest bit of anxiety. sure, i woke up before the sun could shine through my window but i woke up because my body felt rested and not because of a sequence of alarms. i scrolled on my phone for 30 minutes then i went to the kitchen (petting my oldest cat along the way) and made a pot of coffee. i washed my face and brushed my teeth and it didn't feel like a chore. i did those things so that i could prepare to start my day.

what's on the agenda for today, you ask?

writing, napping, vidjee games, cat petting and more writing.

today was supposed to be my last day at my job but i quit yesterday instead. i decided, just as they decided that i didn't deserve my final paychecks, that they didn't deserve my final day.

my employer taught me lots of things. one of the main things "good, professional behavior is not respected".

my job advertised 80 hours of vacation at the start of the year, to even newcomers like me. what they didn't explain, was the fine print: if you do not work to earn back each hour that you've used, when your employment with us ends, you must pay us the difference.

back in march/april i used a week (40hrs) of vacation. i started there in december and here i am leaving at the end of may. i only earned roughly 26 hours. so, without so much as a warning, they deducted roughly 14 hours from my most recent paycheck to get their money back.

essentially, they didn't give 80hrs of vacation-- they LOANED 80hrs of vacation.

i checked the handbook after i figured it out (because it wasn't explained to me) and lo and behold- it was there, at the very back of the handbook.... they got us all with their fine print. so i can't even dispute it.

the bastards.

but that my friends ain't even the real kicker. you wanna hear some REAL fuck shit?

i learned on saturday from my boss who had been investigating the whole thing for me (3 fucking days and no one, not even corporate payroll knew what vacation (r) meant-- i smell bullshit but wtvs)

the REAL kick in the tit:

had i quit without notice, just stopped coming in, not telling anyone anything- i'd have still gotten every fucking cent that i worked in the sweltering, humid ass southern heat for.

I TRIED TO BE A PROFESSIONAL AND I WAS FUCKING PUNISHED FOR IT.

i anxiously dealt with nearly six months of the most toxic, dingy, hostile ass work environment that i've ever experienced just to turn around and get screwed over in the end.

here's a list of other bullshit i had to deal with 5 days a week:

-aggressive sexual harassment by vendors and employees (one of a handful of women in a male dominated workplace)

-a coworker who is ten years my senior who never learned to not bring her personal life to work with her, who was insanely rude to strangers 8 hours a day (or shit talking them in my ear) so i felt the need to overcompensate with kindness to make up for her shitty behavior, who walked in slamming and throwing shit at 6am, who was in a one sided competition with me over men who made me uncomfortable, who would insist on sitting in the shack with me (imagine a shoe box with two people and computers) while playing videos, watching movies with vulgar sex scenes and listening to music on the highest possible volume, who got mad when i asked her to turn it down, who made me miss lunch on multiple occasions because she "got busy" (read: fell asleep in the patrol car), who tried to turn people against me once i finally started to stand up for myself after 4 months of tolerating her shit.

-an incompetent boss who is twelve years my senior who is too concerned with trying to be a friend of the world rather than keeping his employees in check, who when told about the behavior of the person above, would make excuses and say shit like "well, i've worked a whole 12hrs by myself without a lunch too", who (as a black man) told me (a black woman) that my coworker (a black woman) and i should physically fight about our differences instead of simply ceasing unnecessary communication with her, who never knew when to stop joking around, who threw hints rather than telling me directly when i was doing something wrong which hindered me from doing my job properly, who told me that getting sexually harassed "was a part of the job", who would laugh when i told him about the filthy things men 20+ years older than me would say and excuse them because they were "on the road for so long and probably frustrated"

-no hot water to wash my hands with on low temp days

-no cold water to drink on high temp days

-an a/c unit that picked and chose when it wanted to work

all on an hourly pay that was reduced by an dollar and some change, lower than what was the posted minimum because i "didn't have the experience"

i dealt with all of that for NEARLY six months and though i was at my limit and physically couldn't handle going in in the morning, i still showed up and tried to work through a two weeks notice just for them to take even more from me. btw they'd been fucking up my checks for two weeks even prior to this. :)

you always hear people say to leave jobs "the right way" because you'll never know when you'll need to go back. "don't burn bridges" they say but what about when jobs don't let you leave the right way? what about when jobs burn the bridges? what old saying gets thrown back in their face?

these companies don't give a fuck about us. why should any of us give a fuck about them? these companies have been doing things the 'old way' for so long and many of them are hurting because younger generations are starting to see through the bullshit. why the fuck did i give two weeks notice to a company that didn't even have the decency to give me two weeks notice that they would be taking my money from me?

if i can go the rest of my life without ever working for them again, i'll be fine. i've never left a job with such a sour taste in my mouth. i will never go back.

#5/23/2022 #kulemiisdiary

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phantom-le6 · 2 years

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Ramble of the month September 2022: What’s cooking in my literary kitchen

At last, we’re getting into the tail-end of 2022, and with my monthly rambles, I’m taking a bit of a break from my established pattern of topics. Instead of continuing to alternate between Marvel and something else, I’m doing my October and November rambles on Marvel (completing my look at my hypothetical Contest of Champions), and December’s going to be about the challenge Christmas sometimes poses to autistics like myself. This then leaves the September article free for me to discuss something else, namely my various book-writing efforts.

This is something I try not to talk about in too much detail on-line on the off chance something I’m writing is plagiarised by others, and since I have a lot of difficulty with what I say being taken the wrong way, at times I can be reluctant to open up on anything. After all, if you keep silent, no one can harass, harangue, insult, bully or otherwise hurt you because what you said was somehow “wrong”. However, keeping silent also means not getting an idea out that needs to be out in the world. It means the things that mean the most to you might not get addressed, or not in the way you’d like them to be, and it means giving in to those who love to crush freedom of expression through harassment, trolling, bullying and so on.

Because much of what I want to write about relates to autism and the issues autistic people can have, at least as I have experienced being an autistic person, I feel that I cannot and should not have to hold back writing what I want to write. Whether what I write has a big impact or a small one, I want to add to what people know about those like me. If that happens, then hopefully society treats us better and I see that in the issues that at least affect me or other autistics I know being remedied.

As such, I’m going to focus this article very much on the reasons behind each of my projects rather than going into them in set detail. Before I do so, however, I will quickly discuss two key points to bear in mind throughout.

·First, as ever, I don’t mean any offence in what I say, so please try not to take any. If something I say does cause offence, rest assured it’s not intentional, and I welcome polite, constructive feedback so I can avoid making the same mistakes in the future. I won’t tolerate insults, abuse or trolling of any kind.

·Second, to anyone who has come to this article from my Facebook page or otherwise knows me in real life, if anything you read here causes you concern (not that it should, but just in case), please come to me directly with those concerns. At the moment, everything I’m writing is still either in a planning stage or open to editing. Nothing is set to be published, and all options, including pen names for anonymity, remain open. While I am autistic and live with my parents, I am still an adult and deserve the respect of people speaking to me directly. Please accord me that respect, because if positions were reversed, I would do you the same courtesy.

Now that I’ve dealt with the housekeeping, let’s add some additional context. Writing is something I’ve been into doing for a long time. Old school friends might recall me trying to create superheroes of my own and often using them as a basis (which, in all honesty, was because I stink at drawing and wanted to use people I knew as physical templates rather than out of a sense of friendship). However, the problem back then was I didn’t really have anything to write about. I was more interested in the “window dressing” elements that drew me in on superheroes, namely the powers, code-names and costumes. For a long time, original storytelling eluded me and I eventually gave up.

Many years later as an adult, I came back to fiction writing because I’d been having some success dealing with more fact-and-opinion-based writing. I’d done the occasional article about my autism, multiple film and TV reviews, and I was even giving talks on the matter of autism. However, it wasn’t enough, especially when I felt like the people around me at work weren’t as understanding as they should be. To that end, I began the first of my literary projects that’s presently on-going, a factual book covering my experiences as an autistic person, and key advice for both autistics and non-autistics on how to achieve better integration of the two groups (spoiler alert, a lot of the emphasis is on non-autistics doing more and realising they’re not the be-all and end-all of humanity. You’re one group in a wider species; get over it and tone down the egocentricity, would you please?)

Now at the moment, the factual book is on the proverbial backburner after several re-drafts have been done, and there are two reasons for this. The first is that I’ve been trying to get feedback from professionals who work with autistic people that also happen to be work colleagues of mine, or at least they were at the time I started writing the book. They’ve since moved on elsewhere and haven’t responded to my efforts to chase them up for their feedback, so elements of the book that needed fact-checking by people in the know are presently left without such checks.

Secondly, while my diagnosis is correct, the professions who have made it haven’t been part of the NHS or any other organisation that might be empowered to make it “official”. Originally, this wasn’t a major issue for me because I still grew up on a Statement of Special Education Needs, I still got the sort of education I needed, and I’ve never had to “prove” my autism to get a job. However, to make sure no one can denounce me or my opinions because I don’t have something formal confirming my autism, I’ve opted to go down the official diagnosis route now, and then feedback my experience of this through the book. So, until I have a formal NHS confirmation of what I already know and can find autism professionals with the time to verify some of my advice in various areas as valid, this book is in limbo.

That being said, the issues I’m raising in the factual book and that I keep coming across in real life provide fertile ground for fiction writing, which brings us to these projects. The first of these I began work on back in late-2019, and the writing and research to get it up to a trilogy with each instalment in the first draft stage took me most of 2020 and all of 2021 to complete. This project revolves around an autistic man based on myself who becomes a sort of super-powered secret agent in a secret war, and whose powers require him to engage in casual relationship culture to recharge them. In other words, he has to tackle one of the most socially challenging scenarios and environments an autistic person can be faced with in order to be a superhero (also a challenge in its own right).

This project’s main purpose is really two-fold; the first is to help dispel the image of autistic people specifically, and differently abled people in general, as somehow being unattractive. As an autistic person, I am often horrified to see some of the comments that ensure when someone with severely different abilities is shown next to a regularly abled person. Some assume sibling relationships, some assume the regularly abled person to be a gold-digger, others will suggest the differently abled person lacks any ability to be in a relationship. Almost no one will consider the differently abled person as attractive, and this misconception that the differently abled can’t be attractive still applies even when the difference is non-physical nature.

Secondly, as my factual book will also point out, casual relationship culture isn’t exactly very autism-friendly, so some of the trilogy is very much geared towards showcasing that and suggesting an alternative. Alongside this, other issues do get raised, and not just those around autism. As someone who believes in championing the causes of others as an ally because there will be autistics in other groups (female autistics, autistics of colour, LGBTQ+ autistics, etc), I like to at least try and touch on wider issues if I think I can do so in a positive way that at least tries to be sensitive to that other group.

In the case of this project, the main other issue is, perhaps inevitably, consent. Now in case anyone’s been confused by my wording earlier, a superhero that is having to deal with casual relationship culture basically means they’re dealing with sex, and obviously the concept of consent is an integral part of sex. It’s also become a very high-profile topic with increasing news stories about consent being violated, most often with men as the violators and women being violated, though of course each is only a majority, not a monopoly, which is why I think this is something all genders have to deal with. As part of this exploration, I even look into some edge adult practices that actually have very positive models of consent that the mainstream of society might be wise to draw on. At present, I’m taking this trilogy through a second draft of all instalments before considering who I can trust for early draft reads, etc., after which I’ll move on to my second fiction project.

As with my first fictional project, the second will hopefully work out as a trilogy, but this one is probably going to be a bit darker in tone. In this case, we’ll be looking at an autistic young man of sixth form age who is being routinely bullied for being different, and who suddenly finds himself gaining mystical power with which to defend or avenge himself. In this case, the focus is less on building up a positive image of autistics and more on looking into why the negative images of autistics come around. In essence, it’s the classic idea of kid gets bullied, kid gets gun, kid gets all the blame when he was just trying to correct an injustice no one else could be bothered with.

This story will also look into the matters of perspective and context, exploring the difference between bullying and so-called “banter”, and why everyone, autistic and non-autistic alike, need to consider context and see issues as a whole, not just from their individual point-of-view. I’m also hoping that it will serve as an insight into how strict, how “black-and-white” an autistic perspective on right and wrong can be, and how it is often a need for predictability rather than anything else that can be at the centre of our world view. At present, this stage is only up to a point of being plotted out ready for tackling first drafts.

Project number 3 is a bit different because originally, it wasn’t meant to be anything more than a creative exercise. In researching adult culture in varying forms for my first literary project, one thing I stumbled across was the idea of transformation stories. In adult fiction, this is a sub-genre relating to characters changing from one form into another. Sex/gender, race and almost anything else imaginable can change about someone in such a story, and while these changes and what causes them varies, there are two things in the stories I looked at that really stood out.

The first is that a lot of stories borrow from the likes of Jumanji and tie the transformations into a game, albeit minus rhino stampedes and so forth. This struck me as the best setting, so my project will aim to do a twist on it. However, what stuck out more for me is the second point; when the changes happen, it’s not just a cosmetic change that only affects appearance. Not only are mental changes possible as transformations in their own right, separate from physical ones, but the physical changes can actually result in changes to reality that would be associated with them. If a character goes from man to woman but their sexuality remains heterosexual, for instance, they begin to fancy men in line with being a woman. If they change from White to Black, their use of slang changes to reflect Black culture, and so on.

This appealed to me because it plays into my perspective on why I prefer diversification in film and TV adaptations to come through new characters, or the promotion of existing characters that get overlooked in the rush to mine all the “big name” characters, rather than altering race, gender, etc. The best way I can explain this is cite the Disney & Pixar film Inside Out, which although fictional is based on real-world psychological principles. In that film, it’s shown that our personalities are based on our experiences, with certain key memories (“core memories” in the film’s terminology) becoming the basis for our major personality traits. Indeed, this idea is central to much of what happens in that film, but I’m sure some people reading this may still wonder how this relates to my preference for new or existing characters over altering characters.

As on-going protests against racism, sexism and other forms of prejudice show, many groups in society are still being hampered by a society that is still riddled with intolerance, and while some can be overt and even violent, such prejudice can also be more subtle. Regardless, its existence means many people have different experiences based on how they differ from their local “mainstream”, often not having as many opportunities or face greater levels of abuse from those around them. Certainly, this is something I’ve had some experience of as an autistic person; had I been born neurotypical instead of autistic, I’d have attended schools nearer to me, made different friends over the years, picked up social skills more easily, and by now would probably be living a totally different life. By the same token, if you change a human character based in a world with the same kind of societal issues and politics as the real world by altering their race, gender, etc., the character will have a whole new, whole different back story that will alter who they are.

This, then, is why I prefer new or existing characters of colour, women characters and so on over changing existing characters to represent these groups; because it means the character is who they’re supposed to be and not just a new character sharing a name with someone else from the source material. By changing something that impacts a character’s experiences, you change who they became because of those experiences. For characters outside of a real-world-based society, such as aliens or mythical creatures, things like racial shifts make no difference because they’re not based in the politics of difference we know in real life.

