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#so it can be even harder for some when they feel social transition is their only option when they don't want it to be

catboybiologist · 2 months

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so I went to college for a year on my parents dime, but the second year I suffered from severe burnout and returned to live with my parents and went back to my high school job, and now I’m just utterly terrified of the future as my job doesn’t even pay enough to make rent much less any other of the other physiological needs and I despise my parents but any path forward that I can imagine involves being dependent on them and the second year of college got so stressful I can’t imagine myself ever completing a degree, and you seem to have your shit together to a degree and I don’t even know what to ask but I just feel so hopeless

I hope this response is at least a little helpful. You're cutting deeply at something that a lot of people have experienced. I sympathize deeply. It's okay. And to tell you the truth, I don't have my shit together, and I'm at a similar crossroads to you. I'll elaborate on my own personal path after the cut, but if you want some advice, here's mine:

You're not gonna power yourself through burnout. You're not a failure, and what you're doing is okay. You need to take a real, hard look at what makes you happy. Not what career you want, what makes you happy. If that's your career, wonderful. If it's not your career, that's great too. It's okay to pause to reevaluate. Give yourself the patience you need. You're okay, and you will figure it out. But you can't power yourself through burnout. Something has to change. I can't tell you what. You're gonna have to figure that out, unfortunately.

But don't try to suffer through a degree that will make you miserable. You have to plan for the future, of course, but you need to remember that you're living in the present as well.

So how do you go forward? As I see it, you have two options: go back to school when you're rested a little, but in a different field than before (or a different approach like trade school or an associate's degree), or try to find a path forward that simplifies your life enough financially to make it on your own. Neither are easy. Both are possible, but brutally difficult.

You can slowly dip your toes into either option. Find out alternate jobs. Take classes from community college or online in a variety of subjects. But if you don't want to do any of that, its okay not to as well.

Take your time with yourself. I believe in you. But remember to enjoy yourself when you can. It's okay to be hurt. But you can try to love yourself too.

My overall point is: if you commit yourself to misery, it becomes addicting. The longer you resign yourself to living your life in a way that actively burns you out and doesn't make you happy, the harder it becomes to break that pattern. I spent a while that way myself. You don't have to read further, but if you want to hear my own personal vent and relation to this, you can if you want.

To tell you the truth, I'm considering quitting my PhD at some point. I'm still very undecided, but right now, I'm basically holding out until I can take my summer quarter off. Even if I wasn't doing that to socially transition, I need that to figure out what I'm going do with my life, and whether I want to complete this degree.

I've done a LOT of things I regret. And they were all in the name of committing myself to my own misery, and a lot of that was tied to academia, and appeasing my family. At first, I started giving up on dreams I had that weren't academia related (Mt. Whitney was a huge one, and longer thru hikes as well). It snowballed into a point where I didn't know how not to be miserable anymore, and I was actively suffering through things that I refused to change, simply because

That's... why I delayed transitioning so long. The first and last thought on my mind about it, the entire time I was getting my undergrad degree, was about how transitioning would affect my education, and my career.

I only started posting my first "femboy" pictures online in Fall 2021. At the time, I was deeply engrained into a really, really shitty situation, that I was doubling down on because I didn't want to impede the progress of my master's degree. I was trapped. I started posting the pictures because, well, I was in "fuckit, if I wanna kms anyways, might as well get some fun in before I do it". If anyone wants more detail, I might talk in DM, but it would mostly be me venting. For you, anon, I think my details aren't that important. I'm still scared of talking about it publicly even now, and I still regret getting into that situation every day.

Getting out of that was my breaking point. I realized that I needed to start living my life for me. I chose my PhD institution and lab in part because of available LGBT acceptance and resources, and started HRT about a year into my PhD when I was a bit settled.

And I love what I do! I still do! I love science!! I still love biology and research and the coding I do for it and discussing it and presenting it and all of it!!!! But is it worth it? Does I love it enough? And can I keep doing it?

I need to figure it out. And it sounds like you do too. Your individual considerations may be different, but its ultimately the same consideration: how happy will this make you, vs how miserable it will make you.

And that is a HUGE question, that won't be answered overnight. You're right to take a break and tackle it. I believe in you <3

#cw suicide

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seohwang · 3 months

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Hey! I really like your writing and I especially liked the bedroom mishaps series, it’s so refreshing to read something more realistic.

