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knowlesian · 2 years

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i already wrote here about karl and buttons (and why i don’t think karl’s a pet/birds as a fairly universal metaphor for freedom) but since i had More Thoughts in a connected if you’re in my brain but barely related outside of it vein i wanted to yes-and myself.

so, first off: i love the bitter irony of the difference between a bird guy and the pet rule, because the pet rule assumes both ownership and dominion over life and death whereas a bird guy is a guy who is friends with a bird and does not own the bird; the bird chooses to come hang out or leave as he so pleases.

also: the bird’s name is karl. KARL. if that’s not a reference to karl marx on a show THIS concerned with class and the rot at the heart of capitalism, i’ll eat my fuckin hat.

stuff like that is why i really think trying to leave the implications at the door when it comes to stede’s wealth and where and how generational wealth like that accumulates misses the ballgame; this show is capable of handling nuance like a fuckin champ. look at the plant! it is both a metaphor for growth and stede’s own blossoming as well as one for his privilege and need to change. he made it grow stronger and it was in better shape when we see it in e9; he stole it from poor fishermen and never considered if that was perhaps a wee bit fucked up and punching down to do so. it’s a symbol of triumph and growth AND blind spots and growth still left to do. both these things are true, and both inform who stede is.

sitting in the discomfort of untangling something complex like ‘stede’s love of fancy things is not bad; all that ill-gotten money he had to buy those clothes, though...’ is what this show is for, honestly. it’s not bad he had them or loved them, and i can’t wait for him to obtain more (because stede’s journey to self-expression involves embracing his own version of masculinity vs the traditional version, so ...kind of literally in order to keep thematic coherence stede has to obtain more of the pretty things that made him so happy, only this time through his own merits) but it’s simultaneously pretty fuckin’ Not Great how the money he was born into got where it’s at.

i think writing stede off as just a rich guy is clearly not the point— the show itself puts nearly those words in his father’s mouth, so we are clearly not meant to see it as true.

but he can be a rich guy, without being just a rich guy; it’s not a binary, and part of stede’s arc is getting to throw off the thematic weight of generational wealth and go full class traitor by giving it all away because it came from a rotten system (which... clearly, is not a viable 1:1 in our real world but that’s how theatre logic works) so the nuance where the money gave him the means to do things he needed to do/the money was poison fruit from a poison tree is all over stede’s arc.

similarly piracy as a metaphor on the show absolutely has positive angles and aspects, but i think it’s a mistake to only ever look at things the ‘piracy as refuge/safe place for queerness’ angle. ed’s ship is that, in some ways, but it’s also perpetuating toxic learned cycles in an easy to spot way. stede and the revenge is the same, only those toxic cycles are harder to spot because they’re implicit, not overt, and they don’t involve physical violence. so it’s both, depending on which angle you study or talk about at any given moment; they don’t negate each other and hold equal importance to the show!

it’s like the lighthouse; if you look at it from the angle of stede being a lighthouse alone, it stands in for the stifling and unfair expectations put on his performance of masculinity and the weird fuckin ideals and damages of patriarchy. stede and ed becoming a lighthouse together is this whole other side of the metaphor that’s beautiful and about solidarity and seeing things a new way via considering someone else’s perspective and then melding it with your own to create something even better! it can always be both.

which is one reason why i love the idea of the revenge as a liminal space: it’s not an endpoint, it’s a doorway. at the beginning of the season, stede has thoroughly identified the toxic bits of pirate culture, but not his own. by the end, he’s checked off that second box and whenever and however ed and stede reunite and share space, they get to build a new pirate culture that learns from the mistakes of both their old ones.

#i know it can be uncomfortable to talk about shit like wealth and whiteness and how they are part of this story #(like they are part of our lives whether or not we admit it)#but there's a reason fiona apple wrote about being good at being uncomfortable so she can't stop changing all the time #this is an anticapitalist love story baby why would it ignore capitalism when stede #i love the guy FOR all these reasons he could just... never change #but he's getting good at being uncomfortable by the end of the season #so i assume it will follow from now on he won't be able to stop changing all the time #god i love his skills at adaption and growth

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lionheartslowstart · 2 years

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The Irrelevance of Character

When I was younger, a person’s character (or at least, what I believed their character to be), was the most important factor to me in any given relationship. At face value, that seems fair right? Because we’re all human, and people make mistakes. Everyone has moments of selfish-ness and everyone has flaws, but those things don’t make someone a bad person or unworthy of forgiveness, right? And then of course some people are mentally ill and/or have trauma, and surely people who fall into that category deserve a break too, right? I was always ready to give someone another chance, eager to forgive those I loved and move forward because I would hope they would do the same for me. (Spoiler alert, I was never cut as much slack as I gave.)

Now, I feel differently. The fact is, I care far less about whether someone is a “good” person, or a “bad” person. Not that a person’s character doesn’t matter at all. I don’t want to be in any type of relationship with someone whom I believe to be a bad person. But the fact is, terms like “good” and “bad” are pretty subjective. People are multi-faceted, and while wholly “good” and wholly “bad” people certainly exist, I believe they’re exceedingly rare. Most people are a solid blend of “good” and “bad,” partially because so many traits go into each individual, and partially because a person’s actions in one part of their life may not line up with actions taken in another part of their life. “Character” is a complex issue, and black and white thinking just can’t cover it.

But there’s more.

The reason I say I care less about the perceived “goodness” of someone’s character is because, too often in my past, I’ve excused the toxic and abusive patterns of people I’ve loved because “they’re good deep down.” Maybe my friend or partner was going through something terrible. Maybe they were severely mentally ill, or had serious trauma. Whatever it was, I was always able to find an excuse. Because we always pardon the people we love, don’t we? So, I would find a reason to forgive their behavior, tell myself things would get better, and move on. But of course, things never did get better. Or, if they did, it was only for a short while, and then the same toxic behaviors would start right back up again.

I’ve watched a lot of other people go through this cycle too, including my current partner and many of my friends. It’s too common an experience.

So here’s the crux of what this post is really about:

At the end of the day, if someone is chronically hurting you, IT DOESN’T MATTER if they are really a “good” person deep down. IT DOESN’T MATTER if once upon a time they were a kick-ass partner or friend. IT DOESN’T MATTER if they have a dark past, or if they’re struggling, whether it be physically, emotionally, or mentally. NONE of that matters.

When it comes to how you’re treated in a relationship, any kind relationship, the ONLY thing that matters is

How are they treating you NOW?

Because you know what? Someone might be a good person deep down, and be honestly struggling with serious issues, but that doesn’t mean they have a right to treat you poorly. You are a person with needs, feelings, and rights, including the right to feel safe in your relationships.

So many people struggle to unlink the concepts of caring about someone and excusing their behavior. You can absolutely care deeply about someone and truly empathize with their problems, but still understand that they aren’t treating you the way you deserve to be treated. Accepting that someone is flawed, going through a lot, or struggling with trauma, is NOT the same as accepting how they treat you. There is nothing wrong with walking away from someone who doesn’t treat you as if they value you, regardless of their “reasoning” for it. It simply means you are putting your needs first.

I read somewhere that you can’t force other people to respect your boundaries, because boundaries are not something you can place on any one person. Boundaries are simply road blocks that you set up around yourself. But the fact is, anyone can cross those boundaries fairly easily. You can put them back up as many times as you please, but if someone is intent on knocking them down, or going around them, they will.

At the end of the day, you are the only person you can control. You can hope someone will respect your boundaries, even expect them to do so, but you can’t make them. Telling someone over and over that you’re “not going to tolerate” whatever thing they’re doing means nothing if you continue to tolerate it. Unfortunately, most people don’t change until there are actual consequences to their actions. That means you have to provide those consequences when someone crosses those lines. That could mean physically walking away from them, cancelling plans, hanging up the phone, or even ending the relationship entirely. Whatever you have to do to send the message. And hopefully, eventually, they’ll get it. Or they won’t.

When you really think about it, boundaries are a promise you make to yourself. “I am not going to tolerate ___.” And if someone violates that boundary, it’s on you to keep that promise to yourself. Honestly, I find that quite empowering.

You deserve to be surrounded by people who respect you. If someone isn’t treating you the right way, they don’t respect you. Period. And let’s be honest, if someone is disrespecting you and your boundaries over and over and over again, regardless of their “character,” how “good” of a person can they really be?

#trauma #personal #survivor #self-love #advice

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dodo-begone · 3 years

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Beware the Beast

Pairing: Yandere!Philza x Reader

Request: Maybe some yandere!philza headcanons? You don’t have to!

Word Count: 2k

Warning: yandere, swearing, talk about kidnapping, depression (kinda detailed on that aspect)

A/n: I accidentally turned this into a story- i really need to stop doing that. But I just couldn't resist! Also sorry if Phil is OOC. And this isn't proofread. We die like men here. Can be perceived as platonic or romantic.

This man has lived many years, lost so many loved ones. He’s getting tired of this cycle. It’s truly exhausting. You start to care about the world less. After a while, you start to see too many similarities in things, making it hard to look at. So he starts to close his heart to others. It’s just easier that way, for both parties. Saves him from the heartbreak and them from… well, him. He also stops caring for himself. After all, he’s literally immortal. Nothing can kill this man, so neglecting some self care routines every once in a while wouldn’t hurt…

But this becomes such a bad habit of his. He barely cares for himself after a while. It’s hard to find the energy when it isn’t going to matter in the end. Nothing matters anyways. Every action will always prove fruitless in the end. So what’s the point in doing something so... small if it takes this much energy? If a past version of himself saw Phil now, they’d be disgusted. Telling him to just get up and care for himself. Come on, you’re immortal. Nothing can kill you. Just do this.

He’s a mess when you two meet. His platinum-blonde hair was mostly neat, a little shaggy. It was obvious that he just got himself cleaned up a bit. One can only do so much about deep eyebags, dull hair, and lifeless eyes on such short notice.

You were introduced to him through Ghostbur. Phil was overjoyed that Ghostbur was making more friends. Though much less pleased when Ghostbur insisted that he’d bring his new friend over to meet Phil. Oh come on Phil, you’d just love them. They’re so nice! What tortured Philza more than his first interaction with you? His conversations with Ghostbur about you. He’d just prattle on about things you and him did, about how much fun you two had and how nice you were. Always nice.

And you were nice, an absolute sweetheart. But much too perky for Philza’s liking. You two had been chatting for quite a while when Ghostbur silently leaves you two together. Well, you’re chatting. Phil is just listening to you, hoping that you’d leave at any moment. Some topics were brought up; they were mostly some small icebreakers to get acquainted more.

When your past was brought up, you’d always paint this fucking picture-perfect past. So peaceful. God, the envy he had of you, of the peace you experienced in your life- He felt bad for it, honestly, he did. But he just wished he could’ve had even a fraction of the prosperity you spoke about. For someone living in the DSMP, you had a relatively easy and steady life. No war, no major or sudden loss or anything of that sort. A perfect life.

After that, you just kept coming back. Why? Why are you coming back? Are you here to taunt him for the life he lived? For the life he’ll never have? Is some god sending you as a punishment? A living example of everything he gave up, had to leave behind. That’s what he believed, anyways.

That was far from your intentions. You saw how he was in your first meeting; jumpy yet dissociating from reality. An oppressive, glum aura seemed to just emanate him. So downtrodden and dead inside, yet so obviously alive on the outside. It hurt to see him like that, as you went through something similar. You had no idea how long he’d been like that, but you decided that you’d help him in any way that you could.

You tried to make it a daily thing. Everyday you’d go to Phil’s house around midday to afternoon. You two would talk for a bit, but you’d couldn’t help sprinkling your questions in. Have you eaten yet, mr. Philza? Have you had water today, mr. Philza? Have you preened your feathers, mr. Philza? Have you bathed today, mr. Philza?

Your questions irked Phil. Everyday, without fail, you’d come and talk to him. It’d be small talk at first; what the weather was up to that day, some light politics, Tubbo’s new adopted son. Small. Yet you’d always bring up his self care. He was a fcking grown man. He could take care of himself. What’s worse? You’d pester him to care for himself in that instant if he even showed a small sign of negligence. And you’d stay the entire time, making sure he did everything. And then you’d always add “mr. Philza” on the end. It was a sign of respect, yet it upset him so much. But he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was.