As such, it makes no difference to have a Black man play Heimdall in the MCU or see a Black woman playing Ariel in a Disney remake; Asgardians and Mermaids are not human and therefore lack human prejudices, making skin colour inconsequential to who they are. The same doesn’t apply with human characters in a real-world-based setting (Will Smith’s Deadshot compared to the original being a key example of this). By the same token, transformation stories that change a character’s skin colour or gender will often alter their memories and personalities to reflect that change; same principle, different application. It’s for this reason I also prefer creating my own characters to represent autistics like myself; I don’t want one of my favourite superheroes changing to represent me. I want them to stay who and what they are, and to add something genuinely new to the world of fiction.

Now this doesn’t mean I’m against some changes outside of transformation genre stories. Character development is an inevitable and important part of writing any fiction, and I hold that LGBTQ+ characters coming out should be less of a change and more a revelation of something always intended. However, if a character changes in some sudden or drastic way without cause, or without considering all the years of backstory a character may have behind them, then you’re jeopardising some of the audience’s suspension of disbelief.

Take the character of Iceman in the X-Men comics, who in recent years has been ret-conned to be gay. While there is evidence to support this in the decades of stories that have gone before, there is also evidence of Iceman being attracted to women as well. Personally, I think that if Marvel weren’t willing to create an original LGBTQ+ character for X-Men lore and therefore had to go down the sexuality ret-con route, it would have been better to have Iceman be bisexual or pansexual. This would then have been better supported by the totality of his backstory and still achieved greater diversity, albeit not in what I feel was the best way possible. The best way, to my mind, will always be to raise the profile of existing diversity and to create new characters to add to it. You want more characters of colour, more women, more LGBTQ+ people in fiction? Do what I’m doing to create more autistic characters in fiction; sit down and write them yourselves.

At the time of sitting down to write this ramble, I have created the characters for the transformation story and planned out their transformations, but I’ve yet to plot out how I would break that down over a series of chapters. This same attitude of keeping characters as they are also feeds into one of the last two projects I’m considering, both of which are essentially fan-fiction pieces in various stages of planning. One is a Star Trek story that I hope can be a trilogy, and which is basically set in an alternate reality where alumni from TNG, DS9 and Voyager are combined into a single crew. This was apparently meant to be something Trek would do as a film in the wake of the TNG film Nemesis, but it was ultimately scrapped in favour of the reboot films.

Fan-fic item number 2, and that one is a Marvel and DC multiverse tale. This is the one that will be very much influenced by my “leave characters as they’re first written” philosophy, because a lot of the Marvel side will ignore many 21st century ret-cons while DC’s frequent penchant for rebooting means I’ll be working mainly to the continuities I know best.

In terms of which I’d prefer to publish versus just posting online somewhere, my current preference is to do my factual book as a proper publication, followed by my autism-based fiction trilogies and the Trek fanfiction if those who publish Trek novels thought it was any good. I wouldn’t mind publishing the transformation one as well, but I imagine that one is probably more website fodder, and anything Marvel/DC-wise is almost bound to be destined for a fan-fic website.

So, that’s all on this subject for now. I hope this has been informative and enjoyable for you all, and I hope that everyone has kept in mind the relevant bits of housekeeping; polite, constructive feedback only and if you have concerns, come to me directly so I can address them rather than disrespecting me by going to others around me. Until my next ramble, ta-ta for now.

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pan-fangirl-345 · 3 years

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Promise Me You Won't Fall In Love

Summary: You and Tsukishima have been friends since you were kids, and you made a promise not to fall in love with each other. But of course, everything's fine and great until someone (both of you) fucked up and caught feelings.

TW: swearing, mutual pining, unrequited love (it is requited later), minor harassment (not a lot), and there is some derogatory talk from an extra that doesn't even have a name (Kei puts him in his place, I promise).

A/N: So this wasn't requested, but I've been thinking about this one a lot recently and I wanted to do something with it, hence this.

Note: Anything in italics is a memory! Well, not all of it, but the longer sections. Most of the time the one or two word-er things are simply emphasized, that kind of thing.

"Tsukishima, your girlfriend's here to see you!" Sugawara told the middle blocker, and he turned to see you leaning against the wall near Yachi and Kiyoko, laughing at something they were saying to you.

"She's not my girlfriend," Kei muttered, walking over.

"Kei! I knew you'd be here," you said, digging through your bag. "One of the girls in my class wanted me to give this to you."

You handed him a bright pink envelope with black sparkly writing on the front, his name scrawled in almost perfect handwriting.

"Another love letter?" he asked, taking it.

"Probably, I've stopped asking. It makes them think that we're together," you told him, crossing your arms.

Kei sighed, opening the letter with little fanfare.

He scanned through it quickly, rolling his eyes.

One thing he had noticed was that the letters he had been getting were really sucky poetry and fancy words. They knew nothing about him worthwhile and he was pretty sure they just wanted to check off the 'I have a boyfriend' box on their high school checklists.

Kei made a noise of disgust and walked over to the nearest trash can, dumping the letter in.

"I'm assuming that's another no?" you asked, smirking at him, already knowing the answer.

He nodded, ignoring the smirk on your face.

You, Tadashi, and Kei had all been friends since middle school. Kei had known you longer, since you lived in the same neighborhood, but you had kind of adopted Tadashi when you had heard about him being bullied, hence why Kei and you were actual friends now. Tadashi was the link between the two of you that had stuck. Being forced to make conversation as some of the only kids in the neighborhood had simply made you acquaintances.

"If you knew I was going to say no then why would you give me the letter?" Kei asked.

"Because I'm hoping you'll broaden your horizons," you offered, waving your hand dismissively. "Besides, it sends the wrong message if I just throw them away without giving them to you. Not to mention, a lot of the girls don't like me to begin with because I'm one of the few people you can tolerate for more than a few minutes at the time. You've never had a girlfriend, Kei, even if they aren't girlfriend material, couldn't you at least make a few more friends?"

"I can barely deal with you and Tadashi, I don't need anymore friends," Kei told you, and you laughed.

"Keep telling yourself that Kei. I'll see you guys later, alright?"

Tadashi and Kei nodded, watching you leave before they rejoined practice.

"Are you sure she isn't your girlfriend, Tsukishima?" Sugawara asked, watching the blocker with mild interest.

Despite being second years now, their former upperclassmen were showing up more as tournament season drew closer. Though Kei also suspected that they were being nostalgic and that they missed their underclassmen's chaos.

"I'm sure," he assured the former setter. "Why?"

"Nothing, just a hunch," he murmured.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Guys, do you ever wonder how many people see you on the side of the street and think, 'Wow, they are the most beautiful person I have ever seen'?" you asked, as you hung upside down on the monkey bars.

"I think the blood is going to your head, (Y/F/N)," Tadashi teased.

"No, I'm serious," you said, turning to look at him. "I was thinking, earlier, about how Kei keeps getting all these love letters, and it made me wonder how many people see me as attractive, but never say anything. I don't think it's very many," you admitted, "but I wonder if they are out there."

Tadashi sighed, putting his hands on his forehead in an exasperated manner.

"(Y/F/N)," he said, sounding almost breathless, "just because Kei is getting letters doesn't mean that people don't find you attractive."

"I'm not saying people don't find me attractive," you said, swinging yourself up onto the bars again. "I know someone in the world must have standards that low, but just because they find me attractive doesn't mean they would date me."

"Why are we talking about this?" Kei asked, annoyance riddling his tone.

"Technically Tadashi and I were talking about it," you told him. "You were simply listening to the conversation."

"That doesn't tell me why this is the topic of conversation," he countered.

"I'm just saying! Kei keeps getting all these letters, and it makes me wonder if these girls actually think that they're in love with him. Attraction is really just a release of chemicals in the brain from when we were simply a species trying to survive. But that's not love," you said.

"So what's love to you?" Tadashi asked, curious.

"I think real, true love is when you see something that reminds you of them and you smile, even without realizing it. I think it's when it hurts to see them hurt, but you stay by them instead of seeking revenge, knowing they need you in the moment. I think it's the little inside jokes that mean nothing to people around you, but it's everything to you. I think it's knowing that there are plenty of people that are better than you out there, but wanting to stick around to be better for that person, to prove that you're worth it.

"I think it's seeing all the broken pieces, and loving them all anyway. It's remembering the little things. It's being able to sit in complete silence and know what the other is saying just because of the way their eyes crinkle. It's knowing that they have the power to break off new pieces, and trusting that they won't. It's when . . . instead of breaking pieces of yourself so that they can handle you, you stay whole. If they choke, you know it's not love, not really.

"It's knowing that you can stand on your own two feet, but leaning on them anyway. It's knowing that you are your own person, but wanting to share it with someone anyway. It's feeling free and wild, but content to stay still, because you trust them. For me, I feel like love is knowing that someone would read with me on a window seat, watching it rain, but they would also drive just a little too fast down older roads with the windows down so we can pretend, just for a moment, that we're in a shitty music video."

You smiled as you turned yourself upside down on the monkey bars again.

"I think it's kind of like what we have, but more romantic."

"You've been reading too much fanfiction," Kei muttered.

"Maybe," you admitted. "But maybe that's because I want to be able to spew romantic bullshit like that when I finally find a guy that likes me for me. I realize that, realistically, I'll probably never feel like that. Or at least, I won't feel it enough to put it into words like that. Fantasy never lives up to reality after all. But it's a nice thought."

"So, you don't think you'll ever find something like that?" Tadashi asked.

"I think that I'll either end up married to a man that was good enough, or on my own with no social life except you and Kei. I'll rely on work to keep me entertained."

Kei snorted.

"What's so funny you overly salted French fry?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"If I ever think you're marrying a man that's just 'good enough', I'll say 'I object!' at the wedding," he told you.

"Oh yeah?" you asked, smiling. "And why's that?"

"Because you deserve more than that," he said, looking you in the eye. "(Y/F/N), you are not the kind of girl that should end up with 'good enough'. You're too . . . free for that. Although, maybe independent is a better word. You would wither with just 'good enough', and that's not something I'm willing to let happen."

"Aw, so you do care about me," you cooed, swinging yourself upright onto the bars. "And don't worry Kei, we both know that Tadashi and I will never let you settle with 'good enough' either."

"What about me?" Tadashi squawked, and you laughed.

"Come 'Dashi," you chided, "we all know that you won't end up with 'good enough' even if you try."

His cheeks went pink and you laughed again.

Kei, as much as he pretended otherwise, really loved seeing you and Tadashi laugh like this. It reminded him that there were people who didn't see just the bastard act that he threw up to protect himself.

He loved the way your dimple appeared when you gave Tadashi that real smile, not the smirk or the grin you gave people. He loved seeing Tadashi carefree and not hiding behind his hand when he laughed or smiled.

He loved being able to sit and watch the two of you interact, but know that he could pop into the conversation whenever.

"Kei, that look on your face is kind of creepy," you teased, sliding to the ground to ruffle his hair, a small way of telling him you didn't mean it. "What's it for?"

"Nothing," he muttered, hoping to the heavens that his ears weren't turning pink, though they probably were.

"Come on Tsukki," Tadashi said, giving him a look, "we've all been friends for years. We know you better than that."

"I'm just glad is all," he murmured.

"Glad for what?" you asked, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, leaning over them to look at his face.

"You. Tadashi. You know, my friends," he confessed.

Damn it! His ears were definitely pink.

But he didn't shove you off.

Most people assumed that Kei was a jerk all the time, and while that might have been true for anyone else, you and Tadashi were the exceptions to his rule.

You and Tadashi had been friends with him for almost your whole lives, and both of you had been there during the brother debacle.

You and Kei had lived in the same neighborhood for years, and had been a part of more than a few conversations that had been forced by social convention, and your mother had been good friends with his in high school, though they had lost touch after that.

You had noticed Tadashi being bullied in class and had stepped in, defending him and deciding that he was more worth your time than the other kids.

Which led you to Kei, when you found out that he had helped Tadashi on the playground, even if that had never been his original intention.

The three of you had become a trio of sorts in your later years, though your reputations weren't the most . . . innocent.

Kei had always had a sharp tongue and a quicker wit, and his irritation seemed to have no limits.

You were on level with him, though you were much harder to set off than he was.

Tadashi never really provoked, but he watched as the two of you eviscerated anyone that insulted him.

Kei was ruthless with people who made comments on you and/or Tadashi, never giving them a chance to get another word in, though they had often tried, simply making themselves seem more like idiots.

On the other hand, you tended to let people hang themselves with their own tongues, before using that quick wit and sharp tongue to gut them like the pigs that they were.

Tadashi had little confidence on his own, and he tended to be more affected by words than you or Kei, so most of the time he let you and Kei handle people, but every once in a while, he would be set off.

Nothing was scarier than Tadashi getting pissed. He was rarely ever confrontational, but when something set him off, it was terrifying. He got really quiet, and he never raised his voice. There was a quiet kind of fury that radiated from him when he got like that, and if you and Kei used your words to eviscerate, Tadashi used his to give someone hypothermia. He would make them get colder and colder before their brains tricked them into thinking they were too hot, and then ended them.

All three of you were terrifying in your own ways, but that didn't mean you were like that all the time.

Kei wasn't an asshole all the time, and he enjoyed receiving hugs and other types of physical affection, he was just shit at reciprocating it and letting others see that more 'vulnerable side of him', as he put it. He was better at fixing problems logically. He helped you and Tadashi study, or sometimes bought gifts to make you both feel better, little things that still made your days.

Tadashi was someone who might not be confrontational, but he was very good about getting you and Kei out of your heads when something did hit a chink in your respective armors. He knew that both you and Kei were more affected by what people said than most people were led to believe. He was also a very good listener.

You were the giver of physical affection when the boys needed it. Kei tended to need it more than Tadashi, since Tadashi had his moms who were more than willing to give hugs. Kei didn't like his mother thinking anything was wrong, and he didn't completely trust his brother anymore, so physical contact was kept to a minimum.

Tadashi was okay with giving Kei affection, but most of the time, when it came to Kei, you were the one he went to.

You had asked him once, why he always came to you.

"I sometimes think Tadashi puts me up on a pedestal," he had admitted. "He knows me, and he's my friend, but sometimes it feels like I can't disappoint him. I don't feel that way with you. Besides, your short enough that hugging you feels better. Plus, Tadashi is all bones."

"We're glad for you too Kei," you told him, leaning your chin on his shoulder.

Tadashi nodded, taking a seat beside Kei.

Kei's heart clenched, like it often did when he was reminded that he really did have great friends, and his ears got hotter.

"Alright, enough of the mushy stuff," he muttered, trying to wave you and Tadashi away.

"Come on Kei," you whined softly, gently bumping your head with his, "we all know that you have a heart! Don't be that way, it's just us."

Kei made a small noise, and you laughed, releasing him so that you could sit on his other side, peering up into his face with your adorable fucking doe eyes.

"You know you don't have to pretend with us," you murmured, leaning on his shoulder, taking his hand.

"Yeah, we've all been friends for long enough Tsukki," Tadashi agreed, leaning his head on Kei's other shoulder.