I’ve been thinking about what Ateez would be like with an autistic partner, as an autistic person myself.

I feel like Hongjoong would be really aware of and intuitive about his partner’s sensory difficulties, and always have things handy to help, like headphones or sensory safe hoodie. Would enjoy seeing his partner listen to Ateez’s new tracks on repeat for days/weeks.

Both Hongjoong and Seonghwa would love listening to their partners ramble about their special interest/hyper fixation, as well as finding their stims super cute.

Seonghwa would be aware of the social and sensory limits of his partner, maybe even more so than his partner themselves. Would be very good with helping his partner through meltdowns/shutdowns.

Woosansang would just be very intuitive, understanding, really good and comforting and helping their partner through meltdowns/shutdowns as well. Woosan especially would be very openly/loudly supportive and trying to always encourage their partner. And also knowing when their partner is too overstimulated for physical touch, or they just need pressure hugs. Would also find their partner’s stims super cute.

Mingi would listen with his big puppy eyes when they’re rambling🥺 and would indulge with them with their special interests so enthusiastically

Yunho would ALWAYS have a massive grin on his face when they’re rambling. Massive encourager, always encouraging them to unmask and stim as much as they need.

Jongho would be quietly but acutely aware of his partner’s needs all the time, whether they’re overstimulated, or wanting to unmask but being too uncomfortable to do so. Always aiming to help them out silently but with devotion.

I just know they’d all be very understanding and caring. I’m wondering what you think of this? And what Ateez would be like? Anything you disagree with or would add? Feel free to add anything nsfw.

(Sorry it’s so long😅 this has been brewing for a while)

Feel free to ignore lol

Hi!! Thank you so much for the kind words, I'm really happy to hear you like my fics!! I love writing about the more real and awkward parts of relationships, so it's lovely to hear that my readers enjoy them as well!! ♥

(I didn't want to clutter the searches too much, so you can find my response to your headcanons under the cut! ♥)

Now, I'm not autistic myself (or, like, I might be somewhere on the spectrum, but I haven't gotten properly diagnosed or anything), so I don't really feel like I can confidently write much about the topic, BUT I really like the headcanons you have written! There's honestly nothing I disagree with since you picked up each member's personality pretty well in my opinion. Especially with Woosan, since they definitely seem like the types to proudly ramble about their s/o to everyone around them, lol. Oh and don't even get me started on Hongjoong, he absolutely feels like someone who'd carry around a bottomless bag full of the most random things like all moms do, lmao.

Also, I definitely agree that they'd all be very open and understanding!! I think that some of them would pick up on your habits and cues much faster than others (Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Jongho), while others might need more time to learn when to tone things down (San, Wooyoung), but they'd all be trying their best nonetheless.

As for nsfw headcanons, I think that most of the sfw headcanons would transition into the bedroom pretty much identically. They'd all make sure to ask for your limits and preferences (either beforehand like Yunho or in the moment like Yeosang) and would try their best to remember them whenever the time comes. The biggest obstacle, in my opinion, would be with San. He seems like someone who'd love a lot of eye contact during sex, and if that's something that makes you uncomfortable, he would have a harder time getting used to that. Other than that, I think that all the members would be very good at working around any troubles or needs you might have, as they're all very patient and loving anyways ♥ :)

(Lastly, I hope it's okay for me to publicly share your ask like this - if not, just tell me and I'll delete it!! Either way, thank you so much again for the lovely message and headcanons and take care!!!)

(Also, if you have a writing blog, please tell me the name!! I'd love to follow you, you have a nice way with words :) )

#ateez reactions #ateez headcanons #ateez fluff #ateez x reader #ateez reaction #ateez headcanon #ateez imagines #ateez imagine #ateez scenario #ateez scenarios

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abyssbirds · 11 months

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The fact that most of the tags under n24 have nothing to do with the disorder and that there's only a handful of posts under every single tag for it sure FEELS like ableism even though it might not be. But I have the time to talk about it so I might as well spread visibility.

(Info under read more)

N24, Non-24, or Non-24 Sleep-Wake Disorder, is a circadian rhythm disorder where your body doesn't run on a (roughly) 24-hour cycle like most people/people without the disorder itself. For example, my days run roughly 18-19 hours instead of a typical 16. My sleep gets later and later and later. I've tried melatonin, tried resetting my sleep schedule by staying up for >24 hours until a "normal" time for bed, and tried keeping ambient noise on like music or nature sounds. I've tried blue light filters. My days are just 26-27 hours instead of a normal 24, though every person with N24 is different.