Though it was annoying, it got him in the habit of caring for himself. It was only to stop your pesting! That’s the reasoning. The only reason. It wasn’t because you’re congratulating and giving him treats when he remembered to care for himself. Or you petting his wings… Those were only bonuses! He swears!

It becomes more steady as time goes on; you go and visit Phil, you talk with Phil and see if he’s caring for himself, and if he was, you’d reveal a delicious treat from within your enderchest. You two would talk while munching on the food, having fun sharing what your pasts were like. Well, more like yours. Phil didn’t really talk about his.

But he still seems so cold, disinterested. Even with how long you’ve been going over for. Like he’s only listening to what you’re telling him. If he’s even listening. And seeing how he interacted with others like Techno and Ranboo, it really disheartened you. He was so much more lively with them, more natural. Loud laughing and silly little antics. It only took a few small, insignificant depression episodes for your self doubt to finally debilitate you. Though it only really affected your contact with Phil; he was a big insecurity of yours.

So you start to distance yourself. You were hurting and saw yourself as a bother to Philza. It would’ve been better if you just didn’t try to talk to him anymore. He’d be so much happier without you bugging him all the time. All of this sudden, open time gives you much more empty hours. There was nothing to do. So you did what you could; you went out to make or strengthen friendships. It was so nice. You never realized how everyone on the smp was so nice. Maybe they weren’t as bad as Phil was making them all out to be…

Philza was upset the first day you weren’t there. You were such a steady element of his day. You were like the very air he breathed; it was extremely hard to live without you. He never noticed before how much he needed you. Yes, he knew that he really enjoyed you, saw that you were a pillar, a constant in his life. He came to enjoy your visits, but hadn’t realized how dependent he became because of them. It was day three when Phil started to worry about you. Why hadn’t you come to talk with him, like usual? He’s taking care of himself, just for you, just like you kept insisting he do. And he made you some cake.

He knew he was acting odd, lovesick even. His love for you was toxic, extremely so. It wasn’t healthy, yet he couldn’t care less anymore. You were like his nicotine to a smoker; he couldn't live without you being in his life. His everyday life. So after some debating, he finally went out to look for you.

Traversing the nether wasn’t too bad, but still a tedious walk. He was stuck in his mind the entire trip there, wondering where you could be and what you could be doing. Maybe you got caught up in making something. A redstone project? That’d be pretty cool. Or maybe moving? No, if you were, you’d have told him. But that didn’t stop him from speeding up just a wee bit. Just to make sure you were actually still on the smp.

His mind was racing, thinking of any possibility of what you were doing. And his mind eventually hit something that absolutely terrified him; you could be sick, injured, or dying. It felt like the world just fucking stopped. This was a sudden loss of contact and you still hadn’t come to talk with him. So that… that means there’s a high probability of you being in danger.

He ran the rest of the way to the main part of the smp. When he came out of the portal, he frantically looked around for any sign of you. For your house. Then it hit him; he had no idea where you lived. You only mentioned it being cold where you lived, just like where he lived. So that most likely meant Snowchester. He started running toward the cold nation

On his way to Snowchester, he observed his surroundings. A little bit. He had to get to you, keep his eye on the prize. And he was glad that he looked around. There you were, on another part of the prime path.

He was overjoyed to see you, especially doing so well. Soon he came to a stop. Just floored by the fact you were there, in front of him. Frantically he tried to view you as best he could, looking for any sign of injury or illness.

Now he couldn’t come across as clingy or desperate. That wasn’t how you knew him. You know him as Philza; the kind but a mild social recluse. Not really going out to others unless he needed something or he was needed.

So he walked over to you, trying his best to look nonchalant. Like he wasn’t just desperately searching for you a moment ago. He called out to you and guess what happened? You started to walk away. He was stunned. Did you just ignore him? No, you must not have heard him. It was kinda windy out at the moment.

Logically he did the best option, following you. He had no clue where your destination could be. You were going to a different area of the smp than he had been. My how the smp changed since the destruction of L’manberg. He knew it changed, but it seemed so much bigger than what you described.

He didn’t exactly pay attention to where you were indirectly leading him. That was until a flash of movement caught his attention. Snapping out of it, he looked to see what could’ve been going on. Who could’ve been there. And what he saw before him was a terrible sight.

Quackity stood by your side, animatedly chatting with you. Phil was confused as to why you were talking to Quackity of all people. You two recently talked about how Quackity was problematic and arrogant. If you knew that, then why were you talking to him?

Awkwardly he watched you. Not within earshot, but where he could keep an eye on you and Quackity. And Quackity was looking at Phil too. His eyes spoke volumes; Quackity wasn’t pleased that Phil was there. Boy was that sentiment shared. It was tense between the two, yet you still seemed oblivious to what was going on.

Then Quackity said something, putting his hand on your shoulder and leading you somewhere else. But gave one last look at Phil, one that just spoke “fuck off”. Phil wished he could’ve told Quackity the same. To get him away for you.

Quackity’s action sparked a thought in him. A reason as to why you hadn’t come to talk to Phil; Quackity must’ve kidnapped you! Yes, that’s why you hadn’t come. It makes so much sense. Quackity knows you and most likely knows you talk to Phil.

With how easily you tell Phil of the people you’re talking to, he doubts that the behavior would just change. But that’s what must’ve gotten you in so much trouble; you were too trusting, too kind-hearted. You gave Quackity a chance and he was stealing you away, imprisoning you. You needn’t worry dear, he’ll rescue you from that foul man.

#tw: yandere #c: phil #dodo writing #mcyt x reader #philza x reader #dream smp x reader #yandere #yandere philza #yandere dream smp #dsmp shipping #tw: swearing #yandere x reader #yandere philza x reader #c: quackity #tw: depression #tw: mental health

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asset35-maya · 3 years

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I am sleepy but I gotta make a request before the busy tomorrow so 2 things on my mind! Sleepy and the 'oh my god they were roomates' vine xD with any characters and aus I love everything you write anyways xD Happy timezones and best vibes your way >^<!! 💖💞💕💕

Oh my god, they were roommates…

“The rental market in Detroit is absolute shit! How dare these bloodsuckers charge such high rates for the most under-developed properties! This city’s going to the dogs!”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have to pay your own weight in gold just to live in a shoebox for a year. Nonsense!”

“Uh…”

“Are you even listening to me, Tina!

Tina?

Goddamnit Tina!”

Gavin thumped his fist on her desk, but Tina’s eyes barely flicked up from her phone.

“Oh my god, you sound like my grandpa…”

Gavin turned red and his brain buzzed with a thousand colourful retorts. He was just about to pick one when Tina stopped scrolling and turned her phone screen towards him.

CYBERSCALIA @ NEW JERICHO

The suburban paradise for executive androids and humans alike. Located 25 minutes drive from downtown Detroit, with a full amenities.

Gavin’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. He balked at her.

“You’re joking? How could I possibly…?”

“Get with the times, boomer…”

Tina lazily skimmed her thumb over the screen. The webpage promised plenty of greenery, good infrastructure and modest but spacious rooms. The extremely reasonable price tag was Gavin’s dream come true. He’d spent weeks apartment hunting in the wake of an early lease termination by his cantankerous landlord. Gavin knew he’d never find a better deal.

“Shit, this is so good, T! Why the phck does it have to be in that- that place!”

His friend arched a sceptical eyebrow.

“What place?”

“The Tincan ghetto!”

Tina smacked him on the arm. None too gently.

“It’s subsided public housing located in an android-friendly estate… because they’re the ones that need it most right now. And frankly, you seem to be in just as much need, so you should really get off that high horse.”

“Fine, fine. You’re right. I should seriously consider this place, even if my neighbours are gonna have more in common with my car than me. But damn, it seems a little too good to be true. There’s probably some fine print, hidden costs that’ll come out later.”

“Hmm… let’s see…”

Tina scrolled further and then let out a half-laugh. She held her phone up again.

“Nothing shady about the rates, but there is something you should know…”

At the risk of being called old again, Gavin squinted at the screen and read aloud.

“Bearing in mind the founding principles of New Jericho, all human occupants may only apply for tenancy in co-habitation with at least one android citizen of the United States of- JESUS PHCKING CHRIST! Absolutely not! I am not going to live with a plastic prick!”

Gavin had to get through half a bottle of wine before he could bear to scroll through the rental listings. Unlike other humans who had happily moved into New Jericho with their android friends or partners, he had to find an android who was also looking for a flatmate.

Some listings came from ardent supporters of Markus. These were the androids who wanted to ease the post-revolution transition by reaching out to humans. Some listings were put up by the android equivalent of frat boys. These individuals were clearly looking for someone on the fringes of human society, someone who could show them a good (if not illegal) time.

Other posts came from eccentric androids who craved company but had likely been rejected by their own kind. Gavin felt a strange twisting sensation, almost like pity, when he came across a post written entirely in third person by someone called Ralph.

He had almost given up hope when he came across a simple little listing for a two bedroom apartment in Cyberscalia.

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87: Seeking a neat, self-sufficient co-renter. Human or android, no preference. I spend most of my time working and will be out of your way for the better part of the day. I only ask for silence during my nighttime stasis cycles, timely payment of dues and upkeep of cleanliness.

Gavin sighed in relief.

“Your room is the first door on the left, mine is the second. The bathroom, laundry and kitchenette are shared, as is the living room. I scarcely find use for the latter, so you need not worry about my intruding on any of your social gatherings, or vice versa. As long as you adhere to the terms of the agreement, our paths will not cross much.”

The tall, stiff-necked android dropped a set of keys, both mechanical and digital, into Gavin’s open palm.

“Er thanks.. RK… sorry I forgot your full model number…”

“You may call me Nines. Although, I’d rather you didn’t call me much of anything. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

In a swish of black fabric, the android turned on his heel and disappeared into his room. Two rapid clicks indicated the shutting and locking of his door.

Gavin sighed and looked around the open-plan living room. It was nothing fancy, but it was far beyond any of the other properties he’d viewed in weeks of unsuccessful house-hunting.

He sat down on the simple black couch with a huff and contemplated his situation. He’d ended up where he’d truly never expected to go, but objectively speaking, things were good… barring the high-handed manner of his robot flatmate, but who gave a shit about that.

He pulled out his phone to text Tina his thanks.

“I can’t! I refuse to! It is a violation of my personal ethics and I will simply not take this assignment any further. Good day to you sir!”

Gavin nearly dropped his bowl of cereal one morning when his roommate burst out of his door and rushed into the open balcony.

He hadn’t seen Nines in days, which was perfectly normal. The android came and went at odd hours and made hardly any noise. It was almost like living alone. The only reminder of Nines’ presence was the sight of several dark shirts and trousers regularly hung out to dry on the rack above the washing machine.

Gavin set his bowl down and watched the android tightly grip the bars of the railing and take several unnecessary breaths to calm down. He’d seen deviant colleagues express emotion many times before, but this was the first time he witnessed such a potent mixture of rage and sorrow from a synthetic being.

Out of empathy, but mostly curiosity, Gavin approached cautiously.

“Hey Nines… is everything alright…?”

There was no response for several moments. Then Nines turned around with a grimace and hands held upwards in a placating gesture.

“I apologise for the disturbance. It was hypocritical of me to disrupt the very peace and quiet I demand of you.”

“Uh… no worries…? Are you okay?”

There was a flash of steel blue eyes.

Gavin kicked himself mentally as he realised too late that he’d broached uncharted territory. Their interactions didn’t extend beyond curt nods on the rare occasion they found each other in the same space. It was almost as if Nines engineered the lack of contact, which wouldn’t surprise Gavin at all if it were the case.

“I’m fine. I merely experienced some frustration with my work.”

Perhaps it was boredom, perhaps it was his usual lack of self-preservative instinct… Gavin threw caution to the winds.

“What do you actually do?”

Nines’ expression remained stoic but his LED went through a spectacular series of colours and flashes. His next words were reluctant.

“I’m a private investigator.”

“Oh shit! I’m actually a cop.”

Gavin pointed dumbly at himself and then let his hand drop when he saw absolutely no surprise cross the android’s face.

“I know. That’s why I let you stay with me.”

“For safety?”

“Certainly not for your fashion sense.”