"I hate you both," he muttered, trying to hide his face in his hands.

"Nuh uh," you said, pulling away to pull his hands from his face, sounding like a child. "No hiding from us."

You took his hand again, and for a while, all three of you just sat there, enjoying each other's company.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Tsukishima! You're girlfriend is here again," Suga said, gesturing to where you were walking through the doors of the gym, laughing with Yachi.

"Again, she's not my girlfriend," Kei muttered.

He remembered, suddenly, about the promise you had both made when you were middle school and boys were starting to notice girls and vice versa.

"Kei and (Y/F/N) would make such a cute couple when they're older," your mother had told his, smiling as you both chatted at a neighborhood barbeque, being two of the only children there that could hold an intelligent conversation.

At that point, you and Kei were more than acquaintances, but you weren't exactly friends yet either.

Neither mother had realized that you and Kei had overheard, and when Kei had glanced at you, your nose was wrinkled like it did when you were grossed out by something, your expression mirroring his.

"Promise me something Kei," you had said, turning your attention back to him. "Promise me that you won't ever fall in love with me."

"Why not? I mean, I won't, but I want a reason," he had said, arms crossed as he looked at you.

"Because we're friends," you had said, like it had been the simplest thing in the world. "And because if we ended up falling in love and dating that means Tadashi would feel left out all the time and I won't let that happen. So promise me."

"I promise not to fall in love with you if you promise not to fall in love with me," he had offered.

"Deal," you had told him, offering him your hand to shake on it.

"Ah, Kei, there you are!" you said, smiling at him. "There's another letter. Based on the amount of hearts on it, another confession."

"Keep it," he muttered, pushing your hand away when you went to hand him the letter.

"Kei, I don't want to carry around another one of your love letters," you said, wrinkling your nose. "These aren't for me, and they make me sick, so please, for the sake of our friendship, take the damn thing off my hands so I can wash them."

He sighed, a pained sound that had you laughing, and took the letter, slipping it into his bag, wondering if the girls at school would ever take a hint that he wasn't interested.

"Why is Tsukishima so popular with the girls?" Hinata wondered out loud. "His personality is so crappy."

"And I don't think I've ever heard him say a nice thing to anyone," Kageyama added.

"That's because you guys are irritating to Kei," you interrupted, turning to them, arms crossed and hip cocked out to the side. "Most of the time, he's helpful and respectful. You two just aren't the kind of people he would voluntarily hang out with."

"Rude," Hinata cried, then pouted, "but true."

"The only people Kei really rips into are people he doesn't like, doesn't respect, people who disrespect Tadashi or me, or people who betray his trust. You two are options one and two."

"He just seems like an unfeeling asshole, even after three years of knowing him."

"I think it's the opposite actually," you told them.

Kei could feel your eyes on the back of his head, either unaware that he could hear you or uncaring that he was listening.

"I think he feels all of it, at one hundred and twenty percent. He just acts like that to avoid getting hurt in most cases. In your case though, he really does just not like you. Or, more accurately, he doesn't like that you two are so clearly passionate about something when he gets scared of something hurting him if he cares too much. Like Tadashi told you once, Hinata, if Kei didn't at least like volleyball, he wouldn't be here. Just think about it," you told them.

"(Y/F/N)!" Tadashi called. "We're still studying at your place right?"

"Yeah, just like always," you assured him. "Kei, you still have the spare key, just let yourselves in."

He nodded, spinning the ball in his hands as he watched you walk away.

"Tsukishima, are you one hundred percent sure that she isn't your girlfriend?" Suga asked, eyebrows raised at him.

"Three hundred percent sure," Tsukishima grunted as he served the ball.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Why do you never accept any of the confessions, Kei?" you asked, looking at him from over the top of your textbook.

Your head was hanging off the side of your bed and your socked feet were crossed at the ankles, resting on your wall.

Kei's neck hurt just looking at you, but he didn't say anything to you about moving.

"Because they aren't my type," Kei muttered, checking his notes before writing down an answer on his paper.

"What is your type?" you inquired, rolling onto your stomach, setting you book to the side. "Because I don't think I've ever seen you take an interest in a girl." You frowned, then added, "Romantic interest I mean."

Kei wondered what other interest you had thought he might get out of that, but he decided not to question it. Despite knowing you for years, and being as close to you as he was, you still managed to be somewhat of a mystery to him.

"Does it matter?" he asked.

"Yes, because I want to be able to set you up when you decide you're ready for a relationship!" you said. "Tadashi and I would make great wingmen. Well, wingman and wingwoman, but you know what I mean."

Kei actually turned to look at you at that one.

"You're serious," he muttered, noting the look on your face.

"Yes! Unless you don't think you're going to want a romantic relationship, which is completely okay too. I just want you to be happy is all."

"You know what makes me happy?" Kei asked, pausing to let you answer, but instead you stayed quiet, watching him with those damn doe eyes. "Getting my homework done and not having to deal with confessions from girls that don't know the first thing about me."

Kei heard your small chuckle, and as he went back to his homework, he found himself smiling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kei had always known that, objectively, you were very pretty (he had heard enough from his classmates over the years to have it verified), but sometimes you did something, and he would realize all over again.

Today you had laughed a little harder as he ripped into someone, and you had given him one of those dimpled smiles that he adored so much, and he had stood there blinking for a moment before he cooled his expression again.

Kei didn't really understand why he got so mad when someone flirted with you in the hallways, or when you came to cheer the team on during games.

He had always assumed that it was merely because you were such good friends, but then he had realized that no one else got that mad, they didn't feel the same painful burning in the pit of their stomachs at seeing you with another guy.

Asking Suga had done absolutely nothing, the setter had merely suggested that Kei was jealous, which was absolute bullshit, and he wasn't desperate enough to contact Bokuto or Kuroo yet, though he might be at the point of asking Akaashi.

He would know if he liked you the way that the older setter was implying. He would know if he was in love with you.

Right?

Kei could worry about that later, right now he was more interested in getting that guy's hand off your shoulder and away from your neck.

"(Y/F/N)," Kei called, striding over, back straight. "The game's about to start, we've got to go."

"Kei!" you chirped, smiling at him, moving to his side immediately, giving the guy that had been bugging you a sugar sweet (and utterly fake) smile over your shoulder. "See you around never, hopefully!"

Kei pressed his lips together to hide his smile, letting you wrap your hand around his.

"Was that guy bothering you?"

"A little, but you got there just in time," you told him, your hand tightening it's grip for a moment before you let him go. "Thanks for always having the most amazing timing Kei!"

"Yeah, whatever," he told you, bumping your shoulder with his.

"Seriously, what is it with the girls that hang around with us and wandering off?" Daichi asked when you walked into the gym with Kei.

"Sorry guys! I just wanted to buy a key chain," you said, holding it up, grinning. "It's not my fault that athletes can't take no for an answer! Sometimes I think your on-court determination bleeds over into everyday life."

There were some nods, and Kei watched as the guy that had been bothering you stepped onto the other side of the court.

He followed the guy's eyes to you, where you were laughing at something Kageyama said.

Did- Did that moron just lick his lips at you?

Kei felt that burning sensation in his stomach again.

Kei didn't realize that he had been glaring until he heard your voice right next to him.

"Anyway, good luck guys!" you told them, affectionately ruffling Tadashi's hair, hip-checking Kei on your way into the stands, flashing him that damned dimpled grin over your shoulder.

"Hey, Blondie!" the guy called. "You, Glasses! I'm talkin' to you!"

Kei turned to see the guy from earlier smirking at him.

"Dude, your girl is so hot!" he said.

Kei felt the entirety of Karasuno tense behind him as they realized what was going on.

"Yeah, she is," Kei agreed.

"Think you'd be willin' to share her with me? I promise I'd take good care of her."

"Oh shit," someone muttered, and Kei saw red for a moment before he got himself under control.

"Is your ass jealous about the amount of shit that just came out of your mouth?" Kei asked, putting his hand on his hip.

Using insults like that was never really his thing, but he was really pissed right now.

"Hey, Tsukki," Tadashi said quietly, "you might not want to-"

"What did you just say to me?" the guy asked.

"Hey, Kei!" you called from the stands, waving at him to catch his attention. "Leave the smack talk for when you actually win! Block his spike down his throat for me, alright?"

He nodded, giving you a grin that had you giving him one right back.

"God forbid if she was a guy and they were on the same team," Suga muttered, and the others nodded.

"Alright, time for the game to start," Daichi said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kei did as you asked: he blocked every single spike that the guy tried to send over the net, and Kei could already tell that the guy was pissed at the end of the first set.

He was spiking more and more aggressively, which was screwing up aim to the point where Kei didn't even really need to block.

"Go Karasuno!" you cheered, smiling at the team from the stands.

Kei, every time he felt his anger getting out of control, looked to you in the stands to calm down.

Finally, the scumbag was so out of control that he was switched out with another wing spiker.

From there, the game was easy.

By the end of it, Kei hadn't even needed to look for you in the stands. Not only had he memorized where you were, but no one else on that team pissed him off as much as that scumbag did.

As soon as the ball landed on the other side of the court, and it was called, you were running down from the stands, running for him.

"Kei! You were so great!" you cheered, wrapping your arms around his neck, jumping at him.

He wrapped his arms around your waist to keep the both of you from falling over, and he buried his face in your neck as he set you down.

"Oh my gosh, Kei that was so amazing! I think that's the best you've played all season! Seriously! Some of those blocked looked like they would've ripped my arms off, that was so cool!" you gushed, holding onto his forearms.

Kei nodded, giving Tadashi a look over your shoulder for a moment, letting him know that it was okay for him to go on ahead.

"Thanks for blocking the slime ball for me Kei!" you said, smiling up at him. "And what did he say to you that got you so pissed off? I haven't seen you that mad in forever!"

"It was nothing," he told you, "it was stupid."

"Are you sure?" you inquired, looking up at him.

"Yeah, I'm sure the team will tell you about it later."

"Alright, I just wanted to make sure that you were okay," you told him, "'cause you looked really pissed. I haven't seen you that pissed off since that one guy tried to make Tadashi cry."

"I don't like it when people make you uncomfortable like that," Kei said. "It really pisses me off."

"Is that why you kept looking at me during the game?" you asked, and Kei wondered if any other girl would've been so honest with him about something like this, or if it as just the fact that you had both spent so much time together growing up. "I noticed that you always looked at me whenever you had the chance."

Kei nodded, gesturing with his head towards the doors, so that he could catch up with the team and talk with you at the same time.

"Yeah, that was one of the reasons. It kept me focused on the scumbag's spikes, and it calmed me down enough so that I didn't punch him whenever we were across the net from each other."

"I kinda wish that you had, but I also know that it would've gotten you ejected from the game, which is not something I want to happen. Anyway, thanks Kei," you told him, smiling up at him.

"Yeah, always," he said, putting his hand on your head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was when you were over at his house Sunday morning when he realized that he might need to call Kuroo and Bokuto.

You, Kei, and Tadashi had had a sleepover, but Tadashi had left early to spend some time with his moms, so Kei had woken up to you with a hand on his chest and his arm numb from where it was pillowing your head.

The three of you had been sitting on Kei's bed watching a movie, but Tadashi had tipped over sometime near the halfway marker, and Kei had fallen asleep not long after that, so he could only assume that you had fallen asleep sometime after Tadashi had left this morning.

Kei turned on his side slowly, not wanting to wake you up, wrapping an arm around your waist softly.

He toyed with your hair, twisting it in his fingers gently, brushing it behind your ear, threading his fingers through it.

He wasn't ready to get up for the day yet, so he laid there with you, wondering how it would be ten years in the future.

Would your hair be longer? Would you cut it shorter? Would you dye it? Would you have kids by then?

That last one had made him pause.

He had always known that short of you dying or some huge falling out, Kei was in no way going to be able to get rid of you or Tadashi, but he had never even considered dating you, let alone anything beyond that.

So why was he wondering what your kids would look like? Why was he wondering how many you would want, if any? Why was he questioning how many stray animals you might bring home after work?

He sounded like every lovesick fool that got his heart broken in those weird movies that Tadashi liked to watch.

Kei glanced down at your face, and he suddenly found himself unable to think of a reality where he didn't wake up like this for the rest of his life.

When had he stopped seeing you as his little sister, or the annoying female friend that all of his classmates admired? When had he started seeing you as someone he could fall in love with, if he hadn't already?

But even with this new revelation, he couldn't bring himself to pull away from you.

Kei loved it when you both bickered like you hated each other, and he loved when you were able to throw back any insulting thing he said to you. He loved being able to have real conversations with you, but he also liked just sitting quietly with you.

This though, this was by far his favorite thing, seeing all the stress gone from your body, seeing your face without any kind of mask on, he adore seeing the calm serenity that came with sleep.

"Mm, Kei?" you asked sleepily, glancing at him. "What time is it?"

"Still early," he murmured, tucking you into his chest again. "Go back to sleep."

"M'kay," you said, nuzzling in close.

Kei waited for a minute before he grabbed his phone and his glasses from the side table, texting Kuroo.

Normally, he would've talked to Tadashi, but Kei didn't want to drag him into anything until he knew for sure, just in case he was wrong.

Kei: I have a question for you

Kuroo: What's up Tsukki-poo?

Kei: First, don't call me that

Kei: Secondly, and this is completely hypothetical, but how do you know when you love someone?

Kuroo: Aww, is my little kouhai in love with someone? How cute!

Kei made a face, taking a deep breath and glancing at you quickly before he turned his attention back to his phone.

Kei: Just answer the question

Kuroo: We're talking hypothetically?

Kei: Yeah

Kuroo: Can't you use the internet for this stuff? Why ask me? Why not ask Freckles? Or the pretty setter on your team?

Kei: The internet would tell me I have cancer, not that I might be in love with someone

Kei: Secondly, as for the setter comment, I'm assuming you mean Suga

Kei: Thirdly, he would go tell Tadashi, and then the possible love interest, and I don't want to deal with any of those things

Kei: So, please, for the sake of my sanity, just answer the question

Kuroo: Alright, alright. Jeesh. Hypothetically, if you were in love with someone you might start noticing their presence more

Kuroo: It would feel almost like you have a compass where the needle points to them, and you can't turn it off. You notice the little things more than normal, and you know them. I mean, really know them. They feel almost like a part of you

Kuroo: Seeing them hurt hurts you. You constantly feel the need to make sure that they're okay. Even the little things that kind of annoy you are a huge part of what you love about them

Kuroo: You find yourself smiling at them, even when they're doing something completely mundane, and you could recognize their voice in a crowd. Suddenly, they went from just another person, to someone that you could find in a crowd, even if they blend in enough that they normally fade into the background

Kuroo: Hypothetically speaking, of course

Kei was surprised by how much his mentor was able to type out in such a short amount of time, but in the end, he was most surprised by how much it lined up with what you had told him earlier. The basics were the same, and Kei sighed, realizing what this meant for him.

Kei: How to I make it stop?