It's primarily diagnosed in Blind patients, since the cause among Blind people with the disorder seems to be that not being able to see the transition from day to night makes their bodies not produce the proper sleep hormones at the right time.

Among sighted people, the cause seems to be unknown (last time I checked; just one person with the disorder should not be your only source of information!) and, since N24 among sighted people is more rare and less lucrative, it's an orphan disorder. There's not much research into how to help us sighted people with N24 because treatment is often pricey or not an actual solution, or it is aimed directly towards helping Blind people with N24.

As far as I know, there's apparently an implantable device in development. The main suggestions I see are training via sun lamps and melatonin or just trying to get on sleeping pills by lying about insomnia. There is a pill that can be taken, but if you live in the US, it is extremely expensive. So, essentially, this orphan disorder is overlooked and misdiagnosed, and those of us with it have to hope that one of the coin-toss methods of treating N24 works.

N24, even on its own, can be a very disabling disorder. You're either too-sleep deprived to do the things during the day you need to or are busy being asleep because the human body needs rest at some point. Socialization gets very difficult when your circadian rhythm is nocturnal for a couple of weeks. It's an isolating experience. It also makes it harder for people to work and make themselves money. I don't even know if N24 is something that can apply to an application for disability, though given it's not well-known, I doubt it is.

I'm not used to making informative posts like this, so I don't know how to end it, but please do some research into N24 on your own time--I am by no means a medical professional and my anecdotal explanation may contain errors. I just want people to know we exist.

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incomingalbatross · 8 months

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Finished my first week (I don't go in on Fridays) of Commute Listening! (Plus a day technically because I did have to go in last Saturday.)

Here's the summary of the undertaking so far...and of just how much car/public transit time I've logged:

Bach's Brandenburg Concertos 1-6 My beloveds--the only classical music that IS for sure on my faves list, because in the period when I had a CD player in my bedroom and about three CDs, these were two of them. Still not sure how well I could identify them, but I recognized them once they started playing and greatly enjoyed them.

Artifexian podcast ep 1. Interesting! All about worldbuilding. Just far enough removed from my own interests (yes I love fantasy, no I don't enjoy worldbuilding, it took me years to process that) that I can listen as, like, a spectator, but also listening to two people who do love worldbuilding makes me feel more positive about it. Like the energy.

Several Masses by Haydn (St. Cecilia, Mass in B flat, Mass in honor of the Blessed Virgin). Beautiful, obviously, but... did not grab me. Might just be that Masses and commuting are not the right combination. Might be my chant-inclined mind going "you're drawing out the words too much." Idk.

Art of Manliness ep 1, about Easy Company. INteresting and informative—a window into a subject I wouldn't have sought out on my own.

Out Alive ep 1. About a skier buried in an avalanche! Again, not something I would have sought out myself, but hearing the skier and the other people involved talk about the impact of a crisis situation and near-death experience, without any polish or dramatization... oof. Really interesting.

Reply All Billed as a "podcast about the internet," the first ep was about a social situation enabled by the internet. Also interesting as a window into someone else's personal experience that I don't think you'd quite get in any other medium than this unpolished interview format. This time about relationships instead of death, though.

In the Wind (album) by Peter, Paul and Mary. Branching aside from classical for some folk, since I was in the headspace for something between podcasts and instrumentals. Good! I recognized several of the songs but definitely not all. They also reminded me of several other country and folk artists I could listen to if I want to keep going down that road, in addition to listening to more of their work.

Vivaldi Concertos for Diverse Instruments GOOD. I loved these! They got stuck in my head afterward! Definitely want to try more Vivaldi. Also reinforcing my theory that any kind of music is good music if it involves violins going wild.

Mozart Violin Concertos 3-5 ALSO very very good. And I think I could hear the cleaner/plainer sound of Mozart as opposed to the baroque I'd just been listening to.

My Writing Sucks podcast ep 1, in which an author lovingly roasts her 14-year-old self's writing. Very fun. Endearing. Kinda makes me want to pull out my oldest, worst writing and approach it from an outside perspective, which I think would be Growth if my fragile ego could actually follow through on that. :P Maybe after a few more episodes of this.