“Wow okay, I didn’t think I’d be much protection for a big scary droid like you.”

Nines hummed dismissively and started to move out of the balcony, body language fully indicating the end of the conversation.

Unable to help himself for some strange reason, Gavin blurted out another ill-advised question.

“What pissed you off so much?”

Nines paused halfway through side-stepping the human. A thrill went through Gavin at the shards of ice he observed for the first time up close in Nines’ irises.

“If I tell you, will you promise to stop asking pointless questions?”

Gavin nodded earnestly, and frankly… rather foolishly.

“I helped a client gather evidence to initiate divorce proceedings on the grounds of infidelity. I provided ample photo and video evidence for his lawyers to work with. Now they want me to keep following the spouse to capture more details that could gear any future settlement in his favour.”

“So what’s your problem?”

“They’re offering me an incredible amount of cash to follow her 24/7. To stake out her workplace, her gym, her parent’s home. They want me to crouch under the window of the bedroom where her children sleep. I can do a lot of things, but not that. It’s deeply insulting that they even asked. That’s why I was so… pissed.”

Nines slipped past and was nearly back to his bedroom when Gavin spoke.

“I respect that.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know, but for real though, I think ethics are important in our line of work. Not just because of we need morals or a sense of right or wrong blablabla, but because we need… clarity.”

Silence floated through the hallway as Nines paused with a hand on his doorframe.

“Clarity?”

“Yeah, like a sense of direction. We don’t just take cases right-left-centre because they make us money. I mean, we could, and people do… but they never become specialists or experts of any kind. You gotta strategise if you want a career. Ethics helps with that. I think…”

Gavin wasn’t sure what made him say any of that. He was neither one for small talk, nor a man of many words… but something about Nines prompted that unusual level of introspective discourse.

“Sorry that was weird. Never mind.”

“That was actually… very astute.”

Their eyes met and Gavin could’ve sworn he saw the hint of a smile.

“It’s good to see that not all humans are as one-dimensional as I thought.”

The door clicked shut, but there was no locking sound.

Since the morning of Nines’ uncharacteristic outburst, the frequency of their encounters in the common areas of the apartment increased. Wordless nods became hellos, and hellos eventually became full sentences.

Not that he’d admit it, Gavin actually looked forward to enquiring about the android’s day and the cases he was working on. It was utterly fascinating to hear about legal investigations without the constraints of police procedure.

For his part, Nines would share as much as he had the patience to, before disappearing into the confines of his room. Though the time he spent outside steadily increased every day.

Another morning, while Gavin was making his coffee, Nines emerged from his room, still in his pyjamas and looking as livid as he had the time before. Gavin had never seen him in anything but crisply ironed businesswear. Before he could voice any concern, Nines stiffly asked Gavin to keep a lookout for a homicide suspect.

He nodded and immediately reached for his phone to text the sergeant on duty at his station. By midday, there was an arrest.

That evening, when Gavin settled in front of the TV with his usual glass of wine, he heard the familiar sound of Nines’ door opening. The couch dipped beside him.

“Thank you.”

“Just did my job. I should thank you for the tip.”

“Hmm.”

Gavin chanced a glance at his roommate, and found him looking right back.

“What?”

“Nothing… I just had the realisation that much of my work is impotent without the authority and means to take any kind of action.”

The sitcom began to play and Gavin thumbed the remote to reduce the volume.

“Takes all kinds to keep the streets clean. PIs can do things cops can’t. We rely on guys like you for intel all the time, you know.”

“I know.”

No words were exchanged for a while thereafter. Gavin found himself unable to focus on the TV show with all the brooding energy emanating from his right.

“If you feel like being a private eye doesn’t make enough of a difference, then why didn’t you… um… you know…”

“Join law enforcement?”

“Yup.”

“Plenty of my fellow androids have done so. I know for a fact that my predecessor model chose to remain there. You might know him.”

“Connor? Yes. Very annoying.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

“Totally. But why didn’t you join too? You’d be brilliant on the Force.”

“My skillset is certainly well-suited, but I didn’t want to become another puppet of the state.”

Gavin really didn’t know what to say to that. He nodded uncertainly and looked back at the television. He wasn’t sure why Nines was suddenly this social.

“What are you… watching?”

Androids could scan and detect just about anything in the world, so there had to be something else to the question. Gavin, strangely, was happy to oblige.

Nines made an appearance every evening, without fail. He would sit through the TV shows if they were of interest, or he would bring his case material and notes to the coffee table to work in silence beside Gavin.

Sometimes Gavin liked to work on jigsaw puzzles on the dining table. Nines would sit beside him, pretending to read a paperback novel, but actually scanning the puzzle and passing the right pieces over from time to time.

Against all odds, an evening ritual and a tentative friendship developed. It was simple, but it was warm. Comfortable. Like nothing Gavin had ever had before, even with humans.

He awoke one morning with a slight crick in his neck but the feeling of being very well-rested.

His eyes flickered open and fell upon the window. Familiar greenery came into view�� but wait… had everything slightly shifted to the left? And was that the New Jericho Capitol building? He couldn’t see that from his room! There was a tree in the way! A tree that was now a few feet away from where it used to be.

Gavin sat up in alarm as he realised that he was not in his own bed. His heart flew into his throat as Nines walked through the open doorway. Shirtless and carrying a mug of blue liquid.

“Oh good, you’re up.”

“Wha-what happened!?”

Nines frowned and sat down on the edge of the bed. He set the mug on the floor and pulled on a plain black t-shirt.

“You passed out on the couch last night. I think you finished a whole bottle waiting up for me? Sorry, I was out working later than expected.”

Gavin looked down and sighed in relief as he found all his clothes still on him.

“I didn’t want you to injure yourself sleeping at an odd angle so I brought you here. Your door was locked.”

“You could’ve easily opened it.”

“Yes, but that would’ve been an invasion of privacy. I reserve that for working hours alone.”

Gavin looked deep into the sparkling blue eyes and as usual found no trace of humour.

“Thanks…”

“Don’t mention it. Now get out. You’re ruining my silk sheets.”

Against his best efforts, Gavin could not keep the thought of being carried to bed and tucked in safely out of his mind. How many years had it been? Since something like that had been even remotely possible for him?

He knew that Nines was just being kind in his own pragmatic little way… but Gavin found that he wouldn’t mind the prospect of waking up in the android’s bed in a wildly different context.

He realised he had it bad when Tina caught him smiling to himself at work one day.

“Why so happy?”

“Oh… nothing. Just remembered something my roommate did… He’s a… funny guy.”

“Huh. Well, look at you getting along so well with androids.”

“Android. Singular. Just him.”

“Wowwww… he sounds special.”

“Who did this?”

“Gavin, the damage is merely superficial-”

“Who phcking did this??!”

He reached forward and gingerly touched Nines’ split cheek. His synth skin was smeared with blue blood and glitching in and out. Nines winced at the contact.

“Shit, sorry. That must hurt like a bitch.”

“Androids do not feel pain.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m merely experiencing a surge in sensory input wherever my chassis is exposed. I’m fine.”

“Shut up and give me your first aid kit or whatever toolbox equivalent you tincans have.”

A shade of embarrassment appeared over the android’s features.

“I… actually don’t have one. I didn’t think I’d ever need it.”

“Didn’t think anyone could kick your ass, huh?”

“No… I didn’t think anyone would ever spot my hiding place.”

“Huh. How’d that happen?”

Nines’ eyes dipped, but as always, he answered the question.

“I was… distracted.”

Something in the air solidified and both of them felt it. Gavin cleared his throat and slapped his knees like an old man about to stand up.

“Right. Let me go check if the neighbours have anything that might help with your face.”

“So who’s this dapper young gent you’ve brought to the party, Gavin?”

“Er… he’s my uh… roommate.”

Captain Fowler nodded and winked.

“That’s what they called it in my day too.”

Nines shifted beside Gavin and cleared his throat.

“He’s a PI. But I think he’s wasting his talent taking pictures of cheating spouses. He’s quite interested in police work. Maybe we could get him to assist on a couple cases now and then?”

Fowler put down his drink and extended a warm hand to Nines.

“Oh thank RA9!”

Nines came running to the cluster of police cars and enveloped him in a giant hug. Gavin laughed as he patted him weakly on the back.

“Watch the ribs, big guy.”

“I was so worried.”

“Why? Your info was good. No chance of error.”

“I meant about you.”

Gavin pulled back and regarded Nines with confusion. The flashing red and blue lights of the cars made it hard to read his LED.

“Why?”

“I can’t believe you have to ask.”

The android pulled him into a bruising kiss. The officers standing nearby broke into wolf-whistles and applause.

“What the-”

“Oh I take full credit for that, sir.”

Fowler glanced at Tina.

“The case, Chen?”

“Oh of course. I solved the whole thing. But I mean that specifically.”

She waved a hand in Gavin and Nines’ direction. The two held each other tightly and seemed unlikely to come up for air anytime soon.

“Like I helped Gav find an affordable place in New Jericho and then he met this handsome investigator droid and they were roommates.”

“Oh my god, they were roommates…”

“Yeah legit.”

\\\

Thanks so much for the request @jude-shotto

This ended up being a lot longer than expected, but I couldn’t help it. Your prompt just took me on a whole journeyyyy <3

#maya bday ask event #reed900 #rk900 #gavin reed #dbh gavin #dbh nines #gavin900 #gavin x nines #gavin x rk900 #dbh fanfic #dbh rk900 #dbh #dbh writing #my writing

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theveryworstthing · 4 years

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some old drawings from June! i never posted them for some reason, i think i was going to do a whole big lore write up on their village's deal but i don't have time for that right now so here’s some fun facts about the gals from over on patreon.

1st pic is Bea at some kind of fancy event. Their village doesn't really do proper dances anymore, but the spirits still like to get down and the Sisters are always invited. Bea will dance until she collapses if you let her. Which honestly is kind of a hassle for the other Sisters so she gets led off the dance floor for mandatory rest and water breaks often.

2nd pic introduces Bea's best friend, Luc! Bea and Luc are childhood friends who came to the Sisters a few years apart. Luc was a chronically ill child who's parents eschewed proper medical care in favor of snake oil from the 'community leaders' and good ol' bootstraps. she was eventually abandoned in the woods as punishment after said leaders convinced her parents that she didn't want to get better and that she was only ill because she was communing with the spirits and other blasphemous things when they weren't watching her. This happened when she was 11.

Luckily the Sisters found her and got her proper help, facilitating her and Bea's reunion years later after the other girl was also disowned. The village officially sees Luc as dead, or 'Nil' and talking to her or looking her in the eyes is forbidden. She is basically treated like a ghost. She doesn't really care though because she loves the Sisters and uses her newfound ghostliness to go and do what she likes. And what does she like? Why, snails of course! And bugs, but mostly snails. Lotta mollusc biodiversity around the village. Bea and Luc's favorite thing to do is just sit down with their field notes and have bug and snail chats. Their second favorite thing to do is going out looking for bugs and snails together but they have to match up their schedules for that. See, Luc is still chronically ill. some things got better with regular care, but she still has certain limits she can't cross and she has an absolutely chaotic sleep schedule. She also still kind of has that weird bootstraps 'must do something all the time' mindset, so instead of waiting until she's awake and active at the same time as her friends, she gets up and goes whenever she's up and energized no matter what. This means it's normal for Bea to wake up in the middle of the night and find out that Luc has been wandering through the forest for the last three hours noting snail migration patterns because she woke up at midnight after a 10 hour nap feeling peppy.

Bea supports these weird snail adventures with her whole heart. Best friends.

Last pic is Tani! Tani is not Bea and Luc's best friend but they WANT to be her best friends so bad because they think she's cool and mysterious. They're trying very hard to make this dream a reality and it might be working because so far Tani has shown she can tolerate both of them. She even tolerates when they both go into a special interest whirlwind of no escape and she has to hear about the entire life cycle of a bug for and hour or two. She will slip away for hours after the intense social interaction, but she always...Well she doesn't really come back to them, more like she makes herself findable? Same difference.

Tani's specialty is creating dyes/pigments for the fabric that the Sisters secretly sell to outsiders in the nearby dwarven markets. She has a very sharp eye for color and carries a magnifying glass everywhere so that she can study different materials close up to note how different weaves and patterning impact color when seen farther away. She also has an uncanny ability to guess what made a certain stain at a glance. Which is a fine talent? Most of the time?