Kei: Hypothetically

Kuroo: When I figure that out, I'll let you know

Kei blinked at that, then sighed again.

Kei: Thanks, Kuroo-san.

Kuroo: Sure thing Skinny, let me know how it goes

Kuroo: Hypothetically, of course

Kei couldn't help but chuckle softly, and he set his phone aside, wondering whether this was going to change anything, and how long he had been in love with you.

He had always noticed the little things about you, it was just a part of him being perceptive, and he had grown up with you, so he automatically knew you better than 80 percent of the people you went to school with.

But he was more in tune with your presence than even Tadashi was. And he had always managed to pick your voice out in a crowd.

He glanced down at you, and suddenly, instead of being worried about if he was in love you, he was more worried about whether you loved him back or not.

Kei debated texting Tadashi, but he decided that it could wait, and he wanted to enjoy this time with you unhindered.

Kei knew that he was never going to say anything unless he was sure you felt the same way about him.

For one thing, you were nice enough that it was entirely possible that you would date him just because you were too nice to say no. For another thing, he wasn't the kind of guy to make a move if he thought it wouldn't lead to a win. Not to mention, that if you he did ask you out and you said no, that might make things awkward in the friend group, and Kei didn't want that to happen.

He had gone this long, right? What was a few more weeks?

But, of course, things didn't go the way that Kei wanted them to.

As the end of a semester approached, as well as the end of the year, projects piled on, as did speeches and tests.

Kei had always done well academically, and he wasn't as stressed as some of the other people he knew, like Hinata and Kageyama.

You seemed to be feeling the pressure too, even though Kei knew that you were going to be getting some of the higher grades in class, just like always.

You were freaking out more than usual, and Kei realized that he needed to do something if he didn't want you to overwork yourself.

He found you on the swings at the park by your house.

He had gone over to make sure that you had eaten something, but your mother had told him that you had gone out earlier, and that she didn't know where you were.

"Hey," he said, announcing his presence as he settled beside you.

"Hey Kei," you replied, staring at the ground in front of you like it held the key to the universe.

"Are you okay?"

"No," you admitted. "I'm so nervous and freaked out that I can't eat anything. I have that weird mineral deficiency so drinking water just makes me really dizzy and I almost passed out when I stood up at the end of the day and there's nothing I can do about it! Not to mention that, once again, I got stuck with the morons that aren't going to do anything to help me with the project so I'm stuck doing everything by myself. For some of my classes, that's okay, I can just tell the teacher that they didn't help, but for some of them they're going to give me that bullshit lecture about working together. I have no idea what to do my speech about for that one class, and I have so many back to back tests that I think I might forget everything!"

Kei let you ramble, watching the way your hands moved around, trying to communicate the stress and anger and nerves that you were experiencing all at once.

He watched the way yours eyes widened and squeezed shut to add extra emphasis. He watched the way you glanced over at him to make sure that he was still paying attention, to make sure that you weren't annoying him, the way you smiled a little bit whenever you noticed that he was watching you and that you weren't annoying him by talking.

Somehow, you started talking about the constant love letters that he was getting.

"I mean, I get that some girls feel the need to have a boyfriend," you said, rolling your eyes, "but I have bigger things to worry about than their attraction to you, you know? One girl gave me a letter the other day, and I was so tired that I didn't realize what it was, and I started to read it and I was caught between wanting to laugh, cry, and hurl all at the same time."

Kei perked up at that.

"It made me kinda sad too," you admitted, your voice quieting. "I mean, it must really suck for you, getting all these letters claiming that they love you when they don't even know that first thing about who you are. I mean, it was hilarious that she even thought that you were interested in getting a girlfriend, and it was sickening how many times she used the words 'hot', 'sexy', and 'unadulteratedly handsome' to describe you."

Kei knew he made a face at that, with the way you laughed, before you continued, your voice even quieter than it had been, "But it made me sad to think that you keep having to read these things. They claim that they love you, that they want to be with you, and they don't even know who you are. Not in a way that matters at least. I don't know, it was just kind of depressing I guess."

You glanced at him, turning to face him.

"I hope you don't mind, but I started throwing them away. I'm getting sick and tired of being their carrier pigeon, and I really hate thinking about you having to deal with them all the time. If they want to confess they can find another way to do it."

"I don't mind, at all," he assured you, and you smiled at him.

But then your smiled faded into something similar to a frown.

"Hey, Kei?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember that promise we made when we were kids?"

"How could I forget? You never shut up about it during middle school," he teased.

"I broke that promise," you whispered. "That was one of the reasons that those letters made me so upset. As someone who has loved you, really loved you, for longer than they've known about you, it made me sick to read some of the things they said. I know that that makes me sound like some kind of possessive bitch, but it's true."

Kei stared at you, wondering if he had just heard that right.

You were in love with him? And had been for more than three years?

Kei felt like the breath had been knocked out of him.

"What's with the face Kei?" you asked. "I thought you knew already."

Kei didn't think that his eyes could get any wider than they were at that moment.

"Y-You . . . I-I what?"

"Come on Kei, you had to have noticed by now," you said, looking more concerned by the second. "I mean, it's not like I act the same way around everyone else that I do around you."

Kei let his brain process the things that you were telling him before he managed to squeak out, "You mean, like a friend thing right?"

You bit your lip, checking his face for something, fiddling with your fingers in your lap.

"No, Kei," you said finally. "I mean like, I want to be your girlfriend kind of love."

You weren't looking at him now, and he was worried you were taking this the wrong way. He didn't want this to end in a misunderstanding so he sighed dramatically.

"So, you're telling me that I could have confessed months ago and avoided the entire overthinking part of my recent internal panic?" he asked, watching the way your brows furrowed with confusion, the way your head whipped up when you finally realized what he was saying to you.

"A-Are you saying that the feeling is mutual?" you asked, eyes wide as you both looked at each other.

"Yes, you dumbass," he teased, smiling softly at you. "I broke that promise too, so it's okay, since we both broke it."

Now you were the one staring at him in disbelief.

Then you were off your swing and pacing in front of them, waving your hands around like a madwoman.

"Holy shit, you love me back," you muttered, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye every few seconds, like you were worried he would disappear. "I-I don't know what to do from here. I never thought that I would get this far. Is . . . is this where we talk about whether we want this to be a serious thing?" you asked. "Is this where we agree that we love each other but we pretend like nothing's changed? What am I supposed to do in this situation?"

"For one thing," Kei said, standing so that he could wrap his hands around your wrists, gently making you look at him. "You could calm down and let me get a word or two in before you make yourself black out."

You nodded, taking a deep breath.

"For another," he continued, "you and I should go back to your house. Your mom is worried sick about you, and you need to eat something before you pass out. We can have a serious talk about what this means once you aren't in danger of passing out from exhaustion or malnutrition."

"Okay, but only because I know that you're going to make me do it anyway," you told him, making him laugh.

You both walked in silence for a while before you asked, "When did you realize?"

"A few months ago," he admitted. "I think I've always known, but that guy- the slimeball that I blocked- got on my nerves enough that I knew it wasn't some platonic 'protect a friend' thing. I started seeing it more and more after that. I talked to Kuroo-san about it when I was nearly 100 percent sure, and that solidified it for me I guess, that night you and Tadashi stayed over and we watched that horrid slasher film. I woke up and you were right there by my side, and suddenly I couldn't imagine waking up any other way."

"That really was a horrible movie," you muttered. "I didn't think you were going to be the cheesy one today, but then again, you are always surprising me. And you didn't think to tell me?"

"I was worried it would make things awkward, and I didn't want to say something and be wrong, you know? Besides, you can't say anything. How long have you known?"

"Do you remember the summer before our third year in middle school and we all stayed at my grandparents' camp for three weeks?"

"That long? We were- what?- twelve?"

"Yeah. I remember that there was a thunderstorm the first night we were there, and I got up in the middle of the night because I couldn't sleep, so I stood on the deck, in a tank top and shorts because I wanted to. I don't even remember how long I had been out there when you wandered out. I remember calling you a dumbass because 'What if I was a murderer?' and you just called me short.

"We both stood there for a few minutes, and when I shivered, you wrapped your arms around my waist from behind me, pressing your chest to my back and calling me an idiot for wearing something so light in the middle of a thunderstorm. Instead of doing the sensible thing and getting a blanket or a jacket, you just hugged me and stood there with me until I couldn't stand it and we went inside."

Kei remembered that. He had seen you standing out on the deck when the lightning had flashed, and he had been worried when you weren't in your room, so he had gone out to check on you.

You had looked so happy, standing there in the rain, listening to the thunder crash in the distance.

He had wanted to stay with you, so he had.

It was one of the first times he had decided that he didn't care what it looked like, he cared for you, and he was going to show it somehow.

Kei slipped his hand into yours, interlacing your fingers together.

You glanced at him, but you didn't say anything, just squeezed his hand and walked with him.

When you both got back to your house, you grabbed a plate of food and plopped down at your desk in your room.

Kei lounged on your bed while you ate, watching you flip through a textbook and scribble notes in between bites of food.

When you pushed the plate to the side, your turned to face him.

"So."

You both locked eyes and chuckled.

"I already told you what I wanted out of this," you told him, shrugging. "I'm fine with whatever we decide, but that's my best case scenario ending for this."

"You make this sound like a business meeting," he teased, watching you stand up to move next to him on your bed.

"What do you want from this, Kei?" you asked, glancing down at your lap.

"I want you to be my girlfriend," he admitted. "I want to glare at guys that think they even have a chance with you. I want to kiss you for good luck before a game, all that sappy shit that everyone says that I wouldn't be into."

You smiled, laughing a little breathlessly for a moment before you comprehended everything he said.

"All of it?" you asked, turning those damned doe eyes on him again.

"All of it," he confirmed.

You chuckled softly, taking his hand again.

"Good. Me too."

"Good," he replied, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.

You giggled, something that made Kei stop for a moment, because you weren't the type of girl to giggle, at anything.

He smiled softly at you, and he wondered how much shit he was going to get from his team with you around, but he realized that it wasn't anything he needed to worry about yet.

Then he remembered something else.

"Hey, do you want to cause a little chaos?" Kei asked you.

"How so?"

"Remember how I said I talked to Kuroo-san?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, he wanted me to let him know how it went," Kei admitted. "I have him, Bokuto, Akaashi, Lev, and Hinata in a discord group chat. I want to try something, if you're okay with it."

"What do you have in mind?" you asked, arching an eyebrow, a smirk on your lips that said you were up for almost anything.

Skinny: img.jpg

Skinny: Thanks Kuroo-san

five people are typing...

Kei laughed, leaning over to show you the chaos that had ensued when he had sent the group chat the photo of you kissing his cheek.

You giggled at the many exclamation points and question marks, snickering at Kuroo's reply.

"I love you," you told him, kissing his cheek again.

"I love you too," he said, ignoring the calls that were coming through on his phone as he leaned over to cup your face in his hands.

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willwriteforhugs · 3 years

Text

the most beautiful girl i’ve ever known- jung hoseok

boyfriend! hobi x chubby! reader- one shot !

word count: 2.3k

genre: angst

synopsis: you’ve always struggled with confidence- it’s simply part of who you are. always the chubby student in the class, always the one wearing pants instead of a mini skirt. as an adult, you tried to make peace with it, but after a horrible run in with your coworker, you feel like you just can’t do it anymore- at least, until your boyfriend takes things into his own hands. hoseok’s determined to get you to realize your own beauty, and he’ll do anything for that to happen.

warnings: body-shaming, work harassment, swearing, minor arguing

a/n: wow, first bts fic, here we go...

this fic was requested by a sweet anon- and if they’re reading this, i hope i did the request justice! i think i did well, though i tried to treat the topic with love and respect.

i hope everyone enjoys <333

- - -

your apartment building’s elevator makes a polite dinging noise as the doors slide smoothly shut- and for the second time since they opened, you thank god the small space is empty.

elevators are generally silent places, but now the box is filled with the sound of your rushed, uneven breathing. you rotate so your back is pressed into the corner of the moving elevator, pressing a hand to your face. hot, silent tears stream down your cheeks. your thoughts are a jumbled mess:

god, how embarrassing. crying in a public elevator. anyone could walk in right now.

you try to take a stabilizing breath- but you quickly realize the attempt was in vain. your inhale causes you to hiccup and choke, making you cry even harder. you bury your face in your hands, wondering what you’d done to deserve this.

‘why this body? why?’ you think to yourself. it was a thought that came all too quickly, and one you were familiar with.

you don’t think you were ugly, not necessarily- but you certainly don’t think you were desirable, either. being overweight had always had that effect- not complete hopelessness, but a serious lack of overall confidence. and it’s not like you can help it- you try your best to stay healthy, but genetics do what genetics do. so you are overweight. some days, that fact it didn’t bug you- but today was not one of those days.

in the moment, you feel yourself reach up down and clutch at your own arms, squeezing the soft flesh. you groan quietly, unwillingly reliving what had caused this spiral in the first place.

one hour ago:

you had begun the day in a positive mood, really- but that had all gone to shit once the work day began.

you had a new coworker- mr. lee. he wasn’t your superior, but he liked to be called by his surname, apparently. he’d been hired on a whim two weeks ago, when the company lost the long time employee that previously held mr. lee’s position.

the man, though being probably a decade your senior, had a childlike way of going about the work day. he laughed at things that weren’t funny, and tried to make conversation even when you had your earbuds in.

you hated him, naturally.

he was just too much. over-caffeinated, controlling, and immature- basically everything you despised in a peer.

however- or up until today, at least- you’d been able to tolerate him. but while you were on lunch break, mr. lee drew the last straw with you.

he’d walked into the breakroom, already making too much noise. he was humming, and tapping his foot, and running the microwave, all at the same time. and, unfortunately, you were the only other person in the room- so he made a beeline straight for you.

“afternoon, peach!” he’d said. you hated the nickname, and had no idea of its origins.

“hi,” you grumbled, staring down at your food.

“i didn’t see you come in this morning.”

you made a noncommittal noise. “got here early.”

“right.” the man replied.

a beat passed, and the two of you settled into a stiff silence, only disrupted by the sound of your eating.

and finally, the vulture had a point of interest.

“you really gonna eat all that?” he’d said, looking pointedly down at your meal.

you’d frowned at the comment, and dodged the question. “why do you ask?” you’d replied.

“well, you know. didn’t think a girl like you would need all of that, right?”

you set your fork down, trying to keep your breathing even. before you had been able to come up with an answer, though, he’d continued:

“i mean, you should be trying to lose weight.” he leaned into the word ‘lose’, as if speaking to a child.

you remember your anger had begun to dissipate, quickly replaced by offence and sadness. you’d stood up quickly, grabbing at your things so you could leave.

mr. lee had frowned at your reaction. “come on now,” he’d said. “there’s no need to feel upset, i’m only being honest with you. you don’t want me to lie, do you? you’re fat, you may as well know.”

you spun on him. “and what’s so wrong with being fat?”

before he could supply you with an answer (which he surely thought he had) you’d stormed out of the room and requested the afternoon off.

and now here you are.

you stumble a bit on your way out of the elevator, cursing as you nearly drop your bag. when you finally make it to your door, it takes three tries to get the code correct.

you sigh heavily as the door to your apartment swings open. to your surprise, you find the lights still on, and it takes you a moment to realize why.

it’s friday.

hoseok had the day off.

shit.

you kick off your shoes and shut the door quickly, abandoning any efforts to be quiet. your own sniffles seem loud as you scramble to shut yourself in the hallway bathroom. you don’t want him to see you like this- crying, puffy, and chubby as usual.

right as you slam the bathroom door shut, you hear his voice.