Pints With Aquinas episode 1. This is an introductory episode giving background on Aquinas, as opposed to later episodes which will have more actual theology. Already good, though. Little harder for me to stay focused than some of the more fun ones, but I'll be coming back.

Classics for Kids Short and educational segment about classical music. Definitely told me things I don't know! A little short and a little flat in delivery for my needs, but good stuff.

Stuff You Missed in History Class ep 1. Interesting, but same issue as the above—it was just short. I need to check if episode length varies, and if they're all short I might load up six or so at once to give it a better trial. It was interesting but I couldn't get much flavor from one segment.

In conclusion, this project is definitely a success so far. I've been enjoying my commutes even when there's traffic, and I feel like I'm taking in things that I enjoy and are constructive in some way! It's fun for me. And I have a bunch of podcasts in store for next week that I haven't even touched yet.

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togglesbloggle · 10 months

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This is an interesting time in the history of Social, on account of, the entire natural order undergirding our conception of social media has imploded and is taking our modern modes of engagement with it. (Which is to say, bearer bonds are paying interest again. Alas!)

It's a very 'open' moment in that way; there's a huge and well-known appetite for a specific kind of thing, but many of the existing systems designed to serve and exploit that appetite are in retreat. Big potential energy reservoirs with limited competition for resources! If you're feeling more poetic- the old world is dying, and the new world struggles to be born.

The challenge, of course, is how to be one of the more successful monsters during the transition. If you play your cards right, they name the new era after you, it's a cushy gig if you can get it.

Many of the initial successor-attempts are trying to learn the lessons of 2005-2020 by emphasizing open protocols; these are common to Bluesky and Mastadon for Twitter refugees, the Matrix protocol for Element and other successors to Discord, and so on. And that's probably one of the more important choices that really are being made right now, in real time. Open, or closed?

Without as much cash flowing through the system, megaprojects and monoliths will be much harder to sustain. That's not necessarily a bad thing! We've gotten used to high-stakes struggles, we're all tangled up with the fates of a small number of huge institutions. Which sucks, right? It brings out the worst in us. Whereas open standards, such as the protocols we achieved for the internet as a whole, make that fight much harder to have at all. It builds a world more ordered towards democratic sensibilities and mutual respect. But there's no easy way to achieve that kind of victory. It takes genius, and good luck, and wisdom, and money, and all the other things.

One of my favorite discoveries from Discord (and, in retrospect, the BBS era) is that I personally really like social environments with a sense of 'place' to them. In my favorite servers, I'll often just hop on an empty voice chat and see if anybody else hops on to say hi, as a way of nucleating conversation. People can come and go at leisure, like being in a particular circle of conversation at a party. It's genuinely like 'hanging out', in a way that can't be replicated by flat and wide platforms like Twitter and Facebook, which in the absence of 'place' become a sort of public-performance status competition by default. Boundaries between small communities often make the difference between being a guy and being a brand; even on Tumblr, it's really more the latter than the former even as we build a sort of proto-community with our mutuals.

When I imagine my sort of 'ideal internet of the future', I think it looks something like a more porous, discoverable, and interconnected Discord: individual mixed-media real-time communication platforms with a specific members list and some ad-hoc internal structure to order conversations. But unlike Discord, these servers could look like something 'on the outside' if they wanted to, capable (though not required) by design of something much like a webpage, including links to other such webpages and other forms of discoverability. Temporary visitors would have free access to any curated digital products of that community placed on the page (including rights to copy, but with attribution baked in to the file format), with a smooth and community-defined onboarding from 'visitor' to 'member' that would vary according to the needs of the community in question. A bit like wordpress, these pages would have basic templates for nontechnical users but give you full access to webdev tools if you wanted them; but they would also give users full control over the entire contents of the server iff the users wanted that level of control, up to and including migrating a server to a member's locally-owned machine. The real-time members-only guts of the server would of course be end-to-end encrypted, such that these communities would have real and meaningful self-ownership.