Anyway.

She's been arranged, betrothed, promised, and engaged, in that order. Marriage has never caught her and if she has her way it probably never will. Last time she jumped off a cliff to get away and her dad just gave up and pronounced her Nil. She's been with the sisters ever since.

#Bea #Luc #Tani #small guide #long post

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uncertaininnit · 3 years

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a bitch is going to try to write an essay about the incredible portrayal of dream and tommy’s dynamic in one sitting cause if i stop ill never start again so if you are seeing this lucky you

(Okay this actually got finished and turned out a lot better than expected so anyway read if you care lmao)

Everyone who is seeing this knows the way Tommy’s arc is going. He is getting depressed, getting suicidal, grasping for friendship in his exile because of how alone he feels all the time. He lost his Tubbo.

And Dream, he has all of the power. OP gear. He is the owner of the goddamn server. He only has to say the word to get anything he likes, despite the power Tubbo appears to have in his own country. And despite how you would think Eret has power, as King. Dream is quite literally god, and has a complex to match.

Ever since Dream manipulated Tubbo into exiling Tommy and facilitating his exile, Dream has been spending a lot of time just... hanging out with Tommy. He jokes with him, sort of helps him, just makes Tommy used to being alone. But alone with him. Tommy, infamous for being clingy, clings to him. He starts to trust him when Dream doesn’t hurt him, physically or mentally. And then Dream DOES hurt him. Just to remind Tommy who is helpless and alone.

This. Right here. It is the perfect example of an abusive relationship. I’ve never been in a relationship, so I’m going to use a good example and use a fictional one. Excuse me as I compare Killing Stalking to the Dream SMP.

In Killing Stalking, Yoonbum is crazedly in love with this man. He breaks into his house and finds a woman, dying and tied up like she was being sexually tortured. The man he loves, Sangwoo, finds him and knocks him out, and ties him up.

Yoonbum is in love with Sangwoo, and alone, and gripping for anything for comfort. Sangwoo uses Yoonbum to project childhood trauma onto. And he tortures him. Mentally. He will tend his wounds, be really nice, even let Bum sleep in his bed. Bum begins to trust him, and he turns around and hurts him again. Physically and mentally. It’s a cycle of torment, and because the both of them are extremely mentally ill, they never want to escape it.

Now Tommyinnit is definitely not in love with Dream. And Dream is not projecting any childhood trauma. However, the dynamics match up.

Tommy, taken from his home by Dream and already getting depressed, (oop sorry he just said he was ‘clinically and mentally insane’ on stream as I was typing and it FITS) is alone. He has no reason to think he will ever be visited by his best friend, because his best friend was the one who made the choice to throw him out. He is depressed. He contemplates suicide sometimes and gets more reckless when moving around the nether, but Dream keeps him alive.

Dream, a literal god, has nothing to do but take over. He wants everyone to bend to his will, and Tommy gets in the way of that. But ultimately Dream rules all, and he can do whatever he likes to flatten Tommy’s will.

So they get into this toxic relationship. Tommy, all alone and friendless, grasping for any reason to live, and Dream, a man who can play with Tommy like putty and suffer no consequence. Tommy has no other interaction, aside from Ranboo and occasional other, but those people are usually under the threat of Dream and can’t do a thing. Dream can bend Tommy to think anything.

As I was typing, Dream told Tommy a story of an interaction that he had with Tubbo. I watched that interaction, I know how it happened. They were talking about how L’manburg looked. Tubbo said something like “Yeah, I think the country is really developing!” And Dream added on by saying “especially without Tommy here.” Tubbo LOOKED AT HIS ‘Your Tommy’ Compass and said something like “I think that’s just coincidence.”

When Dream retold the story, he switched the roles. Tubbo was the one talking about how the country was so much better without Tommy. And Tommy has no way to learn otherwise. Dream can bend his perception of anything that happens.

As well as fucking up everything Tommy thinks, Dream can fuck up the way he feels. As I touched on before, Tommy is alone and clinging to Dream, the only person who consistently talks to him. Not only that, but Dream spends most of his conversations being pleasant to Tommy. Tommy thinks he could be getting on his good side, getting his chance of seeing L’manburg back. And most importantly, he has someone to talk to, someone to keep him company, keep him from losing his mind.

But Dream doesn’t stay pleasant. He will spend the whole stream being nice to Tommy, building trust, before turning around and absolutely wrecks him. He’ll spend all day grinding with Tommy for gear or whatever, and then when they’re done, he tells Tommy to put it in a pit. And Dream would explode all of Tommy’s hard work. Ruthlessly not only stripping Tommy of his items, but of his trust, and his stability.

Tommy is already in a terrible place. Dream has created a cycle of torment that serves Tommy nothing but agony, for his own enjoyment, and for the idea of having unrefuted power. Tommy’s idea of a stable friendship is wrecked, and Dream shows no sign of stopping.

I am so, so scared to see what this holds for him.

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carry-on-my-wayward-butt · 3 years

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I just found out I'm 5 weeks after a few cycles of trying. I knew it would be rough but ur kind of scaring me now lol. I always hear mothers saying stuff like "Pregnancy was the best!" or "I miss being pregnant!" and people do it over and over again, so there must be something to love about it. Right?

Of course! there’s plenty to love about it:

many people lament the changes their body goes through during pregnancy, especially the bump growing. personally? i fucking love it. literally i’ve never loved the way my body looks more than right now, and i used to be fit as fuck. i was sleek and curvy and all sorts of hot, i look EXACTLY the opposite now and yet i LOVE it.

the dips of my stretch marks, my huge slowly rounding belly, my jiggle thighs, my muffin top hips spilling over my pants, my skin is SO fucking soft, i seriously cant keep my hands off myself. if my tits werent plagued by lymphedema i’d probably love them too, but in a sleep bra they look sooooo good in my new maternity shirts. ESPECIALLY ruffle blouses. i genuinely adore the way i look heavily pregnant, and i will absolutely miss it terribly.

i mentioned before that i hate the rolls and swishes (especially the stretches) but i LOVE kicks. seeing my belly move around is surreal and kind of freaky, but in an amazing way. kicks are so... assertive. “i’m here! i’m alright! i’m growing patiently! i’m exercising!” it’s so soothing to know they’re doing well in there, in a place i can’t reach them. i’ll poke them back and they’ll react! it’s so sweet. getting kicked in the butthole isnt so sweet, but i do think its funny tbh.

learning their routine in there is so nice in a weird way. i know what foods they react strongly to(baby loves spicy), and how they react to light. they like to settle on one side of my belly button or the other, and i can feel their head (or ass?) just hanging out there. resting. i can caress my baby through my skin. it’s gross but its so lovely.

i get to park in the expectant parking spots heehee >:3c (i already have a blue badge, but when the blue spots are full, there’s still a close space for me most of the time) i always do an evil little laugh when i pull in like im doing crimes.

my hair still falls out, but not nearly as much as it did pre-pregnancy. it gets greasy a lot slower too.

i still get pimples, but not nearly as many as i did pre-pregnancy. (T1 doesnt count. T1 was like Puberty 2. hopefully yours isnt as blegh)

i’m compelled beyond understanding to drink TONS of water. I have never drank this much daily water in my LIFE. i am extremely hydrated and feel healthy.

i’m compelled beyond understanding to get into the sunlight. i stand outside for a few moments on sunny days and feel like im photosynthesizing. i never did this before now.

im generally more optimistic rather than doomscrolling my own brain for hours a day.

i feel more responsible, i feel like the decisions i make have a future in mind rather than impulsivity. i feel purposeful. my mental health has improved drastically.

i eat so much more fruit than i used to

my sleep is plagued by nightmares sure but i sleep SO fast now. it used to take me hours to fall asleep. now it’s mere minutes. is this how the other side lives???

people are way more willing to help me, and other parents readily and eagerly answer a complete strangers random questions like “was that expensive? is it easy to use? does it fit in your car well?” that from any other person would feel upsetting and invasive. i was looking at nipple balm confusedly in target a few months ago and a total stranger called out to me and asked if i needed help, then pointed out which are vegan, which have this or that ingredient, which allergens to be aware of, which have a strong smell, which were oily or lotion-y, and when i picked one (earth mama butter) just said “great choice, you’re gonna smell so good. good luck babe!” and left with her cute toddler who was happily chanting “nip-ple, nip-ple, nip-ple,”. ideal interaction. i still think about that woman. she smelled like cheerios and strawberries.

there’s plenty to love and enjoy, just like theres plenty to hate and be miserable about.

and when it comes to people who say “pregnancy was the best! i miss it!” i personally have a feeling that if it’s not because of stigma of looking “unappreciative” of pregnancy, it is because keeping an infant alive is fucking miserable, and parenting blows chunks. i’m sure that comparatively, being extremely uncomfortable and in pain for the better part of a year might actually have been the best part for them, even if they had the roughest parts.

i’ll definitely miss the way i currently feel about my body. i’ll miss the QUIET for sure, and the idleness. and ill miss sleeping so soundly, even if there’s nightmares. i’ll miss getting to shirk chores because my body hurts, and i’ll miss having 100% of my husband’s attention, but he’ll miss having 100% of mine too so at least its fair.

but........ i won’t be doing this again :^) at least unless i have free healthcare, because my GOD the bills are OUTRAGEOUS. fuck that shit.

congrats on your success, anon. it’s a rollercoaster.

#i want a second one but i'm thinking we'll adopt #long post #again soz #pregnancy #for ts #me babby #op #ask #Anonymous

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shumaiseyeliner · 3 years

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“Hi! Uh~can I make a request? I feel real angsty rn so let's do Nagito, Post-game Izuru/Hajime (sorry), Makoto, Fuyuhiko and Kokichi and a Dying reader who dies in their arms confessing :) Also I love your stories so much~”

a/n: y’all know that I’m bad at writing for them (hajime and izuru) but you just enjoy seeing me struggle 😭🤚I’M DOING THEM SEPARATELY BC I FEEL LIKE A DUMBASS WHENEVER I WRITE FOR THEM TOGETHER, also writing nagito for this prompt made my heart hurt, komahina vibes and I cried a lil

warnings: yandere, unhealthy relationships, unhealthy mindsets, unhealthy behavior, angst, death, spoilers for nagito’s freetime events, suicide mention in nagito’s, his part is longer but there’s too much to unpack with nagito 🥲, murder mention

Komaeda Nagito

☘︎︎ he’s literally dying from dementia and another disease, so I feel like while Nagito craves a relationship with his darling, he definitely pushes them away a lot due to having the (fair) idea that he’s going to end up dying before his darling. It’s a really sad truth about Nagito that he doesn’t acknowledge much, but he’s extremely lonely and afraid that he’s going to end up dying alone, but I think he’d eventually just want to spend what time he has left servicing his darling. That’s how he wants to die, truly. So, you can imagine his absolute despair once he realizes that his darling is going to die.

☘︎︎ whether it’s from a disease or not, Nagito knows that his darling is going to die before it’s actually happening. He’s absolutely convinced it’s due to his luck cycle, so the dread he feels is absolutely crushing. Nagito, due to his illnesses, lacks empathy, but as his darling is dying in his arms, he’s sobbing his heart out. He doesn’t know how to process what’s going on, and while this may sound harsh, his darlings confession just makes it ten times worse. Nagito is closed off because of the severe amount of trauma he’s gone through, so coming to terms with their death is quite literally going to be impossible for him.

☘︎︎ hate to say it... but he won’t last long after his darling dies, especially knowing that they loved him. The only thing keeping Nagito from the deep end had been his darling, so I don’t think he’d live very long afterwards. He’s the type that would say that he wouldn’t be able to live without his darling in his life, and it was true, technically, and Nagito proves this through his actions. He becomes reckless, and I don’t think his luck cycle could ever keep up with that in the long run. He’d end up dying, eventually, and while it could be counted as an accident, it most definitely was not.

Kamukura Izuru

☘︎︎ he does not deal with this well, and this is because Izuru knew that his darling was going to die already. It messed worh his brain, and he hated knowing that they’d die eventually. He left his darling alone - see, avoided them - because he specifically did not want to be there when it happened. Izuru is still very new to emotions, so when they’re forced out of him, he can become rather... angry. That being said, he doesn’t accept the fact that his darling is going to die very easily, Izuru tries to help them in his own way, but he’s literally incapable of stopping it from happening.