“y/n?”

you grimace, clamping a hand over your mouth to stifle the sounds of your crying.

“y/n-ah, is that you?”

you hear your boyfriend pad into the hallway, and his steps falter when he discovers your belongings strewn about by the front door. there’s a pause, then the footsteps continue to the bathroom door- where, on the other side, you’re slumped against the cabinets.

hoseok knocks gently. “y/n? love, are you alright? i thought you worked until five today...”

when you don’t answer, he continues. “are you sick?”

you squeeze your eyes shut, and a small sob tears its way out of your mouth.

you can tell your boyfriend heard it, because his voice becomes even more frantic. “y/n?” he says, leaning against the door.

oh, hoseok. sweet, innocent hoseok. he was always so kind to you. you remember the day when he first asked you out- you’d been convinced it was a prank at first, but when you realized he was being genuine, you’d fallen for him instantly. now, you know that genuine was all hobi ever was.

he’d never called you fat. it had crossed your mind, of course- whether or not your size bugged him, or if he had to defend you to his friends- but whenever you’d been brave enough to ask about it, hoseok would always respond with: “of course not, my love, you’re beautiful.”

you’d never pushed it, though now you realize you always wanted to.

now you remove your hand from your mouth, taking a shaky breath. your voice trembles as you finally respond: ‘”i’m okay, i’m- i’m not sick or anything.”

you hear your boyfriend’s body slide down the length of the door, ultimately settling on the ground in front of it. you lean forward so your head is pressed against the wood- the two of you are sitting face to face, with only the closed door keeping you apart.

“y/n-ah, talk to me.” hoseok says. “please.”

your shoulders shake as another wave of tears crashes over you. “i’m sorry,” you manage. “i’m just- i’m not feeling very good right now.”

you can tell hobi’s face is pressed into the door from how close his voice sounds. his words are tinged with distress. “what happened?”

you sigh, overwhelmed with shame and anger. you don’t want to tell him- but of course, you know you have to anyways. if for anything, just to wipe the sad curiosity out of his voice.

“you remember- do you remember how i have that awful new coworker?” you croak.

there was a pause, then: “the older one?”

“yeah. he’s annoying. and rude.”

“okay, yeah. i remember.” hoseok says quietly, urging you to continue.

you inhale slowly. “he just- he said some things to me today, and i-”

hobi interrupts you suddenly, his tone having gone sharp. “what kind of things?”

you pause. “he said... things about my body. he said i needed to lose weight.”

hoseok says nothing, which is always worrisome. you can practically feel his emotions through the solid wooden door- a chaotic mix of distress, concern, and red-hot fury.

after a moment, your boyfriend speaks up. “y/n-ah.”

you hum dully in response.

“can you please open the door?”

you frown, but decide not to fight it. you know he’s only trying to help. so you reach up and scoot back a few feet so that the door can open inwards. hoseok, who had been so faithfully slumped on the other side, shuffles inside the small bathroom, still on his knees.

when he meets your eyes, you can see his heartbreak, and he can see yours. without any hesitation, he reaches forward and takes your face in his hands, softly caressing your tear-streaked cheeks.

you lean into his touch, allowing your body to fall forward into his. he slips an arm around your abdomen in support.

a few minutes pass without speaking, the air filled only with the sounds of hobi’s hand running over your back, and your laboured breathing.

finally, your counterpart speaks up. “y/n- is that all he said? the one thing?”

he places his hand on your jaw to lift your face away from his chest, wanting to meet your eyes.

you sigh, pulling away. “no, he- he told me that i should eat less, and that-” your breath catches. “well, he said i was fat.”

hoseok’s jaw clenches, and you shift in his arms. “what?” you whisper.

his eyes are aflame when he responds. “why would he say those things to you? i just- why did he think he’d have any right?”

you look away. “i don’t know. male workplace entitlement.”

hobi gives a wry chuckle. “that’s no excuse.”

“i know.”

“we’ll report him, alright? i will, if you won’t. that’s no way to be speaking to coworkers.”

you nod vaguely as hobi runs his hands up and down your arms. trapped underneath you, your right foot begin to fall asleep.

“baby?” your boyfriend asks after a minute.

“do you think he’s right?” you burst, eyes burning. “do you think i need to lose weight?”

hoseok’s face falls, and he grasps at your wrists. “y/n,” he starts.

“no,” you interrupt. “really, hoseok. i- i’m not enough for you, am i? i don’t know why you stay with me. you’re way out of my league.”

“y/n!” hobi snaps. his tone is suddenly sharp.

you shut your mouth, already regretting your words.

“my love.” hoseok whispers, his voice breaking. “how could you say that?”

you choke on a dry sob, unable to answer.

your boyfriend’s eyes search your face, desperate for an answer that isn’t there. “how could you ever think that you aren’t good enough? and- what, just because you aren’t skinny?”

you look down at the floor as he continues, blinking rapidly. the tears really won’t stop.

“that’s a silly way to think.” hoseok says quietly. “and i know that for a fact, y/n. because you are the most beautiful girl i’ve ever known. and you always will be, no matter how big you are. you could be four sizes smaller, or four sizes larger, and i would love you all the same.”

you burrow your face further into his chest. “you mean it?” your voice comes out in a whimper.

“absolutely.” he says, not hesitating. “there is no version of events where you aren’t good enough for me. you’re too good for me, honestly. sometimes i think you deserve better.”

you pull away now, frowning. “that’s not true.”

“why not?”

“well,” you falter. “because i love you. and i chose you. i chose you because i love you, and i don’t want anybody else.”

above you, hoseok smiles gently, waiting for you to hear your own words.

the realization hits, and you understand suddenly. he wanted you to say that, to hear it from yourself.

“oh,” you whisper.

“now do you get it?”

you sniffle, grateful that your tears have mostly subsided. “yeah,” you mumble. “i get it.”

“good.” hobi pauses. “i love you, y/n. and it doesn’t matter what anyone else says about you, because you’re gorgeous, and you’re important. and you will never be defined by your body. i’ll call your office and report that awful guy, alright?”

you nod silently.

“okay.” he says, nudging your arm. “now how about you get cleaned up? since you’re home early we can spend the whole evening together if you’d like.”

you perk up at that. “oh- yes, i want to.”

hoseok smiles. “i thought so. here-” he rises to his feet, extending a hand to help you. you take it, placing your palm in his. he lifts you to standing, then smiles again.

“don’t worry, my love. i’ll fix your mood right up. i even have some sample tracks i could show you!”

you smile gently. “that sounds nice.”

as he turns to leave, you clear your throat. “hoseok.”

he turns quickly, eyebrows raised. “hmm?”

you gesture for him to come closer, and as soon as he’s in arm’s reach, you lean over and kiss him.

it’s a gentle kiss, really. a kiss that says i love you, and a kiss that says thank you, for everything.

hoseok hums into your mouth, hands quickly finding your waist. you lean into him, body and mind buzzing. kissing hoseok is your favorite, because each time is just a little different.

your hands find his hair, and you smile against his mouth. you can feel him smile back.

he kisses you for just a moment longer, then pulls away.

he rests his forehead on yours, sighing lightly.

and you know that you have never felt more loved, more beautiful, more safe, then you do in that moment, with him.

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ablednt · 3 years

Text

Actually helpful advice for the kids on this hellsite

Once again tired of "don't make a carrd or tell people your triggers" posts going around literally telling kids it's Dangerous to set boundaries. So here's what I've learned in my teen years on how to stay safe in the hellscape that's the internet.

Identity

You don't have to link all your social media together but you can if you want to. Don't give out something that is more private (like discord account, Skype or zoom account, facebook, Snapchat etc.) publicly or to people who aren't familiar with yet though.

Use a nickname rather than your real name or birth name, an account and name change may unfortunately be necessary so if you want to keep a name safe or use it irl then don't attach it to public social media. This can be fun though! Go apeshit coming up with different aliases and names! Call yourself lizard if you want to!

The only thing you absolutely need to put somewhere on your account (or carrd) is that you're a minor. You don't have to give the exact age but I promise this is important because even if there's plenty of context clues that you're a minor if you don't indicate this somewhere clear and adults start treating you like shit you need to be able to point out that they're knowingly doing this to a minor. That has saved me from gross bullshit a lot. Yes, people should default to treating people who's ages they don't know as a minor to play it safe but the majority of people assume everyone is the same age as them so you need to make it clear you're not an adult.

Pronouns don't make you identifiable and anyone who acts like putting your pronouns in your bio is unsafe is probably transphobic lmao. You don't have to if you don't want to (and don't mind people not using/knowing your pronouns) but it's safe to put them there most of the time. (The only exception I can think of is if you're closeted and your parents may find your account but in that case you should probably stay closeted online to unless you feel safe/know they aren't likely to find your account.)

You don't have to list every privilege you have and you probably shouldn't but if you're white you probably should indicate this somewhere. This is to hold yourself accountable because yes even teenagers can be racist and underaged people of color also deserve to feel safe. If you're nonwhite and don't feel safe doing so you don't have to list your race or ethnicity.

If you're part of a system/plural or questioning you do NOT have to say your systems origins, if you have DID/OSDD, or list your headmates/alters. The system community has a lot of people in it (and singlets adjacent to parts of the community due to bullshit discourse groups welcoming them) who will target underaged systems to fakeclaim them or harass them etc. I suggest having everyone use aliases/nicknames on a system account and you only tell your origin to people you feel comfortable around and safe with. Your safety and privacy is more important than your trendy system carrd goals I promise!

You shouldn't really just list any disorders you have but it really does no harm to put marginalized identities you're proud of on a carrd or in your bio. You might get a shitty anon or two but I promise people aren't going to dox you if you say you're autistic on your carrd or something.

I personally wouldn't list any special interests that are particularly recognizable (popular media should be ok but more niche stuff may not be) or publicly share a kin list just because you never know if you'll want to switch up your identity online to feel safe and the more things are clearly tied to your current nickname and handle the harder it will be to do this. However if you feel safe doing so it's not the end of the world. Just be careful about it and don't feel pressured to give more info than you're comfortable giving.

You do NOT need to tell people your trauma in order to tell them your triggers. If you need something tagged with a tw you really should indicate this somewhere so people know to tag it (unless you intend to send every you're mutuals with an anon with what to tag which is also an option but may be difficult) but you shouldn't tell them your trauma or medical history to justify it. Your boundaries aren't up for debate and you have nothing to prove. You should only talk about your trauma if you feel safe doing so (and even then please don't give identifiable details like.names of people involved or specifics as that can cause serious problems.)

Boundaries & etiquette

DNIs are good! BYFs are good! Anyone who tells you that they're not good or useful is absolutely trying to disrespect your and other people's boundaries. You can and should make a DNI and list the people you don't want to interact with. (Generally it's better to say groups rather than specific people or names because it's easier to again not be recognized if you need to change accounts/aliases but you can do this if you have strong reasoning and absolutely have to to feel safe.)

DNIs (and also.trigger lists) don't have to all be bad things! You can put fandoms that make you uncomfortable, things that trigger you but aren't bad inherently, etc. on these lists. They're about helping you feel safe not having the hottest takes or being the most morally correct.

Some people you should put in your DNIs as a minor are proshippers/anti-antis and MAPs. Both of these groups have been proven time and time again to groom minors online so the earlier you get away from them the better.

Once you have your DNI please do be aggressive in reinforcing it! Block people who break your DNI, tell people who complain about your DNI to fuck off! Do not tolerate people trying to debate the boundaries You have set this is your corner of the internet to feel safe! They can go somewhere else! Being blocked by a kid on the internet is not the emotional blow abusers act like it is. You're not mean for having boundaries please internalize this and stand up for yourself!

If other people have a DNI you need to check that before following them this is for both your own safety and theirs. If you're unsure what something on someone's DNI means ask around to find out before following just in case.

Do NOT get involved in discourse! This doesn't mean you can't ever take part in or boost serious things. Discussing/calling out bigotry (racism, ableism, transphobia, etc.) isn't discourse. Sometimes callout posts for legitimately harmful people is necessary so that's not automatically bad. But I'm taking about the shit that's #discourse. Stay out of ace discourse. Stay away from syscourse. Don't debate with terfs or transmeds or shitty people. I know it seems like it'd be cathartic to win debates with shitty people, I know there's people who will try to bait you into the latest argument over which lgbt+ identities can say what slurs or whatever the fuck the pointless bad faith argument is, and I know you want to prove that your marginalized identity doesn't make you a bad person like bigots say it does. But as someone who's mental health was absolutely destroyed by discourse as a teen it's not worth it. By all means discuss issues as they arise, broaden your perspectives and horizons, etc. but don't engage knowingly in discourse it will save you so much trouble in the long run.

Try to avoid talking to adults 1x1 if you can avoid it! It's okay to dm with an adult you feel safe talking to sometimes and while it's certainly okay not to interact with adults at all if you don't feel.comfortable it's generally okay to do so. But if an adult is going out of their way to consistently talk to you in private needlessly that can be a red flag. If an adult tries to insinuate that they're the only adult around you can trust that's DEFINITELY a red flag. Basically talk to people in places you can easily involve others if needs be. If someone sends you a dm that makes you uncomfortable screenshot it in case you need to show someone etc.

Don't discuss NSFW things with adults, in spaces adults have easy access to (for example a discord server open to all ages), or even with other underaged people who haven't indicated they're comfortable with it. There's nothing inherently wrong with being aware of nsfw stuff or experiencing sexual attraction as a teenager but it's very important that you don't put yourself in situations that may be unsafe for you or others. Most good discord servers have rules against this for this exact reason. Now, to make it abundantly clear, if you did or do ever say something nsfw and an adult takes advantage of this or responds in a way that makes you uncomfortable this is NOT your fault! The responsibility falls on adults to act appropriately but it's still a good idea to keep youeself out of harms way.

That's basically it on a general level. Once again, posts telling you not to make DNIs or carrds or trigger lists (all used to set clear boundaries) are very suspect and either grossly misunderstand how these things work or are intentionally demonizing them in order to have more opportunity it excuse to do harm. Setting clear boundaries is good. Doing things that help you feel safe and respected is good. Just don't go and get involved in discourse or give out personal information or anything.

#online safety #internet safety #DNIs #carrd #actuallyautistic #actuallyplural #long post #grooming tw #ask to tag

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mollysfoundfamily · 3 years

Note

What are the epithet erased folks like when they're drunked?