I kind of like this because it creates a very smooth gradient with "IRC chat room" on one end and "Just A Website" on the other, but with the ability to evolve smoothly between them in real time, and with a very easy 'entry point' for novices and normies that could gradually grow towards a professional programming/webdev level of expertise if interest grows. And there's plenty of room for 'open/flat' curation of content in the manner of traditional Facebooky and Twittery social media, but people would be interacting with it through the intermediary of this 'server' abstraction, which would hopefully blunt the worst of the evils- we'd be individuals in private communities, but fictive mini-institutions when exposed to the wider world. And that same functionality could be used for projects like the Internet Archives or AO3 that are oriented towards the preservation of sometimes controversial materials, as cultures and moderators in individual servers changed.

#I do expect we'll lose Tumblr within a few years #hard to see any way around it #I will sincerely grieve for it

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saylessastrology · 1 year

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MARS TRANSIT CANCER FOR RISING SIGNS

March 25th 2023 - May 10th 2023

Aries Rising - 4th house- During this transit your actions will be guided by your emotional instincts. You may find yourself being extra possessive or protective of your home life and personal secrets at this time. You have more interest and energy than usual to tackle home projects, home work, chores and activities. Emotional problems could arise, triggered by subconscious memories of past painful experiences. Family problems and disputes may also arise, and this may lead to poor digestion. At this time, it is especially important to consider the needs and feelings of other family members. You’re less social and want to spend more time at home or with your family. You can defend your family, but also argue with them more. Your family may require more attention from you for some reason.

Taurus Rising - 3rd house- You express yourself directly and forcefully during this transit. You are likely to have many ideas and plans that require you to spread yourself thin as a result. If the energy is used right, this is a good time to present your ideas to others. Expect to be busy running errands and interacting with your siblings. A tendency to be impatient or impulsive while driving or while performing manual tasks may lead to accidents, so it’s wise to be careful and slow down!

Gemini Rising - 2nd house- You have more energy at your disposal to make money and are determined to do so at this time. This is money making go getter energy. Mars could burn a hot hole in your pocket during this transit. Money will come in as fast as it goes out. Self-esteem could take a hit as arguments are highly likely at this time and may be over your money and possessions.

Cancer Rising - 1st house- Right now, you are passionate about everything, but you could become extra-moody if people get too close to you. You are energetic and full of life. You are able to stand your ground and assert yourself more than usual during this transit. Try not to be to forceful or come on to others too strong. You may need less sleep or have an increase of restless, anxious energy. Physical exercise will help keep you centered. This is a great time to start an exercise program or pursue changes to physical appearance.

Leo Rising - 12 house- When Mars enters the 12th house in transit, you will feel less driven than normal. Sometimes, Mars in the 12th house creates a sense of stagnation and confusion. This is a time where you are inspired to be alone and retreat. Anyone coming into your energy with forcefulness or boasting will be turned away quite literally as you are in major need for psychological seclusion.

Virgo Rising - 11th house- Mars here makes for a time where you are on always on the move and constantly interacting with others. This is a great time to make new friends and network in your community. You may be even more active on social media now. You can also attract male friends during this transit as men are likely to be attracted by your general energy now. Be careful or argument with friends.

Libra Rising - 10th house- During this time you feel extremely driven and determined to achieve your career goals. You want recognition for your accomplishments and you may go out of your way to get it. Success is a strong desire during this time and you may feel driven to work harder in order to achieve it.

Scorpio Rising - 9th house- During this time you are looking to expand your activities, and you may find that you have a lot of energy for higher studies, travel, or simply new subjects. You could find yourself being overly opinionated.

Sagittarius Rising - 8th house- You may find yourself feeling and craving more sexual experiences during this transit. Your urges and desires are at an all time high right now and you have trouble containing it. You will have a great capacity for transformation that will allow you to surpass yourself, and this takes you out of the ordinary and transports you to a higher level.

Capricorn Rising - 7th house- Mars in the 7th brings the desire for partnership. People in your life, whether your romantic partner, friend, or co workers, will begin to claim your attention. It’s possible that after a few days you feel overwhelmed because you don’t have time for your own affairs. Dominate male energy may be triggering or u irritating during this time.

Aquarius Rising - 6th house- Mars here brings action and energy to your work, daily routine and health sector of your life. You may start exercising or doing some diet to improve your health. The best way to handle this energy is by working as much as possible to make use of this restless energy.

Pisces Rising - 5th house- Mars here brings action and excitement to you dating and creative areas of life. the Mars transit through your fifth house is characterized by a need for sensitivity in romantic relationships, the intensification of sexual desire, and dealing with children.