☘︎︎ needless to say, he’s pretty much seething when his darling dies in his arms. Like... this is something he cannot emotionally comprehend and it bothers him a lot knowing that he was helpless in this situation. Their confession of loving him just makes it worse for Izuru, especially since he doesn’t fully grasp what that would have meant for him if he had caught onto his own feelings earlier on. He reaction is just kind of him being numb, if I’m being completely honest, because he doesn’t understand. Izuru wasn’t built for these types of things, literally, he wasn’t.

Hinata Hajime

☘︎︎ he’s got a lot of issues, especially if you look into the fear of being inferior that he has. After the program, I think Hajime had a lot more confidence than he did before, so he was confident in his ability to protect his darling and he wanted to love them, genuinely. He was trying to work on his issues in order to be a better person for his darling, so this happening is like a slap in Hajime’s face. He’s still afraid of being less special, less strong, so his reaction to his darling dying in his arms is a pure emotional one. Frankly, he’s a mess, but why wouldn’t he be? The love of his life has died, after all.

☘︎︎ overall, though, Hajime is angry. It’s bad for his mental health, but he most definitely blames himself, and remembering his darlings confession makes Hajime’s heart hurt. He’s just so... emotional about the whole thing. A more innocent reaction, but he’s still undeniably angry. He’d have two different reactions, though, depending on his darling cause of death. An illness would cause him to become angry at himself and horribly self-deprecating. However, if they were killed by someone else, things would not be the same for Hajime. He’s seething with rage, and he’s going to kill whoever did this to his darling.

Naegi Makoto

☘︎︎ like Hinata, he has one of the more emotional reactions, but they’re very different. Makoto is very attached to his darling, they genuinely mean the world to him, and his mindset is much like Komaeda’s, just not including the self-depreciation. Makoto, however, knows for a fact that if anything bad ever happened to his darling, he’d die. So, when his darling does end up dying in his arms, Makoto is completely broken up about it. He’s inconsolable afterwards and he pretty much just falls apart at the seams, which is pretty disturbing to witness considering how he usually acts.

☘︎︎ he’s just so... sad. Makoto genuinely adored every single thing about his darling, so their confession along with their death was like an emotional gut punch for him, especially when he gets to thinking about how it would have been like if he had found out about their feelings beforehand. Makoto is just full of regrets, irs very sad to see, actually. I feel like Kirigiri would try to help him out of the emotional ditch that he’s been thrown into, but it’s really no use, especially considering how he thinks about it constantly. His darling is all he ever thinks about in general, but after their death it becomes worse.

Kuzuryu Fuyuhiko

☘︎︎ also apart of the overly emotional reaction group. Fuyuhiko does not deal with this well, and relives seeing his darling die in his arms daily in his head. Fuyuhiko isn’t very open worh his emotions in the first place, so I think much like Komaeda he’d go through a period of time during his infatuation where he simply pushed his darling away, they just do it for different reasons. Rather than doing it for his darlings sake like Komaeda, Fuyuhiko does it because he doesn’t like the fact that he’s fallen for someone, he becomes offended. So, his darlings death hits him hard.

☘︎︎ despite how he might’ve acted around his darling, Fuyuhiko had fallen for them hard, so even the idea of them being inconvenienced made Fuyuhiko angry, so just imagine how them dying in his arms went. He’s crying and screaming at them at the same time and he’s a mess, a lot of emotions are flowing out of him so he most likely accidentally lets out that he loves them as well, but he won’t remember saying it once everything is over, he’ll be too busy mourning. Receiving a confession from his darling like this is going to make Fuyuhiko furious, and I think he’d be kind of angry with his darling afterwards, but that doesn’t last.

Oma Kokichi

☘︎︎ not emotional... outwardly. Kokichi is constantly putting up a mask of not caring, and his darling is not an exception to this whatsoever. It’s just what he does, so when he’s faced with a situation like this he isn’t too sure what he’s supposed to do. Kokichi is kind of freaking out when he realizes that his darling is literally dying because that definitely wasn’t supposed to happen... like, ever. Kokichi is usually pretty lighthearted about most things, but this is something he cannot handle normally like he usually would. His mental state is pretty much falling apart the moment he realizes what’s happening.

☘︎︎ he wouldn’t cry at first, but the confession from his darling feels like he’s being killed. Kokichi truly can’t understand why they love him in the first place, because he’s admittedly pretty terrible to them sometimes, but just the fact that they care for him is breaking Kokichi’s resolve and it’s only after his darlings death that it becomes clear to everyone else around him that he’s definitely not okay after everything that happened. He still teases people, but there’s an obvious shift in his attitude and how he holds himself. Frankly, he’s depressed, and he’s never going to stop being depressed until he dies.

writing nagito’s had me like

this made me SAD

#yandere komaeda nagito #yandere kamukura izuru #yandere hinata hajime #yandere naegi makoto #yandere kuzuryu fuyuhiko #yandere oma kokichi #yandere danganronpa #yandere sdr2 #yandere drv3 #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere #shumaiwrites

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missmentelle · 3 years

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Just some small ways that the system keeps people down

When we think about social justice, we often think about it in terms of huge, sweeping reforms that happen on a national level: the nation-wide legalization of gay marriage. The end of segregation. Loving v Virginia. Roe v Wade. Many people only vote in federal elections and only keep up with federal politics, thinking that the federal government is what “really matters” when it comes to progress and human rights.

Federal-level politics and landmark court rulings are important, but oppression often happens in much smaller, less obvious ways. It’s in the fine print of the eligibility criteria for disability benefits. It’s in municipal zoning laws. It’s in bank mortgage eligibility policies. It’s in the enforcement of public park bylaws. The things that make life difficult for marginalized communities often come from local bureaucracy, and look something like this: Disabled people effectively do not have the right to marry.

In the United States, when a disabled person marries a non-disabled person, they gain a spouse, but they risk losing something immensely important - namely, all of their benefits. Currently, the government assumes that a non-disabled spouse takes full responsibility for all of their disabled spouse’s needs; it becomes their job to provide the disabled spouse with healthcare, housing, basic needs and assistive devices that they require, regardless of their ability to actually afford any of these things. Obviously, this is completely out of the question for most couples. Medical costs for a person with complex needs can be exorbitant, and the average person just cannot provide things like private home health services and out-of-pocket medical expenses for their spouse.

Unless a disabled person is marrying someone who is independently wealthy, marriage is often out of the question.

As a result, many disabled people simply have no meaningful access to marriage or the legal benefits and protections it provides. Without a wedding certificate, your partner cannot stay with you in the hospital, access your medical information or make decisions for you while you are incapacitated - something that people with complex medical issues may desperately need their partner to be able to do. International couples may have no means of being able to live in the same country. It may not even be possible for couples to live together at all, as the state may decide that that’s a “common-law” situation and strip away disability benefits even without a formal certificate. The people who are most in need of companionship and legal protection are denied access to it because of cruel and outdated laws that were designed with the false assumption that disabled people cannot desirable partners for non-disabled spouses.

Domestic violence victims can be evicted for being abused.

Some cities across America have implemented “nuisance laws” - these are laws originally designed to punish “slum landlords” who don’t try to stop criminal activity or loud parties in their buildings. In cities with nuisance laws, the city tracks how many 911 calls are made to (or about) each address in the city; if an address goes over their yearly limit of 911 calls, the city goes after the property’s landlord, fining them or even threatening them with criminal charges if they don’t make the calls stop. The point of the law is to encourage landlords to keep an eye on their tenants and evict “problem” tenants that disrupt the neighbourhood, and these policies have definitely resulted in a lot of 911-related evictions. And that’s a problem. Because you know who calls 911 a lot? Domestic violence victims.

These laws have made it so that many people experiencing domestic violence have to choose between “help” and “housing”. If your partner is violently attacking you but your landlord has told you “one more 911 call and you’re out on the streets”, what do you do? How do you navigate such an impossible situation? Many victims simply hold off calling for help unless they’re reasonably certain that their partner is going to kill them, which is incredibly and almost indescribably dangerous, and still results in threats of eviction. Even victims who never call for help themselves can still find themselves out in the cold because of these policies - nuisance laws count any 911 calls made about an address, which means that a well-meaning neighbour calling the cops because they hear screams can cost you your housing. The end result is that an already-vulnerable population are either losing their housing or losing access to lifesaving emergency services, and everyone is worse for it.

It’s worth noting that these policies also disproportionately affect disabled, elderly and chronically ill people. When you are medically fragile, you tend to have increased medical emergencies and a decreased ability to safely transport yourself to the hospital without an ambulance. So if 80-year-old diabetic woman uses her LifeAlert bracelet to call 911 three times in a year because she’s fallen down or having a hypoglycemic episode, she could face eviction for going over her 911 limit and being a “nuisance” to the city.

Redlining has shut black people out of wealth-building for decades. How do you build wealth in America? You need credit. If you want to achieve real financial security, you need to convince someone to loan you large amounts of money at a low interest rate so you can use that money to purchase something that will build wealth for you. Let’s say you only have a little bit of money - you go to the bank and convince them to give you a mortgage (which is effectively just a large low-interest loan) so you can purchase a house for yourself. Once you’ve paid off the mortgage and showed the bank how reliable you are, you can go back and ask them for another loan against your house, and use that loan to buy a business, or a second house to rent out for income, or just save your money while your paid-off first house continues to increase in value. When you eventually die, your kids get all the property you amassed with those loans, and they start life in an even better financial position than you did - they can use that property to get even more credit and invest in even more businesses and property. This is how most American families clawed their way into the middle class after the Great Depression - your great-grandfather buying a house in the 1940s is the reason your parents could afford to pay for your college today.

But there is one group that have been systemically left out of that process for decades, thanks to a practice called “redlining”.

Banks decide whether or not they are going to loan you money by deciding how much of a “risk” you are. In the 1930s, bankers determined risk by looking at maps of their cities and drawing lines around particular neighbourhoods to determine how much of a risk they were. Bankers would draw red lines around predominantly-black neighbourhoods to signal that people who lived in those neighbourhoods were not eligible for credit - this was done regardless of their income. Poor white neighbourhoods could get loans, but middle-class black neighbourhoods could not. This meant that black people could not improve their situations - they could not afford to move out of cramped black neighbourhoods, they could not get the money to start a business, and they could not afford to renovate their houses to sell them at a profit. They were effectively shut out of opportunities that their white peers were granted.

Redlining has been illegal for decades, but the cumulative impact of generations of redlining persist to this day. Experts estimate that an average black homeowner today has missed out on $212,023 in personal wealth because of the impacts of redlining. “Zero-tolerance” policies have harmed marginalized and neurodivergent children without making schools safer.

If you’ve attended or worked in a grade school in the last 20 years, you’re probably familiar with so-called “zero tolerance” policies. These policies emerged as a result of the 1999 Columbine school shooting, and are pretty much exactly what they sound like - in the wake of Columbine, schools began taking an extremely hardline stance against violence and bullying, assuring worried parents that they would not tolerate even the smallest hint of violence. In schools with zero-tolerance policies in place, punishments are extremely harsh - just about everything will get you suspended at a minimum. Get in a fistfight at school? Doesn’t even matter who started it, everyone involved is suspended. Throwing food? Suspended. Shouting at someone? Suspended. It doesn’t tend to matter if you were joking around or if you'd been pushed to the brink by a student who has bullied you for months - “zero tolerance” means absolutely zero tolerance, and you are suspended.

But if you ever actually attended a zero-tolerance school, you probably won’t be surprised to learn that these policies don’t actually have any impact on school safety. What they do accomplish is higher rates of school failure and worse overall student outcomes, especially for marginalized students.

And it makes sense. Which students are the most likely to be acting out in school? Students with ADHD, autism and learning disorders. Students with turbulent home lives. Students in foster care. Students dealing with abuse or trauma. These are the students who need to be in school the most, and need extra support from staff and teachers - instead of getting that support, though, zero-tolerance policies send them away from school for several days at a time, where they are unable to access support and fall further behind their peers. School quickly turns into a vicious cycle; students act out because they’re frustrated, they get suspended, they fall behind in class, which leads to more frustration, which leads to more acting out, which means more suspensions, which puts them further behind, etc, etc. Eventually they become so disillusioned that many of them leave school altogether, putting them at a permanent increased risk of unemployment, poverty, and incarceration.