Oh ho ho ho this is going to be fun! ( alcohol and drunk Tigger warning though)

Molly: No. No. No. No. no alcohol for the baby. EVER! Percy doesn’t even anything that even looks like it get close to her and her young still forming brain!! the others have kind of an unspoken rule about it to. SHES. JUST. TOO. PURE.

she hasn’t told them that her dad used to let her drink pumpkin spice beer at thanksgiving yet.

Sylvie: Don’t tell percy but Sylvie drinks wine the most respectable and classy of all adult beverages when he’s at office parties. The others are reluctant to let a 15 year old do it but he insists he‘s more then responsible enough. It’s purely to study the complex flavors anyway (he’ll never admit it but they all taste like expired cough syrup to him) not to get totally inebriated for the sake of it.... that part happened on accident. It only takes about one glass to do it and He goes into beef beef sheep mode but as a drunken out loud ramble. He comes up with alot of “ground braking theories“ when he gets like this too. He was once convinced that motion wasn’t real it‘s just an illusion our brains cook up to help us cope with our frozen world!!! He’ll just keep rambling and hiccuping for hours every once and a while admitting something very very embarrassing like How he doesn’t know what half the big words he uses mean or that his coffee is actually just chocolate milk until he eventually passes out on top of a pile of very tipsy sheep sucking his thumb.... which is usually fallowed by a visit from a very very glitchy beefton Who has fish fins for some reason because drunk dreams apparently aren’t as stable as regular dreams.

Giovanni: Gio doesn’t even really like alcohol (mostly because of Debby) but sneaks into bars every now and then because underage drinking is a major crime!! He can’t stomach anything unless it’s drowned in sweet strawberry staved ice or a million different juices and of course a tiny umbrella and it only takes one of those to get him waisted... His whole face flushes totally red even his ears! He’s somehow even louder and more obnoxious then usual! Dancing on tables swinging form ceiling fans yelling at strangers who don’t tip or harass The bar tenders and getting into fist fights with them which he usually loses (making out with crusher that one time) his few inhibitions completely out the window along with the Bar‘s jukebox.... it’s the only time he’s ever committed any kind of real crimes. Then on the second on he just Starts maniacally laughing and crying at the same time. Its actually pretty scary to witness so thank goodness Bear trap ain’t around. Until It eventually just becomes crying about all the mean stuff he did and how great it is but how it’s awful too and how he doesn’t wanna be mean but you have to be mean to be a bad guy so does that mean he doesn’t wanna be a bad guy? and really feels like he should have taken that four year baseball scholarship to the city’s top medical College!!

Mera: She’s a little harder to get waisted mostly Because she has to be really careful not to brake the fancy glasses her drinks come in. When she does it only makes her get more grumpy and makes her start scream ranting about how terrible life is and how terrible people are and just how much everything and everyone sucks all the time... expect for Indus

her affection for him is turned up a hundred fold she’ll throw herself on top of him and nuzzle into him like a kitty squeezing his muscles! She’ll ramble on about how he’s the handsomest sweetest person in the history of ever and how she doesn’t deserve him and just wants to kiss his big dumb face and from there it trails off into.... pg 13 territory untill she passes out and a very red faced indus has to carry her home.

Indus: Indus is also pretty hard to get drunk since he’s so huge it’s only ever happened once. It was from one to many of those wooden pints of ale at this theme bar because of course it was. Everyone there thought he was an actor or something and kept asking for selfies because he kept singing broken warrior drinking ballets and challenging people to drinking contests which only made things worse. After winning about 5 he couldn’t say too words without braking into giggle fit or hiccuping his head off. It would have been kinda cute if he hadn’t also lost all motor control, completely forgot how strong he was and smashed almost everything and everyone he came in contact with. He hugged about 7 people into the hospital, smashed a hole on the bar. and then tried to fight a forklift. But he probably would have done that last one anyway.

Percy: (aka the one you’re all waiting for) Has only ever taken a drink once in her life. Ramsey thought Champagne would be a good way to celebrate after closing a big case together... he has never regretted anything so much. She took one sip and she was immediately completely intoxicated a Drunken delinquent unable to control her own actions or the already rapidly forming addition she was suffering from. But she would work as hard as she could to get sober and decided to check herself into the nearest rehab center. He tried to stop her but she was determined to go strait there but she wouldn’t allow herself to operate a motor vehicle under such conditions so she decided to walk there right through the middle of heavy traffic. Once again totally unable to control her rash decisions. He eventually got her to come back thankfully without getting hit. Only for her to run straight into a stop sign. She got back up again immediately and acted like nothing was wrong even though blood was pooring out of her swelled up nose! He tried to take her to the hospital but she insisted on staying to defend her honor again the offending sign as irrational displays of strength was a common drunken activity. But electrocuting it was probably not the best idea since it sort of acted as a lightning rod and fired the underground wires the ran underneath it blacking out the next 5 city blocks. The video of the whole thing when viral and Percy uses as an example of the dangers of alcohol For the kids.

Ramsey: The man can afford freaking gold laced Champagne but chooses box rosé in the basement watching Adam Sandler movies like the king he is.

But somehow with out fail he will always always always wake up the next morning in the master sweet of a yacht he just bought with a bunch of passed out strangers half of which are furries in a giant pile of money totally unable to move his face because of the back ally Botox he got done. wearing nothing but his boxers, gold chains with a little gold rats on them, and solid gold crocks still holding that box of rosé....

Zora: We’ve done drunk Zora art here before she’s pretty much exactly what you would expect downing whisky and beer left and right just to see how far she can go!! Her competitiveness goes through the roof and she’s challenging anyone to anything darts, arm wrestle, poole, russian roulette, jump rope, anything she was one of the said people Indus got into a drinking contest with and the only one he lost too! She really isn’t that much different then her usual self since she drinks pretty regularly and has the highest tolerance out of everyone.

extra because I had too!!

Howie: It seems like its impossible to get him drunk. His worker bees get him to try and loosen up a little because like it or not he needs it. But he’s already downed 10 giant beers and seems totally the same.... until he gets a call about a new job gets up and walks right through the wall of the bar leaving a Howie shaped hole behind him.

#epithet erased #Epithet Erased Headcannon #Headcannon #Found Fam #Alcohol Trigger warning #molly blyndeff #giovanni potage #sylvester ashling #mera salamin #indus tarbella #percival king #ramsey murdoch #zora salazar #howie honeyglow

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aboveallarescuer · 3 years

Note

Maybe it’s just me, but why are people who are so uncomfortable with problematic content (so much so that they *have* to harass people) even reading ASOIAF? They alway say that GRRM condones x, or that people romanticize y. But, he doesn’t? Martin has an excessive amount of child brides and age gaps that he deliberately romanticizes. It’s baffling.

I agree with you, Anon. GRRM hypersexualized 13- to 16-year-old Dany in his descriptions... He thought the wedding night between Dany and Drogo was consensual... He had Oberyn Martell, Robert Baratheon and Brandon Stark lust over and have sex with teenage girls... He had Arianne Martell lose her virginity at 14 and fantasize about her uncle at a young age... He presented Jon and Rodrik Arryn as honorable men despite the fact that they both married and had sex with Lysa Tully and Daella Targaryen back when they were teenagers (which took a toll on their health and even caused the latter's death)... He shows Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth feeling attracted to each other when the former is in his 30s and the latter is a teenager... The list of problematic asoiaf ships by modern standards goes on and on. It's clear that relationships with big age gaps are normalized by the text. RL should be viewed by the same standard... And yet, only their shippers are being accused of p*d* apologism. Why does that happen? Because 1) the asoiaf fandom now has a hard time distinguishing their Rhaegar/RL headcanons from the canonical information about them (which is still very scarce) and 2) hating on Rhaegar gets them a lot of likes and reblogs, which is ultimately what they're after. If they had consistent moral beliefs, they would have been spending as much time and energy criticizing how Sansan (historically the most popular ship of the asoiaf fandom) is romanticized... But they don't because their leader ships it. In this particular regard, they manage to be even worse than Jonsas, who at least argue that EVERY Sansa ship that isn't Jonsa (Sansan, Sanrion, Sansa/LF) is abuse and p*d* apologism (and I disagree with that too, of course, but at least they were consistent in their opinions and didn't tolerate Sansan just for the sake of attention).

Also, here's the thing... I don't agree with the opinion that every part of the fandom should stay on its lane and never interact with each other. That sort of attitude is what led to Dany antis/'neutrals' gaining so much influence and space. I believe that sometimes people should make direct replies if they're discussing canon facts (if it's fanfic, though, I agree that the writers should be respected and that you should only comment when you have something positive to say). But that isn't what this group is doing, they just want to feel that they have the moral high ground by making callout posts about how the fandom supposedly hates teenage girls, accepts incest, romanticizes p*d*philia and is an unsafe space for minors (if you're a minor, you shouldn't even be reading asoiaf or interacting with its fandom... But if you are... I understand feeling triggered by certain stuff, but don't be an entitled prick and don't expect the adults to conform to your personal desires). I don't think they're that stupid not to know what they're doing (especially because many of them wrote good metas in the past, I can admit that), I think they're willfully malicious. The fact that they had no problem with a fandom friend a) joining a Discord server of their fandom "enemies", b) lying about shipping RL and hating Daensa, c) spending their time interacting with RL shippers about these pairings to find evidence of how "gross" they are and d) sending their fandom friends screenshots of their conversations crosses a line for me. Seriously, I don't even ship RL, but I can't help but feel sympathy for what happened to that person. It's called having basic decency, which that group doesn't seem to have, otherwise they'd've denounced the terrible behavior of that person instead of continuing to play the victims and making/liking/reblogging a whole list of blogs to avoid interacting with RL shippers.

I could say a lot more about that how awful that group is, tbh. They have a long history of pretending to be above fandom drama while still starting it anyway and misconstruing other people's arguments. But I don't want to take any attention away from what just happened. And I don't want to deal with more fandom drama right now anyway, I only reblogged that post in particular because I wish more fans were supporting that RL shipper. They don't deserve to be harassed just because of their shipping preferences.

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yellowocaballero · 3 years

Text

Human Relations Snippet: Jon and Sasha versus Bad Telenovelas

This is a birthday request from @hihereami who wanted something very Latin American and an excuse to show me her favorite shows. This takes place in early Season 3, before Jude Perry but with Sasha working at the office. Jon fudged some stuff. It features incredibly stupid office dynamics, bad relationships, and a shared history that produced two very different people. Happy birthday, Ami!

CW as usual for Human Relations: explicitly discussed transphobia, references to 19th century racism, and a depiction of a platonic abusive relationship.

Sasha now understood that she was talking to an expert.

“Fine,” she said grudgingly, gathering the papers back up. She left out her great outline and timetable, though, because Martin should definitely appreciate it. “But the number one rule here is to keep up an active support system, right? Which means Jon needs more than just you.” Martin gave her a hilariously prissy look, which she responded with an equally prissy one. “He thinks we have a psychic bond or something.” They did but Sasha didn’t want to admit that. “Look, I’ve been harassing Jon for months about how shitty Jonah is. But if he’s going to listen to me, he needs to know that...I guess that I care about him more than I hate Jonah. That I’m not doing it out of spite or with some ulterior motive to get something out of him.”

Martin closed the manila folder, carefully attaching a label on it and writing down their coded filing system on the tab. “You don’t care about him more than you hate Jonah. You are doing this with ulterior motives. But it would be pretty hypocritical of me to care about that, so...he likes television? And he likes hearing about your life and the things important to you. He’s like this historical, cultural, political, anthropological sponge. I mean, he knows everything about everything, but it’s his passion. So if you want to combine the two…”

And, of course, once Martin said that then the answer was obvious.

Sasha liked to be the smartest person in the room.

The problem with people like Sasha was that, very frequently, they were the smartest person in the room. For seventeen years of her life Sasha had been remarkably and thoroughly assured that she would go places, she was really going to make all of us proud, she’s going to take care of us in our old age, Mrs. Pérez’s son just wastes every day with his girlfriend but here you are, studying all day with your complete lack of friends!

Once she skipped town - well, town, country, Americas, oceans - all of that had been replaced with shiny grades and the bragging rights of Oxford and the implicit looming pressure of her scholarship. Sasha had always been the smartest person in the room. She couldn’t afford anything else - not if she wanted someone to care, not if she wanted to get anywhere in life.

Every adult was somewhat of a child inside: happily ignoring a toy until it was taken away, at which point they would scream and scream. And when Sasha didn’t feel like the smartest person in the room - or, worse, others didn’t see her as the smartest person in the room - there was nothing tolerable about it.

Upon retrospect, workplace and academic discrimination, in addition to some healthy insecurity, bothered her so much that she sold her soul to the devil about it, but apparently this was an semi-common occurrence. Abuela had been right. Teach Sasha to doubt her again.

Mrs. Pérez’s son probably hadn’t accidentally sold his soul to the devil. He and his girlfriend were probably happy with their hard working but low-paying jobs, their cute little smattering of babies, and their mass every week. They’d have long, happy lives, and the amount of life-or-death situations they were put in were probably no more than usual.

Well. Sasha would literally rather die than do that, and that resolve had been tested very thoroughly. She stood by it. Sasha had never regretted a decision she made in her life, besides the ones that sold her soul to the devil, and also maybe some things about Tim. But most of her decisions were good. And even if they weren’t good, she stubbornly stood by them.

That’s why this was difficult. For all of Sasha’s insecurity reasons that, to be fair, had mostly drifted into the background of her life while she had been on the run for murder. And because it was Martin.

“Sasha, I’m not sure what help I can give you.”

Godfuckingdammit.

“Please?” Sasha slid into the seat across from Martin, giving him her best big cow eyes. “Don’t hog the emotional manipulation. You’re the expert in making Jon do what you want, just...work your magic!”

Martin looked up from the statement he was organizing shot Sasha an extremely flat look. Martin was extremely good at looking extremely unimpressed. “Because I’m the one who can magically make people do what I want.”

Sasha winced. “At least you didn’t sell your soul to a demon about it?”

“I know you tell yourself a lot of people do that to make yourself feel better about doing it, but literally nobody does that.” At Sasha’s double wince, Martin sighed. “Don’t listen to Jonah. You didn’t do anything a normal, non-satanic person wouldn’t do. If I could…” Martin trailed off slightly, staring a little in the distance, before shaking back to himself. “I’m not helping you manipulate Jon. That’s my place in this ecosystem.”

“Then we should team up,” Sasha wheedled. She reached into her briefcase - which nowadays contained little more than alcohol and Statements, she wasn’t sure that Georgie had been a good influence on her - and yanked out the print-outs before slapping it on the table. “See, I did research!”

Martin slid the papers closer to him, leafing through them quickly. Sasha waited for him to look very impressed and appreciative of how socially competent yet intellectual she was, but he didn’t look very impressed at all. “ “Help someone in an Abusive or Controlling relationship”, ‘3 ways to support someone stuck in a controlling relationship’, ‘How can I help someone in a toxic relationship’...”