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sgt-morgan · 1 year

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Marquee Moon 🌙

Summary: you’re having a tough time with your second baby. Pregnancy sucks, and your lovely Steven does what he can to make you feel better. Part of the Estrellita verse

Warnings: depression, depressive episode, real shitty pregnancy symptoms, AFAB and female identifying reader, one cut that isn’t described too much, inaccurate depictions if DID as made cannon by the show.

A/N: I had a depressive episode, then my baby brother turned on my favorite song and made me have a dance party, then o felt less shitty. I wasn’t cured, but I felt better. This is the result. Also, to those who have asked. No, reader is not married to the system in the Estrellita verse yet. I’m just bad at not writing husband and wife for them because I know where their story is headed. In this house, we support marriage when the couple is ready, no sooner no later.

Moonknight Masterlist

Something was off. Steven couldn’t put his finger on it exactly, but he knew there was something… wrong. You were at the stage that your mom had affectionately called ‘miserably pregnant.’ You had gotten there last time, but this time was hitting harder than the last, and he couldn’t put a finger on just one thing that was messing with you.

Rory was struggling for one, the idea of having to go to a daycare was wildly unpopular for the girl who was so used to being with her mom almost constantly. The change was needed though, the little girl was just cresting the age of four, and you decided that she needs socialization, and to start learning basic skills for preschool. You figure her going to daycare while you were at work would be a good idea. Your parents had watched her up until this point, and you appreciated it, keeping her in a safe environment with your parents for so long was a great way to keep her in a safe environment without needing to worry about her catching illnesses or any other terrible thing. It just seemed to work out, your parents needed something to do, and you needed the childcare. Easy fix. The same could be said for your niece when she was little, three was the age that she started going to daycare, and you were sending her to the same place Cassie had gone. Your sister was able to keep her baby at home, but you couldn’t, so your new baby, when she was born, would also go to your Parent’s place. You were once again grateful that your sister was an accomplished editor, who enjoyed staying at home with her babies to do her job. It was her superpower, and most days you would say it was way more useful than yours.

So with all the transitioning schedules underway, and your parents not wanting to watch two babies at once, you enrolled Rory in daycare, and she hated it. It was too loud and there were too many people, and they didn’t speak Spanish, or Hebrew, or Arabic, and they didn’t believe that she had three daddies, and they didn’t like books. Rory has sensory disorders, so you knew this transition would be rough, but you weren’t expecting the full blowout that was her transition to daycare. She wouldn’t nap, she wouldn’t eat, she wasn’t playing with others, it was hell. She screamed every time you dropped her off, and your husband could tell it broke your heart every time. So you were in the hunt for a good fit, clearly this place wasn’t cutting it, so some other place would have to do. It would have to, you couldn’t do one more crying fit, or another bout of exhausted tantrums when she got home.

On top of all that, Rory was getting even more clingy. You would never dream of complaining about how much your baby loved you, but it was hard to juggle your belly and the rambunctious toddler who had seemed to attach herself to your hip. It was one of the things your doctor had warned you about about baby number two, the possibility of Rory starting to be more possessive of you. It was the underestimation of the century. She couldn’t get enough of you, wanting you to hold her, snuggle her, tuck her in. She was constantly clinging to you, kissing your belly and talking to the baby. She threw huge fits when someone took her from you, even when it was one of her dads, and she loves her dads. It was draining you, he could tell, but you kept pressing on trying to do what’s best for your daughter.

Then there was work, you still had one more mom expecting before your schedule was cleared for your parent leave. Being a dula was hard work, you were an advocate for mothers needs, a helping hand, a birthing expert, but doing all of that while also being ready to burst? Well, that’s its own special kind of hell. Horror stories from other peoples births were wild, and helping your patients with those horror stories while being pregnant yourself? Not optimal. On top of your normal duties, there was also the added stressor of most of your clients coming from Juno, needing you to protect mother and baby through some form or another with your pledge to her service. Thankfully, working with a fertility goddess meant leniency when it came to your duties as an avatar while knocked up, so at least that was a plus.