Parking requirements are making cities unaffordable and unlivable for the poor.

Many cities - like Toronto and Vancouver - have mandatory minimum parking requirements written into their city zoning laws. These policies usually require that all residential buildings have at least one parking space available for every unit of residential housing - if you build a 60-unit apartment building, you need to make sure that you also buy enough land for a 60-stall parking lot or build a 60-space underground parking structure.

When you think about the reasons that housing is unaffordable, “parking” might not be one of the first things you think of, but these laws have huge impacts on the cost of housing, and they negatively impact both the city itself and the working-class people who live there. Parking spaces are not free, especially in major cities like Toronto where land is at a premium - an above-ground parking space in a city costs an average of $24,000, while a below-ground space costs $34,000. Every unit of residential housing has $24-34k in parking costs tacked onto it - whether the tenant needs a parking space or not - and you can bet that landlords and developers are passing every penny of that cost onto their tenants.

Parking requirements also decrease the number of units available, which is a problem, because the best way to keep housing affordable is to make sure that you have a lot of it available. A developer who might want to build a 300-unit apartment complex has to factor in the cost of creating at least 300 parking spaces.... so they might scale back to a 100-unit complex instead. Downtown areas that have huge demand for housing and low demand for residential parking are being underutilized because of zoning laws that were created decades ago and no longer reflect today’s reality. Young people, elderly people and urban poor people are increasingly unlikely to own a car, but they are being priced out of walkable neighbourhoods with good public transit for the sake of unwanted parking spaces.

Food safety laws and public property usage laws are making it illegal to feed the homeless.

“Feeding the homeless” should be one of the most uncontroversial things you can do. Giving food to a person who is hungry is one of the most basic ways that humans care for one another. Everything from cheesy Hallmark movies to the Bible reinforces the importance of giving to others in need. But in dozens of cities across America, you can be fined, arrested or even jailed for giving out food to the homeless.

Cities use different justifications to shut down or even arrest community service workers for trying to feed the homeless. Some pass increasingly restrictive “food safety laws”, stating that charities are only allowed to give away hot food, or that they are only allowed to give away sealed and individually-packed meals, or that they are only allowed to feed homeless people indoors (something that community organizations like mine do not always have the resources to do). Restrictions continue to get tighter every year in some places, despite the fact that there are virtually zero recorded cases of a homeless person being harmed by food they received from a registered charity. Food safety laws can also force restaurants and stores to destroy their unsold food instead of passing it out; some have to go as far as pouring bleach over the food they throw out in their dumpsters.

Other cities have used public property bylaws to ban food-sharing on public property, forcing charities to apply for permits to hand out food (which are rarely granted). Justifications for these bylaws vary - some cities give vague excuses about “safety” while others admit that they’re trying to drive homeless people out of their cities - but the end result is the same. Cities are so desperate to be rid of their homeless populations that they’ll criminalize trying to help the homeless, rather than offering stable, affordable housing solutions.

#missmentelle #askmissmentelle #social justice #social work #socialjustice #oppression #sociology #mental health #mental illness #poverty #homelessness #homeless #working class #classism #domestic violence

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flying-elliska · 3 years

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one of the most impactful things I have read lately are two of French author Edouard Louis' books, Pour en finir avec Eddy Bellegueule and Qui a tué mon père (translated into English as The End of Eddy and Who Killed my Father). It's been two months and I'm still thinking about it.

The first book is an 'autobiographical novel' about the author's childhood growing up as an obviously gay boy in one of the poorest areas of France, until he leaves and reinvents himself as a writer. It's fraught with bigotry, abuse, bullying, violence, deprivation and social despair, and it's one of the most harrowing things I have ever read. It reads as many things as once : a recognition of trauma, an angry exorcism, a cry for society at large to pay attention, and to be honest, as a horror story.

It was criticized by some in France as portraying the working class in a manner that was too negative, which tells me they missed the point entirely...ironic for a book by someone who actually grew up poor - one of my least favorite things ever is progressives telling a marginalized person they can't talk about their own experiences because they don't fit the desired mold. (The French love to romanticize the working class and I'm pretty sure it's often an avoidance mechanism.)

The point of the book is so obviously not about 'look at how terrible and bigoted those poor people are'. Little Eddy spends a big part of the narrative trying to escape - himself at first, then his family/circumstances and the persistent homophobia everywhere. In the end of the book, he finally manages to get accepted into a fancy high school in the city on a scholarship and tries really hard to fit in. The last scene of the book is a bunch of his - educated, upper/middle class - classmates throwing homophobic taunts at him, starting the cycle anew. I can't think of a clearer way to say 'this is not a story about a sad gay boy escaping the evil bigoted countryside for the city and then everything was wonderful!!!! this is a story about a systemic, pervasive problem.'

One of the key arguments of the book, to me, is how homophobia, sexism and bigotry in general are both a product and a reproduction mechanism of social and economic exclusion. For instance, he describes how the norms around what it means to be a man in his village (being tough, disobeying authority, quitting school early to go work at the factory, drinking alcohol, neglecting your own health, fighting over women, repressing your feelings, etc) perpetuates the cycle of poverty ; but again this isn't 'oh these people are so stupid' and more 'these people are trapped'. Because he makes it evident how degrading and dehumanizing poverty can be, this masculinity reads as a desperate attempt to cling to a certain amount of dignity - it's an extremely dysfunctional coping mechanism. At the same time, anyone falling outside of the mold is violently ostracized (like Eddy, who tries and fails to fit in). So the system keeps reproducing itself.

In Who Killed my Father, the author makes his political argument clearer. This is more of an essay, centering on his father, arguably the most complex figure in the first novel. The man is an angry, bigoted alcoholic who makes his family miserable ; at the same time he is the son of an abusive father who makes a point of honor to never hit his kids or wife even though it's very normalized in this context. In this essay the author keeps talking about the moments of almost tenderness with his father that haunt him, the picture he has of him doing drag in his youth, the fact that the father tried to leave the village when he was young to find a better life for himself with a close friend but failed and had to come back - the moments of what-ifs, of trying to struggle free from the cycle, when the system appears almost fragile and not so unbreakable after all, that the son kept holding close like a sort of talisman.

The narrative is structured around the fact that his father injured his back working in a factory and that he had to keep doing physical labor afterwards for money, instead of resting to recover, until it completely destroyed his body. Now he finds himself bed-bound at 53. Louis inquires into who is responsible for this premature 'death'. After considering individual choices, he turns towards political decisions - the successive governments, left and right, who have been destroying the French welfare system for decades and accelerating inequality. The point is to step out of the neoliberal obsession with personal responsibility and who is guilty and who is a bad or good person, and look at systems.

An element that isn't focused on but hovers over the story constantly is that this village is one where the majority of the population consistently votes for the extreme right National Front party in most elections. The book is too angry and nuanced to be some stupid "it's not their fault that they're racist because they're poor!" argument. It doesn't make any excuses for how awful this is but instead illustrates how dehumanization replicates itself, how people being denied basic dignity leads to them wanting to deny it to others. If you want to really understand the rise of the far right you have to look at where the inequality comes from in the first place, and how easy it is for people in power to wash their hands of it by blaming the bigoted masses. (Just like you can blame societal ills on minorities ! Two for one strategy.)

Towards the end of the essay, the author talks about how proud his father is of his son's literary success - for a book who clearly depicts him as a horrible person ! And this is a man who has spent his life openly despising anything cultural, because it never showed him a life like his own. But maybe now he feels seen, now he knows people want to read about these things. Maybe there is a reclamation of dignity through looking at the horror head on. Maybe his son somehow slipping through the cracks of the cycle gives him more room. The man stops making racist comments, and instead asks his son about his boyfriend. Most importantly, he asks his son about the leftist politics he's engaged in. They talk about the need for a revolution.

I think what strikes me the most is this attitude of "wounded compassion" that permeates the book. What do you do when your parents are abusive but even after you grow up, you can't help but still love them, and you know they've been shaped by the system that surrounds them ? Recognizing, speaking the harm is essential. You need to find your own freedom, sense of worth, and safety. You need to dissect the mechanisms at hand so they lose at least some of their power over you. You need to find people who love and believe you. But then what? Do you dismiss your persistent feelings of affection and care for those who hurt you as a sign you're just fucked up in the head ? You could just decide to never speak to them again, and it would be justified, but is that really what is going to heal you the most? It's important to realize you have the choice. But there are no easy conclusions.

This makes me think of a passage I have just read in Aversive Democracy by Aletta Norval. The essential ethos of radical democracy, she says, is about taking responsibility for your society, even the bad parts, instead of seeing them as a foreign element you have to cleanse yourself of. It's too fucking easy for queer progressives, especially the middle class urban kind, to talk about dumb evil hicks, to turn pride into a simple morality tale, and forget that any politics that don't center the basic dignity and needs of people are just shit. The injury is to you and by you and you have a duty of care just as much as a duty of criticism. (And this is obviously not only applicable to class matters.) You can't just walk away and save your sense of moral purity. (This is not an argument that the oppressed are responsible for educating the oppressors ; it's about how privilege is not an easy simple ranking and it is too damn easy to only focus on the ways in which you are oppressed and forget the ways in which you may have more leeway.)

There is no absolute equivalence between political and family dynamics but the parallel feel very relevant somehow. Several truths can coexist at once : you needed help and it was not given. You were let down. It's important to recognize that people are responsible of how they treat each other. You need to call out what isn't ok and stand up for yourself. At the same time, there is a reason why things are like this. Making people into villains is often bad strategy (within reason!), and in the end, easy dichotomies are often an instrument of power. The horrors you have been through might have given you a very specific wisdom and grace you do not have to be afraid of ; you are not tainted by your compassion (it is very much the opposite of forced forgiveness ; it has walked through the fire of truth.)

To me these books fit into what French literature does best, sociological storytelling a la Zola or Victor Hugo - the arguments aren't new and they can come across as heavy handed, even melodramatic. But I'll argue that the viscerality is the point, how the raw experience of misery punches through any clever arguments about how exploitation persists for the greater good of society. Really worth reading if you can do so with nuance.

#edouard louis #french literature #france #queer culture #queer literature #lgbt books #bookblr #also just like the first book is a walking trigger warning in every possible direction so like careful #also the dude is literary buddies with ocean vuong and im curious to see if there are any parallels there #long post #poli sci

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khaleesiofalicante · 3 years

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Ok so I don’t normally do reaction posts but it’s right at the beginning and Ik I’m not gonna remember the thoughts I have later so here it goes:

‘She preferred to learn from people and stories and experiences than to learn from books and classrooms’

Sorry I honestly love this. I have a neurodivergent brother who really struggles in the classroom etc and the fact that you’re making ur characters relatable and the idea that the classroom just doesn’t work for some most people I love it

‘Common sign of a heart attack…’

What the hell???? You cant do this to Jace!!! Not after everything!! You can’t do it to Alec! He can’t lose his parabatai! He’ll blame himself - he’ll blame himself for leading them out of idris you can’t hurt my baby like that! And clary and the girls no no no they don’t deserve this pain 😭😭😭

‘“Lexi,” he whispered back. “I… I am scared.”’

Jace being vulnerable to with his daughter 😭😭 Lexi reassuring him 😭😭 child looking after the parent 😭😭 it’s heartbreaking yet beautiful at the same time and I love it

-and also hate it

‘“Gigi?” She called out; her voice hoarse. “Gigi, is that you?”’

ARGHRHHRH

oh my gosh. You did the thing. The parabatai thing.

Alec, Alec is that you?

Will, Will is that you?

I think there are others but I can’t remember them rn but ahhhhh 😭😭😭 I’m dying it’s adorable thank you

‘You’re not just my friend. You are my family’

Well this is adorable.

One of the things I love abt TSC is that family is never defined by blood. Clary’s blood was never her family, and Jace’s family wasn’t his blood. The institute kids weren’t related at all but they were like a family. Same goes with Malec and emma and the blackthorns. It just reinforces the narrative that you’re not defined by your blood, your past. You can find your real family when your blood fails you. Thank you for continuing this cycle with David and the Herondales. It’s poetic

THEY GAVE HIM THE INSTITUTE!!!