“You aren’t going to deny it, are you?” Sasha asked heatedly. “Because Tim just does not get what I mean no matter how many leaflets I show him because he ‘framed me for murder’ or whatever -”

“Do not pretend as if you’re forgiven him for the murder thing.”

“I fucking hate his guts over it. I will never, ever forgive either of them.” Sasha’s heart spiked in her chest, and she forced herself to take a few calming breaths. “This is a problem. Jon and Jonah are a problem. I don’t think we’re in a position to take on Jonah right now - even if I am working on it. But Jon is a weak link here. We know he’s impossible to kill -” At Martin’s extremely alarmed look, Sasha quickly elaborated, “ - and I wouldn’t want to, although he would really technically deserve it with all of his human rights violations. It would be far easier, and a better use of our resources, if we got Jon to our side. Then hopefully those two could...blow each other up, or something.”

Martin stared at her, expression implacable. Sasha became abruptly aware that she had just threatened to blow up this guy’s semi-boyfriend, and resisted the urge to apologize. She wasn’t apologetic. This was what she had to do, and Sasha always did what had to be done. It didn’t matter if she hated Jon so much that she wanted him dead, when he would be more useful to her alive. It doesn’t matter if she knew that, deep down, Jon was an exceptionally kind and caring person who loved very deeply, and that who he was now was a product of a great deal of influences mostly out of his control. If he was who Sasha was going to turn into, given enough time.

She would stick to the plan. Sasha was going to get herself and her Assistants - including Melanie now, for some reason, who still refused to believe them about the psychic vampire thing despite how many times Jon confessed to it - out of this.

Finally, Martin said, “I’m not going to deny it, Sasha. I’ve printed out all those guides, I’ve read all of the books, I’ve done everything. I’ve been working on this since - I think since I decided that I loved Jon more than I hated him. I’ve got Jon’s trust. And, way more importantly, Jonah is convinced that I’m harmless. He doesn’t pay any attention to me. I think he, like, secretly hates it whenever Jon has someone - whatever. But he is obsessed with everything you do.” At Sasha’s disturbed look, Martin shrugged. “He micromanages. Jon complains about it. I don’t think Jon gets that he really spills the cards on all of Jonah’s plans when he gets drunk and bitches about him.”

Sasha now understood that she was talking to an expert.

“Fine,” she said grudgingly, gathering the papers back up. She left out her great outline and timetable, though, because Martin should definitely appreciate it. “But the number one rule here is to keep up an active support system, right? Which means he needs more than just you.” Martin gave her a hilariously prissy look, which she responded with an equally prissy one. “He thinks we have a psychic bond or something.” They did but Sasha didn’t want to admit that. “Look, I’ve been harassing him for months about how shitty Jonah is. But if he’s going to listen to me, he needs to know that...I guess that I care about him more than I hate Jonah. That I’m not doing it out of spite or with some ulterior motive to get something out of him.”

And, of course, once Martin said that then the answer was obvious.

*******

Sasha was now willing to admit that Martin was smarter than she was.

It was always kind of a crapshoot when looking for Jon. He was only around the Institute half the time, probably less, and he refused to buy a cell phone so anybody could stay in contact with him. Tim had also flatly refused, because Jon would inevitably go to him for help with figuring it out, and apparently that could take hours. Sasha had volunteered to help Jon with accessing some online archives, and apparently she had explained it so confusingly that Jon was left refusing to touch a computer for a month.

The farthest they could go was convincing him to take a Jitterbug for emergencies. Tim had taken great pains to explain the LifeAlert function, to Jon’s increasing lack of amusement. When Sasha had explained the adventure to Georgie, a known social media sensation over wine at their weekly girls night, she had found it hilarious and was very impressed.

“Jon must be really attached to you guys,” Georgie had said, carefully nibbling at her luxury chocolate. Girl’s nights with Georgie were decadent. “I mean, not that he doesn’t talk about all of you nonstop, but he can spend ten years incorporating the Beholding into every piece of technology in the country while willfully refusing to learn how to work a computer.”

Sasha hadn’t missed Georgie’s word choice - deliberately refusing instead of an incapability to learn - but something else in the sentence was stranger to her. “I thought he was all about all kinds of knowledge.”

“I hear that the future can be terrifying for a lot of people,” Georgie had said wisely. “No matter how much of it they experience.”

“Is it terrifying for you?”

“Goodness, no.” Georgie had flashed her a bright grin - not so much a showing of teeth as it was a peek at a bone-white skeleton. “I always know what the future holds.”

As it stood, Sasha got lucky today. She wasn’t forced to make Jon use his dreaded phone, and as a result she wasn’t forced to understand what the fuck Jon did all day. He was in the Magnus Institute, and when Jon was in the Institute there were three places he could be.

The Archives, which Sasha had just come from. The Institute Library, occasionally terrifying the graduate students and more frequently helping them write their papers. Sasha had heard that they had communally begun sacrificing one grad student to his hunger per week in exchange for study sessions. Which...she should discourage...whatever, it was probably ethical. Or, at the very least, voluntary.

The only other location Jon visited was Magnus’ office, where he could spend hours relaxing on the evil little bastard’s couch and annoying him. That was a last resort scenario, and was usually saved for complete and total emergencies.

Thankfully, today, Sasha found Jon in the ‘D’s. He was lying on his back, legs propped up on the bookshelf across from him, reading what looked like a very fascinating philosophy text regarding humanity’s search for aliens that Sasha silently resolved to borrow from him later. He didn’t look up when Sasha approached, so she carefully tipped a book off the shelf above him to fall on his head.

He yelped, dropping his book and sitting upright. He rubbed at his head, scowling, and Sasha saw that he had restyled his hair since the last time she had seen him. It had been growing long, but instead of cutting it and returning to his short twists styled into a loose curtain over his forehead he had pulled it back into a puffy bun. It was...somewhat more fashion forward than Sasha had ever seen from him. He had swapped his greatcoat for a primmer and shorter pea coat. Even his glasses were now thin-rimmed, circular, and kind of stylish.

“Oh my god,” Sasha said, “has Martin started dressing you?”

“Martin can barely even dress himself,” Jon said automatically. “It was Georgie. She said I have to ‘clean up nice’ if I ever ‘want a man’. What does any of that mean?”

“Isn’t it kind of weird that your wife is setting you up with someone?”

“The concept of monogamy becomes ridiculous after the first eighty years,” Jon said, also automatically. Then Sasha’s words sunk into his brain, and he flushed. “Georgie and I aren’t together right now! And she’s not setting me up with - how can you even consider - what makes you think I’m a homosexual -”

Sasha stared at him flatly. Jon gave up.

“Just let me know if I need to explain gay shit to you,” Sasha said. “It’ll cost a hundred pounds for me to explain queerness and three hundred if you want to learn about trans issues. Recompense for my emotional labor.”

“Young people think they invented these things. It’s ridiculous.” Jon stored the book back on the bookshelf behind him without looking, before carefully dropping his feet and rolling up. Sasha’s back ached in sympathy. Some people got all of the demon deal luck. “What does Martin say? ‘People are gay, Steven’? Historical figures are gay and trans, Sasha.”

“...are you a historical figure that’s -”

“I apologize for being a cisgender man that’s ruined your life, yes.” Jon arched an eyebrow at her as Sasha spent a second in confused agony over whether or not she was getting through to this guy. “I assume there’s no emergency, considering this conversation, so why are you here?”

There was no way to make this offer sound genuine. Jon would look for the catch - because there was one - or what she was trying to pull. There was something she was trying to pull, but she wasn’t about to admit it.

In the end, Sasha settled for a fragment of honesty in her heart. Jon always had a way of drawing that out of people.

“I haven’t watched my telenovelas in years. And I don’t know anybody else who speaks Spanish, and so much of it doesn’t translate that I refuse to watch it subbed with someone else, and they’re something I used to watch every night but now I haven’t seen them in years. And you speak Spanish. So.”

Jon stared at her, blinking owlishly, before his mouth twitched into a small smile. It flowered, moving from a hesitant movement of the lips into a real, close-lipped smile that sent his usually severe and sharp expression into something resembling excitement. Understated enthusiasm over novelty.

How weird, Sasha thought. That you could be 200 years old and still find excitement over something novel. Over something new. Or, maybe, over someone choosing to trust you with a part of their lives.

Or maybe it wasn’t that weird. How could someone keep living for that long if something as simple as this didn’t bring you joy? Sasha was only thirty four and she already felt so tired of life, all the time. Either tired or overwhelmed. She wondered if Jon still felt overwhelmed.

“Sounds like fun,” Jon said. “Can I bring my notebook?”

“...yeah, sure.” Sasha paused, almost uncertain. “Hey. When you get to, like, two hundred -”

“Technically two hundred and twenty.”

“When you get to two hundred and twenty, do you finally feel like an adult?”

Jon stared at her, faintly surprised, before his expression settled into something a little wry. “Anybody who says that they ever feel like an adult is a liar. That’s how you know that Jonah’s full of shit.”

Somehow, it was almost a little reassuring.

First time she had ever said that about Jon.

********

Their adventures, of course, were quickly throttled by practicalities.

Sasha suggested just watching it on a laptop, but Jon’s expression had wrinkled in distaste. Jon suggested just watching it at her place, but Sasha liked to pretend that he didn’t know where she lived. Far too much intimacy, and somewhat hilariously Jon seemed very awkward about being alone with a woman in her flat. Also they were still working, technically.

Martin, overhearing their argument in the Archives as Sasha collected her laptop, suggested Jon’s place, since it was pretty nice and cozy and close to the Archives. This forbidden knowledge, the shining proof that sometimes a little knowledge could be a terrible and traumatizing thing, the sheer mental image that imprinted itself behind her eyelids, shook Sasha to her core.

“For christ’s sake,” Martin said, “we are not fucking.”

“Sounds like someone who’s fucking our boss would say!” Tim called, from his position asleep on the break room couch. Sasha had spent roughly five hours yesterday convincing him that her plan to manipulate Jon’s psychological weaknesses was the most effective defense against evil fear powers that they had, and since he had lost the argument he was now resentfully napping on the couch. “If I walk in on you doing it in the office over a desk I’m going to fucking kill both of you and then myself!”

“Does this place have an HR?” Melanie asked, from where she was sitting at her desk actually trying to work. “Can I report all of you to HR? Please?”

“Jon can hardly fire himself,” Sasha told her sympathetically. “This shit will all make sense if you accept the fact that -”

“God, I get it, enough with the workplace hazing!” Melanie threw up her hands, as Jon unsubtly whispered something in Martin’s ear that made him blush. “You can all drop it now, it was never funny!”

“If Sasha just let me prove it to you,” Jon said, exasperated, “then you can see -”

Simultaneously, all three of them snapped, “Do not!”, cowing Jon immensely.

Tim was no help in problem-solving, since he was resentful that Sasha was doing this at all. He had been spending almost all of his time lately throwing himself into research into the rituals, into anything that explained the strange and obscure rigor of this universe. Jon only explained as much to them as Jonah let him, and the most he ever did was mysteriously drop off boxes that held a lot of information about clowns and sawdust.

He always seemed a little surly as he did it. Sometimes he looked very guilty. Sasha noticed, every time. She couldn’t afford not to.

All Sasha could try to do for Tim was help him. Their relationship had already been fractured by the way they kept secrets from each other, and although they both wanted to repair it they were forced to confront the fact that now they had to tell each other things. Accept help. Sasha hated acknowledging that she couldn’t do everything by herself, and Tim hated putting Sasha in the danger he relentlessly and suicidally threw himself into, but neither of them would let the other continue on their self-destructive path.

It wasn’t sweet. But it was the most solid and tangible proof Sasha had that they loved each other. Maybe it was the most solid proof anybody could have: that, in life or death, they’d choose wherever you were.

If Sasha followed Tim into whatever dangerous shit he was getting himself into, then he would be more careful. Tim wouldn’t survive it if he lost her, and she knew it.

Between her and Tim, and Jon and Martin...why did all of their relationships feel like mutually assured destruction?

Eventually, Jon’s solution was, as usual, the worst one. Jon’s solution to every problem always worked, but it was always the one thing that nobody wanted to do and that everyone hated. But anything else was either vetoed or improbable, and Sasha refused to back out once she committed to something, so that was how Sasha stuffed a laptop and an HDMI cable into her bag to trail behind Jon as they rode the elevator up to the third floor.

The number three rule of the Archives was not relevant right now (let Sasha have two cups of coffee before bothering her about how terrible their lives were). But the number two rule of the Archives was this: don’t fuck with Rosie. They both gave her their brightest grins as they passed, impeccably polite without actually asking if Jonah was inside. Rosie smiled munificently at them and complemented Sasha on her heels. They were in. They were now breaking the number one rules of the Archives.

The number one rule of the Archives was, of course, this: never talk to Jonah Magnus unnecessarily.

On the bright side, from this perspective Sasha could see how Jon worked his magic - that is, how he always entered Jonah’s office through kicking the door open and infuriating the other man tremendously. He actually took the time to open the door a crack first, completely silently and almost imperceptibly, before crashing it open in as annoying a way as physically possible.

“I need your fucking office!” Jon called.

When Sasha poked her head in behind him, she was treated to the sight of a terrified employee cowering in the hard plastic chair in front of Jonah’s desk. Sasha was well aware how that chair could feel like an electric chair. Across from him, Jonah looked distinctly unamused, already kneading his brow.

“I’m in a meeting, Jon.”

“Good for you.” Jon pointed at the door, and the employee silently scurried out. “Not anymore. Now fuck off, I need your office.”

Impossibly, Jonah looked even more unamused. “Fucking your Archivist on my desk in the middle of the day is a bit beyond the pale even for you, Jon.”

Sasha was immediately so fucking disgusted that she switched into Spanish and called him a great deal of incredibly rude things for an incredibly long period of time.

Talking over her, Jon said, “Take out your resentment over 1899 on someone else. We want your television, we’re watching Sasha’s programmes.”

“Right. Like how you and that boy Martin are always watching programmes -”

“Me cago en tu puta madre--”

“Honestly, Jonah, just because you had all of those men over for revision of your manuscripts doesn’t mean everyone’s as euphemistic as you are. And Sasha, that’s remarkably vulgar.”

For the first time, Jonah looked alarmed. “What is she saying?”

“Sólo porque tienes un rabo chiquito -”

“Go learn Spanish.”

“Ms. James, this is a professional office, and -”

“Melanie’s fucking right, we need a fucking HR.” Now this was a matter of pride. Sasha flounced into the office, collapsing onto one of the dumb uncomfortable leather couches facing one of those screens that rich people had in their offices to show their powerpoint slides or whatever. “I’m going to Stare you to death if you don’t leave us alone to watch telly.”

Hilariously, Jonah looked at Jon, alarmed. “Can she do that?”

Jon opened his mouth, before Sasha shot him a look. “She’s progressing amazingly rapidly. At this point, not even I know what she’s capable of.”

What a wingman. Jonah looked faintly uncomfortable, but he went back to his computer anyway instead of doing the rational thing and getting out. “This grant is due in three days, Jon, and I have no time for your little fancies. Do what you will, but leave me out of it.”