Well this just promotes what I said before doenst it? Institutes traditionally ran in families and then giving David the institute just shows him how much he means to them and is a part of their family! But also they must be really tired and I’m worried about them.

Oh he literally said they’re passed down within families 😂😂 I predicted it! Ha

My hands smell of dog ugh-

‘Muggles’

😂 speaking in a language she’ll understand I see

‘I just assumed he was super into avatar cosplay’

🤣 No seriously that’s hilarious. The strange things mundanes come up with to deny the shadow world

‘Rafael smiled and took out a dagger and held out his palm’

Honestly I don’t know why I’m surprised that’s such a shadowhunter thing to do I think I just watch way too much greys anatomy and expect them to do it the normal way 😂😆

Now honestly regardless of whether they can use mundane medicine or no it just seems like Anjali’s beyond help. It seems incurable. It seems like she is dying. And that’s just not ok, but I really don’t know how they can help her, or even if they manage to stop the illnesses, she won’t have that long. It’s too cruel

‘Alec didn’t know where he had come wrong’

This is really interesting actually, because I think teenagers are all ready to blame the parents, acting like they’ve ruined their lives and never get it right. But really parents are just people who are worried about their kids, and tend to know better. Some parents are absolutely shitty, but most just want to do what’s best, even if they don’t go abt it the right way. I think teenagers need to cut parents a bit of slack tbh - I say this knowing that my parents are a pain in the arse sometimes but Ik they mean well

Lilies are white

Shadowhunters wear white to funerals

They’re buried in white

David is dead

How

He cut his hair for Max

All of this was going to happen

Jace gave him the sword

They gave him the institute

I can’t

YOU BROKE ME IT’S 10:40 AND I HAVE SCHOOL TOMORROW AND DAVID IS DEAD HOW DO YOU EXPECT ME TO FUNCTION

i can’t I’m sorry this has destroyed me

I can write you a letter to take the day off :(

#lbaf

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missdrarrydawn · 3 years

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This blog is why we need post-birth abortion rights for women. Your mother would have made the right choice.

yes wow darling very smart you sound incredibly intelligent for sending this yes yes quite an outstanding achievement you got there, amazingly brave too, yes such courage to go on anon and insult people, wow i applaud your bravery truly

my blog is a HP blog with ocassional diverse content, you're getting mad at a joke post that's probably 4-5 days old by now (i'm not sure about this exactly as i lose track of time easily) that described a real medically documented experience a lot of trans women have been observed to go through as their transition and therapy continues which i said is similar to a period of a cisgender woman because of the very real similarities between the two processes

i very clearly stated twice that they are biologically different but still similar enough to warrant validation

i support trans women and i always have and i always will, they are real women just as much as i am. i also understand, unlike most of you getting mad in the notes of the post, that women are not walking talking uteruses and i do not reduce nor define women by that one thing alone because that would be ridiculous and hurtful, since there is more to being a woman than just having a uterus

i don't really see why everyone is so upset (transphobes gonna transphobe i suppose) that i called a trans woman's cycle period like or a pseudo period, when that is the most accurate term that exists for that process as of right now.

what else would you call hormonal fluctuations of estrogen and progesterone (because guess what? trans women do in fact receive estrogen and progesterone injections as part of feminizing hormone therapy) and other symptoms (abdominal cramping, headaches, acne breakouts, hot flashes, dizziness, mood swings, pain, nausea etc.) happening every 5 weeks and lasting for 6-7 days? that's right, everyone would call that a period, it's just the most accurate way to describe the process.

trans women can not menstruate, they can not bleed because they do not have a uterus (something i very explicitly stated in my post explaining my point but transphobes can't read apparently) but, like I said in my original post, the bleeding is honestly the least important byproduct of a period, or better yet, the entire cycle, because it is just that - a byproduct, a consequence of the uterine lining shedding. it is not the one defining staple of a cycle, a lot of cis women don't menstruate but you don't go around calling them fake so. the bleeding is not the goal of a monthly cycle, it is not the end result your body wants to reach (the end result would ideally be pregnancy), just a consequence of the process, and i argue it is the least important part of it, its nothing more than another symptom, just like the cramps and pain are

do you want to know what your entire argument sounds like? let me demonstrate:

person A comes in with a fever, a sore throat and a runny nose. their doctor tells them they have a cold.

person B comes in with a fever and a sore throat but no runny nose. their doctor tells them they're faking their cold and should stop pretending to have a cold because it is insensitive to people who have real colds since person B hasn't presented every single typical byproduct and symptom having a cold produces unlike person A did

yea? isn't that ridiculous? that's exactly what you sound like

'trans women experience every other symptom of a period i do, on a monthly basis like i do, lasting about a week, like mine do, but they don't experience this one specific symptom that i typically do which is bleeding therefore they're fake'

obviously the cycle of a trans women isn't going to be the same as the cycle of a cis woman, i have not once contested that nor have i equated the two, what i have done however, is defend the fact a lot of trans women do in fact experience their own form of a monthly cycle that actually presents all the symptoms of PMS (if we're going to be super picky about it) and I've stated that there is nothing wrong with a trans woman calling her own cycle a period, even if she does not experience the bleeding.

you all are just incredibly transphobic (i checked out some of the blogs replying and found them to be terfs, ew) and i don't want to cross into your territory any more than i've already ended up doing, and i will not be responding to any of your notes or anon messages anymore because i've moved on from that post and you should too, because it is obvious you will never understand what i'm trying to say and i will never understand the hatred you spew

it is telling though that terfs and transphobes came across my post which was in the 'pro trans' tag, i assume while casually browsing there for people to start fights with? very telling indeed.

i will be a doctor by the end of the year and i do not have time to argue with transphobes online over matters of trans health they know nothing about (my knowledge is far from perfect either because i am not transgender but i have listened to trans people and read about what transitions can be like because i wanted to learn and feel comfortable stating what i have). ive seen y'all constantly talk about indigestion and diarrhea which have absolutely nothing to do with the matter at hand and seen some people bring up endometriosis which also has nothing to do with the matter at hand, no one is talking about disordered periods or other health conditions, we're talking about just the regular period of a healthy person

people have asked me to provide proof i'm attending medical school which i don't think i can provide without giving out my personal information which i am not inclined to do to strangers on the internet and a lot of people didn't believe me but honestly that is not my problem

i know who i am and what i stand for and the thing i said is a true factual experience that many trans women go through as their transition continues and calling that cycle they experience a period hurts no one and only helps trans communities

of course terfs and transphobes don't care about that, which is why i urge everyone to go their separate ways. i do not want your transphobia on my posts and you don't want my activism on yours so if you're itching to comment and get pissy with me or send me anons, kindly don't because i truly couldn't care less about your opinion on matters you know nothing about and don't care to learn about either

coming from one cis woman to another, just scroll past me and any of my posts from now on and i'll do the same for you so that we may never have to interact again in any way shape or form

i'm closing my end of the discourse of the post right here with this and i stand by what i said. i believe you are wrong for invalidating the experiences of trans women and transphobic for wishing ill upon the trans community in general and i do not wish to ever associate with any of you ever again

i have said my peace

goodbye

(if any trans woman or trans person in general wishes to correct anything wrong i stated here please feel free to do so, because i am cisgender and you will of course know more about your transition and experiences than me no matter how much reading i do :)) remember you are valid and loved and pls stay safe <33)

#pro trans #positive trans #again i reiterate #PRO TRANS #THIS IS A PRO TRANS BLOG #A SAFE SPACE FOR TRANS PEOPLE #trans health #trans women are real and valid #i am not having this argument anymore #i don't like fighting and i don't care what transphobic women have to say #trans support #this cisgender women stands with the trans communities

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teaspoon-full-of-sugar · 4 years

Text

kissed by mist and can dew attitude

pairing: harry styles x reader (farmers market au)

warnings: awkwardness!! shy!baker!harry, mentions of the qu*rantine, drug use, harry's chest hair, giggly, sweet high sex, some dirty talk :) unprotected sex

word count: 3.4k

synopsis: harry is an idiot, and y/n is a bit of a tease

author’s note: you can read this for a little background to this au (but it’s not really necessary; i tend to over explain things anyway, so you can get a pretty good understanding just from this) literally no one asked for this, but market season is coming up again, and i missed writing about these two :( hope you enjoy! xx

masterlist

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Harry is so tired of being cooped up in this house.

Don’t get him wrong, he loves staying home.

He is normally the introvert that puts all other introverts to shame. He loves staying at home, he loves hiding away after a stressful day at work, he goes out of his way to not talk to anyone while he’s out, and he very rarely ever goes out on the weekends. He loves just being able to stay at home, relax, and not worry about anyone bothering him.

But, at a certain point, it becomes too much; now, he just wants to get out, go for a walk, go to the grocery store, talk to someone other than Y/N, just do something, anything, other than staying at home. Yes, it’s for a good reason, and he doesn’t want to be responsible for the illness spreading, but it’s also straining on his mental, physical, and financial health.

He honestly wants to go back to work.

Since this entire situation started, Harry has only had a couple of shifts at The Sweet Spot, since, apparently, cafes are “essential businesses”, but the nutrition store next door isn’t (the world definitely has their priorities straight). Honestly, it was kind of nice; he didn’t have to schmooze any customers, since he only saw the delivery drivers. There was the occasional ignorant person who would come up to the doors and pull on them, despite the very clear signs saying that they were not open to the public, only to find them locked, and Harry very happily told them to go away.

However, Marty couldn’t afford to have him take up any more shifts, which he completely understands, so he’s been stuck home for weeks.

Needless to say, both he and Y/N have been getting a little stir crazy.

They tried to keep a somewhat healthy lifestyle in the beginning, hiking the nearby trails or walking at the park, but everything started to become too crowded. They even went cycling, but Harry proved to be even more of a klutz on a bike than on his own two feet, resulting in a bump on his head and a scraped elbow, which is still healing beneath a floral printed plaster.

Y/N’s had some failed experiments, leading to several four-hour kitchen clean-ups, and she also started a “Fermentation Station”, with dozens of glass jars filled with fermenting fruits and teas, the smell of yeast strong in the air. She was so proud of herself the first time she made carbonated water from things they already had in the house (“Look, Harry, it’s so convenient”). She ended up adding more and more things to her collection. They argued about it for a couple of days before she finally settled and moved her jars to the back porch after the kitchen started smelling like alcohol.

While Y/N has her experiments, Harry stress-bakes. He can’t even count how many loaves of bread, fruit pastries, cookies, and cakes he has made. He made crepes using sourdough starter. That’s how bored he’s been. He waited five whole days for his starter to mature, just to make four crepes between himself and Y/N.

But, there’s only so many things to do before you’ve completely run out of ideas.

On this particularly boring day, it’s two in the afternoon before they finally get out of bed, no thanks to their terrible sleep schedules, and they move onto the couch, which is officially broken in after how many hours they’ve spent on it. It’s sunny outside, bright and warm, the bright light beaming through the large bay windows in the living room, making staying inside even worse.

Y/N convinces him to paint his fingernails (and not just his toenails), and he happily indulges her. It’s nice feeling pampered for once, and whenever Y/N gets into her let’s-have-a-spa-day moods, she goes all out. While his toenails, painted with a pretty green color called Can Dew Attitude and a shimmery top coat on them, dried, she put some all-natural mud mask on his face, that bubbled and seeped into his skin.

“This is great for your pores,” she says as she puts a lukewarm cloth on his mask. “Not that you have bad skin. It’s better than mine, you ass.”

He just smiles, feeling the clay crack, and leans into her touch. She’s gentle, waiting until most of it is soft and pliable before she wipes it away. As she dries his face, with a towelette that smells like lavender and honey, his freshened skin, flushed and smooth, glows in the afternoon sun, his pretty eyes magnified behind a pair of thick, black framed glasses. Y/N sits across from him, her leg tucked up underneath her with his hand steady on her knee.

“It’s not gonna, like,” he pauses, glancing warily at his nails, “poison you or anything, right?”

“What?” She laughs, putting an oil around his cuticles. He leans forward, watching her carefully. He readjusts the headband, inadvertently pushing it back a little too far, until some curls slip onto his forehead. She hits the bottle of Kissed by Mist against her palm, the pale pink polish making a nice ticking sound. She starts on his nails, but not before making a comment about how cute his little pinkie is, which makes him flustered.

“It’s not gonna poison you when I, ya know, like… when I…”

He motions with his free hand, grouping his ring and middle fingers together and curling them, and he bites on his cheek, brows furrowed, trying to see any changes in her expression. He stops and shakes his head, a frail blush creeping up to his ears.

“By the way you’re reacting, ‘m assuming it’s not a thing,” he sighs.

“No, the polish will not poison me when you finger—“

“Shh,” he hushes her, pressing his hand against her lips. She pushes him away.

“Harry, we are the only ones here,” she says, finishing his right hand.

“Ya know what that mouth does to me,” he mutters.

“Really? You get turned on when I say, ‘finger me’?”

“Ya know I do,” he pouts, grappling for her. His hands twist the thick cotton of her jumper for only a second before she’s scooting away, swatting at him.

“No, H, your nails are still wet,” she says, and he groans, sinking back into the couch cushions.

“So bored.”

“Everyone is,” she says, filing down his left thumb nail.

“Wanna get high?”

He just wants to stop this feeling of absolute boredom. It’s better since Y/N is here with him, but it’s getting to a certain point where he’s willing to do just about anything to feel, well, anything.

One night, they tried her “prison wine”, which was just cranberry cocktail and yeast that fermented for a couple of days; it tasted worse than it sounds. It did, however, get them very drunk, and they woke up the next morning with pounding headaches, upset stomach, and purple stained lips. It was honestly the worst hangover he’s ever had, and he vowed to never try it again.

Getting stoned has then become a regular thing. On those horribly boring nights where they had absolutely nothing to do, where they’ve both been on the couch for hours, not being able to find the willpower to move, and on those nights where they just wanted to feel and simply be elsewhere, they found solace in the warming daze.

She grins.

“Sure, I think we still have some gummies,” she says, moving toward their “special” drawer in the side table.

“Only a half this time, lovie,” he says as she turns back, and she rolls her eyes.

“They were a lot stronger than the other ones,” she says, ripping the poorly stuck tape from the plastic packaging.

“I know,” he smiles, popping the candy in his mouth. She sits back down beside him, her leg thrown over his lap. He moves his hand dangerously close to her inner thigh, his fingers dancing along the length of her thigh until they reach the hem of her panties, tugging at the material until it snaps back. He’s so close to feeling her warmth, if only he moves just a little further, but she yanks his hand back, puts it on her knee, and gives him a smug little smile, continuing her work.

It takes an hour, or two more coats of nail polish, for the edibles to kick in, but when they do, Harry thinks he pissed himself. Forgetting about Y/N’s leg across his lap, he mistakes her warmth as pee, and he jerks up, jolting her. She looks up at him, blinking. There’s a strip of white polish on the side of his thumb.

“You are so good at this,” he says slowly. He honestly couldn’t imagine painting such tiny details if he were sober; he doesn’t know how she’s doing it stoned. She’s swaying and blinking slowly, but she looks focused, her brows furrowed.

“You’re good at this,” she mumbles.

“What?” He laughs.

“I don’t know,” she says. “It’s easy if I can concentrate.” Her eyes flicker up to his, a smirk curled over her lips.

“‘M I distracting you?” He raises a brow.

“I can feel your cock,” she says.

“Please, don’t say cock while you’re touching my cock,” he says, readjusting his growing bulge. She just chuckles and moves her foot along his boxers, where his semi and the top of his thighs connect. His hips twitch.

She barely caps the nail polish before she tosses it to the side and straddles him. He cups her hips, the fact that his nails are still wet long gone from both of their minds. She holds him by the neck, tilting his head back. Before she can capture his lips, he hesitates, his hands tracing along her thighs.

“Are you sure?”

Even though they’re practically living together at this point and have had sex plenty of times, he can’t help but ask her that same question every time. He’s never been one to feel secure in himself, and to have someone who is so open and willing to trust him, it’s overwhelming and intimidating sometimes.

“Of course, H,” she says, nibbling at his bottom lip, and then, he kisses her, fully and profoundly. He could just melt into her, his senses consumed by her warmth and love. He wouldn’t go as far as saying that the sex is better than when they’re sober. It’s great all the time, but there’s something about being high, with his skin buzzing and all of his senses heightened yet dulled at the same time, that makes the experience different. It’s different because he’s not worried about what he’s doing and saying; he’s focusing on the feeling, all of the sensations and simply her.

She tries to pull his shirt over his head, but it gets caught on the chain around his neck, and she tugs a little too hard, yanking it tightly around his throat.

“Easy, Y/N,” he laughs, holding onto her wrists. “I know you’re eager to get me naked, but I think you forget that I am also precious cargo.” Her lips sink into a pout, and he’s able to get the shirt off, throwing it off to the side, his headband going with it.

“You are precious,” she says, squishing his cheeks together. She cups the back of his neck and pecks his lips, gentle and loving. “Love these little baby hairs,” she says, running her hand over his skin, teasing and tugging on his chest hairs.

“They’re not baby hairs,” he says, pouting. He teases his hands along her hips, nails digging into her fleshy skin. “I am a man.”

“Oh, I know,” she chuckles, feeling his hips jerk up, pressing his swelling bulge into her. He wraps his arms around her waist, fingers tracing along the expanse of her back, and nestles his face into her chest. She shifts further up on his lap, fingers carding through his soft hair. Being far too lazy to take it off, he sucks on her breasts through her worn tee, her nipples hardening in his teeth. She pushes his boxers down and readjusts herself over him, rubbing her clothed pussy along his pulsing cock. She tugs her panties to the side, and he moans at the sudden warmth, her arousal coating him.

“You like that?” She asks breathily, rocking her hips faster. “Like feeling me drip onto your cock?”

“What if I just—” She teases the head of his cock, just barely pushing him inside before she pulls out. He can barely make a sound, his throat tightening when

“You like it when I tease your cock? Can feel you throbbing.” Her eyes roll back at the burning feeling of him just breaking past the barrier of her tightness. “So needy for me, bubba.”

“Such a dirty mouth,” he moans.

“Tell me, babe.” She holds him by the jaw, the pads of her fingers pressing perfectly into his pressure points, and he struggles for breath, making his head even lighter and obscured. He grins. “Tell me how much you love my pussy,” she says as she sinks fully onto him, her walls swallowing him easily.

“Fuck,” he moans, long and drawn out. His head falls onto the couch cushions, eyes closing to savor the feeling of her gripping him, but she pulls him back, forcing him to keep eye contact. “I love it; love you more, though,” he says.

“Say it,” she coos.

He blushes, heat spreading from his chest to the tip of his ears. He has never been vocal when it comes to sex; he always gets flustered and anxious when having a normal conversation, so he couldn’t even imagine how how awkward he would be while trying to talk dirty. It’s even more difficult because of how much she’s teasing him, slow and languid movements up and down his cock, his head just barely inside her before she comes back down, her hips grinding against his. She has this look in her hooded eyes, a lustful and greedy look, that’s telling him to give in to his instincts.

“Love y-your pussy, baby,” he moans.

“Yeah?” She starts riding him faster, her walls milking him. He groans. “Tell me how it feels, H.” She smirks, like an actual full blown, teasing smirk; she knows exactly how good she’s making him feel. She likes seeing him so flustered and babbly and incoherent.

“So fucking good, so warm and wet, perfect for me, lovie,” he says, and she grins, teeth bared. She kisses him, messily and harshly. His arms wrap tightly around her waist, stilling her hips, and a hand travels up the length of her spine, beginning at the curve of her bum, dipping momentarily beneath her large tee, before moving up to the back of her neck, pressing her lips tighter to his. He cradles her head while he moves onto the floor, but it’s not nearly as graceful as he hoped it would be. They crash to the ground.

“Oh, god,” she squeals, and her walls squeeze him painfully tight. Her nails dig into his back.

“Wha’s wrong?” He wipes the sweat from his forehead, fingers raking through his hair.

“No, no,” she stutters, hands moving onto the swell of his ass, keeping him still. “You’re so deep.”

He swears his arms are going to give out at the sound of her sweet little whisper, her voice weak and broken.

“H-how deep?”

He can’t help the break in his voice, and embarrassment floods him. He’s honestly trying his hardest to sound sexy, but he just sounds like an idiot.

“As deep as the ocean,” she mumbles, and she looks so positively fucked, out of it and dazed with hooded eyes; he honestly doesn't even think she realizes what she said because when he starts laughing, she gives him the cutest look, her brows furrowed, lips curled. “What?”

“Congrats,” he says, leaning back and onto his knees, his arms curled under her thighs, knees hooked over his arms. “You almost just made me go soft. Never done that before.”

“Shut up,” she says, grinding her hips into him. His thrusts start slow, deliberate, but the more she reacts to him, the more she bucks and grinds, the faster they become, until he can’t anymore, driving his cock in with fast, precise thrusts.

“You look so good like this,” he says, groping her breasts over her tee, nipples swollen and hard. They move with every thrust of his hips.

“Thanks, it’s the shirt,” she says breathily, a weak smile on her lips. “It covers up all my ugly parts.”

“Tha’s not what I meant,” he says, frowning. He leans over her, hands on either side of her head, and she lets out a weak moan as his cock moves deeper inside her. “Look beautiful all the time.” He genuinely looks sad as he brushes away a bead of sweat from her forehead. “You don’ have to take your shirt off when we have sex, not if you don’ want to. I take it off normally because I thought it would be more comfortable for you, and, le’s be honest, your tits are amazing, and I love seeing your curves and your—”

She suddenly pulls him in for a kiss, ceasing his ramblings. He’s cute when he gets all nervous; despite the fact he’s balls deep inside her, he’s still a worrier. It’s sweet that he’s concerned about how she’s feeling, even though he’s not fully present, with red cheeks and hooded eyes, chest heaving for breath. She raises her hips, grinding up into him, her swollen clit just barely grazing against his abdomen. She clenches around him at the sharp, sudden burst of pleasure.

She raises her feet from the floor, and he presses her knees to her chest. The sound of him fucking himself into her wet cunt fills the air, obscenities and pleasured whimpers joining. Not having the energy to kiss fully, he traces his lips along the curve of her jaw, tender and messy. His thrusts become sharper and deeper, knocking the breath from her lungs with every move of his hips.

“Oh, god, ‘m so fucking wet.” She laughs, feeling through her soaked curls to her throbbing clit. She really is; her arousal drips onto their thighs and into the carpet. Her head spins, burning pleasure building as he grinds into her and spreads her legs further apart.

“Fuckin’ hell—” He whines as she tightens around him, her fingers rubbing her little clit raw.

“‘M gonna come,” she moans, tugging at his hair. “C’mon, baby,” she coos, “want you to—” She swallows thickly, her breathing shallow. Her eyes roll back as she pinches her poor swollen clit, her thighs trembling. She meets his thrusts, eager for her impending orgasm. “Want you to come in me, wanna feel your cum in my—”

She lets out one loud moan, her body trembling and shuddering beneath him as pleasure rushes through her, leaving her limbs tingling and her mind muddled. They bask in the afterglow, their breaths in sync and deep, and he slumps onto her, wrapping his arms around her, tracing his hands over any piece of skin he can. He just wants to savor this feeling, the closeness, the warmth, the tenderness.

Her hand suddenly fishes over to the caramels that Harry made a couple days ago, which have been taunting her in a faux-crystal bowl on the coffee table for the past couple of minutes. The make-shift wax paper wrapper crinkles, and the sound makes him look up, his eyes still hooded, movements languid with exhaustion. He opens his mouth sleepily, and she rips the caramel in half. They both moan at the same time at the taste and fall into a fit of giggles. He moves to his side, his chest pressed to her back, softening cock pressed to the curve of her bum.

“Sorry,” he says, “messed up your art.” He flashes his nails, the pink paint still soft and pliable, littered with nicks and dents and imprints from the couch cushions. She hooks her fingers through his and tugs his hand down to her lips.

“Worth it.”

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#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #ellie writes #ellie writes fluff #ellie writes smut #gif not mine #credit to owner

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