Sasha was not thrilled at the prospect of Jonah fucking Magnus hanging out in the background while Sasha and Jon watched telenovelas. She’d be outnumbered by the evil fear demons, for one. But Sasha had a sneaking suspicion, and maybe if she couldn’t genuinely stop this guy’s evil plans she could annoy him to death.

At the very least, it would make her feel better. Sasha was beginning to recognize the value of anything that just made you fucking feel better. Maybe Tim was onto something with constantly being a giant bitch all the time.

“Ignore that cunt,” Sasha said in Spanish, catching Jon’s attention as she stood up to plug in the HDMI cable and turn on the television. “I got crisps and chocolate in my bag, I’m putting on Marimar.”

“Is she insulting me again?” Jonah asked. “Jon, what’s she saying?”

“I’m afraid I only consume trauma,” Jon said, also switching to Spanish. His accent was fucking bizarre. He sounded like her great uncle, or an even worse version of Sucedió en La Habana. At her boggled look, he elaborated, “The Witness gifted me with understanding of all languages very early in my development, but it bestowed verbal fluency in...1910? Perhaps? I’m afraid that without a little practice and frequent use I’m a little bit stuck there. I was able to beat my Chinese and Russian into sounding modern, but I’m afraid that people now tell me my Chinese is somewhat 1960s and my Russian is fairly 1980s.” He scowled. “Why does modernity change so much?”

“I think telenovelas can fix this for you,” Sasha decided. She paused a beat as Jon sat down beside her, a careful distance away. “The Witness? Is that a weird translation thing? You called it the Beholding last time.”

Jon shifted, a little guiltily. In English, he said, “The term Beholding’s better...it’s more academic, and more people use it…”

“What are you two -”

“Is ‘The Witness’ your word?” Sasha asked, and to her horror she found her tone almost gentle. It was almost easier, in her own words.

This time Jon truly looked uncomfortable, and he shifted back into Spanish - perhaps, Sasha thought, because Jonah could not understand it. “Smirke contributed all of the nomenclature for this, and he never...well, none of Jonah’s little circle liked me very much.”

“Wow, wonder why.”

“Exoticism only gets you so far, I suppose,” Jon joked weakly, before sharply swerving the subject. “I always felt as if it gave me its own name. When I began to understand, really understand what it was and how we could feed each other...I felt as if it told me. And that’s what it told me. So it’s always been my name.”

Hm. Sasha wondered what it was like, to have your religion be - so tangible, so grounded. Sasha believed, and she had faith with all of her heart, but - well, you wouldn’t need faith if you had incontestable proof. Faith was about believing because you knew something in your heart. But Jon...when he had nothing else, maybe, he had this.

“I just put down ‘James’ because I thought it would make that small-dicked asshole more likely to hire me,” Sasha finally offered, her only equivalent for something like this. “Tell you what. Call me James Martinez, and I’ll curse the name of the Witness, okay? If you’d like me to.”

Jon brightened, and for a second Sasha saw her own faith in his brilliant green eyes. “My gift is shared with you, Sasha. Of course you can.”

It was not a gift. It was a terrible and disgusting curse, and it was one that Jon had inflicted upon her. But Sasha was playing nice...and this was knowledge, understanding Jon was knowledge that could save her life one day...and there was something strange about Jon’s hesitant and multi-barbed trust.

It had to be the trust of somebody who had it betrayed a hundred, thousand times. But he gave it so easily, and he reached out incessantly. Sasha knew lots of people who cared too much, although she had never been one of them - Tim and Martin, for one - but she could already see how it was making them a little bitter and jaded.

Jon wasn’t. Sasha didn’t know why.

So Sasha kicked off her heels, tucking her legs underneath her as she pulled up her favorite episode of Marimar on her laptop. It was a comfort show, having context wouldn’t help, she had rights.

“Okay,” Sasha began, a little aggressively, “we’re starting a lot of the way in, so I have to catch you up. Like a lot of telenovela protagonists, Marimar is a wholesome young girl who lives in a little sad hut shack on the beach and she can’t read. She’s raised by her grandparents and her dog talks. This is the essential premise of the show.”

“Wow,” Jon whispered, “just like me.”

“I - okay, you are not obligated to give me your backstory, but what?”

“Martin keeps calling me a ‘sad little Victorian orphan’,” Jon said defensively. “And dogs talk to me too!”

“...what do they say?”

“If you’d believe it, nothing interesting.” He paused a beat. “But Georgie’s cat is kind of a psychopath, if that helps.”

“That’s a stereotype against cats,” Sasha accused. “Just because humans don’t understand cat body language -”

“Oh, no, cats are lovely, my favorite animal. But the Admiral’s kind of a freak.”

“If you two are going to sit here and trash talk me in my own office,” Jonah said, aggravated, “then please at least take it outside.”

Actually, this was a great idea.

Sasha ran through the plot of Marimar, down to the love interest with the terrible chest hair (Jon and Sasha then got into an argument over chest hair that was so heated that Sasha suspected Martin had chest hair), the evil step-mother (they both agreed that women in soaps tended to fall within the madonna/whore complex), and the weird amounts of humiliation. Sasha loved to hate Mr. Douchey McChesthair in this one - he wooed Marimar and promised to raise her up from poverty, but he ended up ditching her when she wasn’t refined enough for him. She wins him back at the end with her nice dresses and inherited money, and they settle down with a baby and a big house. Sasha always hated the ending. Marimar should have become a career woman.

“It’s massively cheesy,” Sasha warned, finally playing the episode and letting the cheery theme song play, “so don’t sit here and point out the logical inconsistencies. We know. It’s part of the experience.”

But Jon just arched an eyebrow, unbuttoning his own pea cot to throw over the back of the sofa and lounge in his seat. “Watching telenovelas, in the office of the Director of the facility where you work, with his boss, in London, is the experience? And we’re all - how do you put it - evil fear demons?”

“You haven’t met my auntie,” Sasha said darkly. But she ended up shaking her head too, picking at her stockings a little. “The experience is...eleven pm, and the whole house is dark. The kitchen light is on, this flickering yellow thing that pops and buzzes. There’s cicadas outside, and somewhere you can hear someone playing music too loudly. Dad’s in his ripped up armchair, snoring. Mom’s on the couch, reading a magazine. They’re only half-paying attention, but it’s late, and you feel like you never get enough time with them. So you sit on the couch next to Mom, and because neither of them say anything you watch the show with all of your attention, just happy to be near them...it’s family bonding, you think. It feels like it.”

Jon was silent, staring at her. Not fixedly, or intensely - just looking, as if he was waiting patiently to see if she would say anything else. But Sasha trailed off, picking at her stockings, until she forced herself to stop. She didn’t want to say anything else. She was worried that he would know what she wasn’t saying. He always did.

“My grandmother couldn’t read,” Jon said finally, and Sasha fought the surprise. Jon never talked about this, not in any specific words. “But she would darn clothing by the fire at night. She did it for the neighborhood and earned some extra money.”

“What about you?” Sasha asked, hoping it was a safe topic. “What did you do?”

Jon grinned at her, sharp and amused. “I got into trouble.”

They both turned their attention back to the television, and Sasha silently mouthed the words along with the screen as Jon paid rapt attention.

It was later in the show, when Marimar was showing up all of the people who did her dirty when she was poor. She had a fine dress, lingering on the arm of her rich and kind of creepy father, and she walked around with her head held up high. Her old husband who treated her terribly saw her at the opera and he was stunned by how hot and cool she was now.

“Good for her!” Jon said abruptly. “Go find someone better, Marimar!”

“Oh my god,” Sasha groaned. “She ends up with him!”

“What!”

Quicker than Sasha would ever have expected, Jon got wrapped up in the episode. He gasped with her at the right parts, cheered at the screen whenever Marimar said something particularly sassy, and they booed whenever Douchey McChesthair showed up.

When Sasha glanced behind her - not that she did - she saw Jonah fixedly ignoring them. He was gritting his teeth a little. Every so often he would glance at the screen, obviously look terribly confused, then go back to his computer.

When the credits rolled Jon declared this second-hand trauma, which terrified Sasha deeply but raised interesting questions about her own future diet.

“It’s about the humiliation, fear, and voyeurism,” Jon told her. “Supernatural trauma and devastation tastes rather similar to these telenovelas.”

“...what do they taste like?”

Jon thought hard. “Taste, but if it was a feeling.”

“...what’s the -”

“What’s the feeling you have?”

Sasha was forced to concede the point, and put on another episode.

In this one, Marimar’s new dad tied tragically, and she very cunningly has him sign all of his money over to her. Sasha cheered her on very enthusiastically, and Jon agreed that Marimar was the definition of girlboss, but he found it kind of a dick move.

“I thought you hated pretentious, old money rich white Britons,” Sasha accused. She knew that Martin had been working on him and trying to convert him to socialism,, but it was slow going.

“I do hate entitled, old money people,” Jon said shortly. “But it’s hardly illegal to work your way up the social ladder and improve your station in life. Marimar isn’t putting the work in, she’s just inheriting all of this blood money. If she doesn’t make something of her life then what’s the point in all of that suffering?”

“You do know how social mobility is a lie fed to the lower class by the upper class to keep them complacently participating in the system, right?”

“I’m not saying many people do it,” Jon said, ignoring Marimar’s grotesquely fake sobbing, “but it’s possible. I’ve met plenty of people who worked hard and became successful.”

“Yeah, and those people were lucky. Most of us just sit around in poverty and suffer.” Sasha rolled her eyes, unwrapping her chocolate bar. “Not all of us can be Dr. Faust.”

“You didn’t sit around,” Jon said, turning to face her. Sasha didn’t meet his eyes, focusing on her chocolate instead. “You were smart, you worked your way up, you got your scholarship, and now you’re part of something far greater than yourself. You took what happened to you and you used to make you stronger, just like I did. Anybody can do it if they work hard enough.”

Sasha’s teeth clamped down on the chocolate.

Abruptly, stupidly, she got angry.

“I’m not better than the thousands of other trans women who got kicked out, Jon,” Sasha snapped, but Jon didn’t flinch. “I’m just luckier! I know I worked hard, but I’m not more - more worthy of what I have than the brave women back home who have nothing. And I’m not going to stomp on them to make myself feel better like you do!”

“I do not -” Jon started, outraged, but Sasha cut him off.

“You tell yourself that you worked hard for the security, money, education that you never got as a child! But you deserved all of that! That’s shit that anybody who lives deserves. But because you think of it as some kind of stupid reward, then it’s something that can be taken away. And when what you have can be taken away at any moment, then you have nothing!”

She cut herself off abruptly, unwilling and incapable of saying anything more. There were lines you couldn’t cross with Jon, and lines that she didn’t deserve to cross no matter how callous he was. She couldn’t accuse him of forgetting where he came from, or of betraying his people. Sasha knew well that Jon had never forgotten, not for a second.

He had just - twisted everything around. He had to justify to himself what he’d done, so he’d taken the truth and molded it to fit his own desires and call it holy.

It had killed her. It had killed her, how Jon told her that they were the same, but he did all of this shit to her anyway. But maybe that was no surprise: Jon hadn’t done anything to her that he hadn’t done to everybody else, and he hadn’t made any justifications to himself about his behavior towards her that he hadn’t made about everybody else.

You couldn’t live like he did with emotional honesty. Good people could do bad things - Sasha knew that better than anyone - but it required a truly disgusting level of willful blindness and cowardice that Sasha had never tolerated.

“Nobody gave me being a woman,” Sasha whispered, too full of - something, to even look at Jon. “I didn’t take it from anyone. I didn’t steal it. It was something that I always deserved, and that I always was. And because of that, nobody will ever take it away from me.” She exhaled heavily, forcing herself to stop shaking. “Nobody can make me something I’m not. Not even you.”

Jon stared at her, toxic green eyes wide and something foreign in his expression. It looked almost as if he believed her. Ha. “Sasha, I -”

“I swear, it’s like you two are making an effort to be as intrusive as possible. Jon, can’t you control your own Archivist?”

Jon almost jumped, as if he had forgotten that Jonah was in the room at all. Something in his chest seized closer, and a year ago Sasha would have just called it a twitch.

It wasn’t. It was an aborted, concealed cringe, seen only once before. But there was only one other person in this world who cared about that.

“Jonah!” Jon said, switching back to English immediately. “Sorry, we were just - having a really heated discussion about - uh, about -”

“Brujeria and how it changed when adopted by members of the Catholic church,” Sasha said smoothly. “I think his weird compulsion thing is just advanced witchcraft.”

“Yes! Yes, of course - you remember, I took inspiration from p - pagan rituals, you know, for our early work. I think you called it -”

“Bizarre?” Jonah asked, arching an eyebrow. “Jon, there were bones involved.” Jon silently pointed at the human skull taking up proud residence in Jonah’s cabinet of curiosities. “That’s different, a friend gave me that.”

“ ‘Have you seen Barnabas lately, Jonah’, I said. ‘He hasn’t seemed to have written lately’, I said. ‘Have you grown distant?’, I said. And you said -”

“Yes, he was very distant,” Jonah said dryly. “You hardly complained. You hated the man.”

“I hated all of your friends,” Jon said. He was smiling, once again relaxed with his arm spread over the back of the couch. Sasha furiously bit into a chip. “Didn’t mean you let them die.”

“Yes, but he was your least favorite, so I figured there was no harm done there.”

Improbably, Jon brightened. He smiled again, a curved slash of the mouth that had always been reserved for Jonah. It always spoke of secrets, a private joke. “You do care.”

“I’ll care more if you stop chattering when I’m trying to get us funded for another cycle.”

“Whatever.” Jon turned to face the screen again, letting the smile fall into a curiously blank expression. “Next episode, Sasha?”

“Sure,” Sasha said slowly. “But it only gets worse from here.”

It would never stop being weird how - well, maybe that was no wonder. How could Sasha begin to understand a relationship as strange and esoteric as theirs? Two hundred years in the making, forged by cruelty and passion? Two lives, intertwined so closely they fed in a parasitic loop, starving the other to feed themselves?

“Oh, I don’t mind a little tragedy,” Jon said. He spoke in English, vowels carefully rounded, posh accent meticulously stretching his words. “It’s the most entertaining.”

Sasha thought about print-outs. She thought about a many-eyed, malicious tumor of fear and pain consuming humanity alive. She thought about the face of God, and the tired and resigned face of Martin. When Sasha spoke, she stayed in Spanish.

“Even though she gets married to Mr. Douchey McChestHair at the end?”

“I’m sure he’s not all bad,” Jon said, and wouldn’t say anything more.

#my writing #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #sasha james #timothy stoker #jonah magnus #elias bouchard #tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #the magnus archives fanfiction #everything said about marimar is real #however inauthentic because I ended up using the funny or die recap #me: i am not writing any more hr #my friends: but what if you did?#been seeing so many weird takes about abusive friendships lately i feel the need to very pointedly ask the question #what is the nature of the power dynamic between jon and jonah?

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