Then there was their problems. The system’s jobs were stacking up in preparation for paternity leave, dishing out make up work for each if them to handle before they took time off. Marc had exactly one last transit job for some artifact Konshu asked him to see settled, Jake had to make sure licensing, certifications, registrations, and inspections were completed in his fleet before he took off, and Steven was saddled with two deadlines on exhibits he was meant to be curating coming up. All of that on top of attempting to be a parent, a partner, and an Avatar for a grumpy ass deity. All of this had equaled less time spent with his pregnant lover, who just wanted to have one goddamn minute with her lovers please and thank you.

Then there was just all of the bodily side effects of pregnancy. You experienced all of this with Aurora too, but it didn’t really seem to hit you that badly. Your Belly grew more round, you complained that the stretching skin was itchy, they could only imagine. Your nipples were more sensitive, every one of them would wince in sympathy whenever they came home to find you sniffling miserably with bags of frozen peas on your chest. your feet grew a size, they had with Rory as well, and they never went back to normal, and having to buy new shoes again was really pissing you off. You were puking constantly, you developed a supreme sense of smell that caused you to hate some of your favorite foods, and even just catching a whiff sent you sprinting to the toilet at the first sign of trouble. Never let them tell you the puking is just a first trimester thing, it’s a lie. Your hips hurt, your muscles and bones making way for a baby was no easy feat, and you waddled around the house groaning and you tossed and turned all night trying to find a safe position for your aching joints. it was a whole list of terrible shit. The worst though, was your quote unquote ‘Pregnancy nose.’ Gods in heavens how you couldn’t stand the swelling of your face. Hormones are powerful shit, and with the sudden influx of them, and your new water retaining superpowers, your joints weren’t the only things that were ballooning. The system often found you staring in the mirror and picking at your face. The pregnancy acne and the nose were your least favorite things, It bothered you to no end, though they couldn’t understand why.

Your partners didn’t notice, only thinking you were beautiful and lovely while round and full with their child. However, you saw yourself as a whale, no matter how many times they assured you you were the most beautiful woman in the world. It was terrible for your disposition, but none of them knew what more to do about it other than support you however they could.

Steven though, Steven thinks he hit the nail on the head. It was about a month in to your pregnancy, they had just figured out you were pregnant, and you had switched medicines about two months before, new antidepressants that worked wonders, but unfortunately we’re not meant for pregnant women. So you went off them, and back on your old ones, and Steven thinks they weren’t working.

“Hey, you lot noticed she’s slept all day today?” Steven muttered into his teacup, Marc reflecting back at him from the murky surface of his tea, while Jake stared from the reflection of his darkened phone screen.

“Sí, parece estar más agotada de lo habitual.” Jake grunted, running a hand through his hair and snuggly fastening his flat cap back down.

“I know, she’s having an episode.” Marc sighs. You hadn’t had an episode like this since the beginning of your relationship. You had just switched up dosages and it wasn’t enough, you had sat and stared at the television, and slept, and did nothing for about a week until he finally made you call your doctor again to up your dosage. Thankfully this was more than likely a temporary episode, caused by the change in meds. He called your doctor to check and he said the same, but if it lasted more than a week, he should call and have an appointment scheduled to have the medicine changed or the dosage raised. Thankfully, your family’s psychiatrist was a skilled one, and one who was well versed in both your and the systems mental Illnesses. He was a good guy, they’re thankful to have him.

You and Steven were supposed to be cleaning house together today, doing some prep work before the arrival of your second daughter. It had started out well, about two hours in, you had cleaned the entire kitchen, scrubbed the fridge, washed dishes, put new child locks on the cabinets, and were doing really well. Steven was putting together your bedside bassinet for the baby to be put back in your room, having been put away since Cassie had started sleeping in her own room. He had also put up new blackout curtains in the nursery, and moved Cassie’s big girl bed into her new room across the hall from your room and the nursery. He had just finished building the bassinet when he heard a crash from the kitchen. Jake seized the body at the sound and hustled into the kitchen to find you sobbing into your hands, a broken tea kettle on the ground, not yet heated water covering your feet and the floor. They could clearly see this was your final straw for today, and their heart wrenched to see a pretty deep cut on your palm. At the sight of your silent, defeated, tears, Steven immediately took control again, carefully walking to you and wrapping you up in his arms. He shushed you calmly and rocked you back and forth, waiting for your tears to slow before he bandaged your hand. He then softly ushered you to your room where he made you change and lay down with him to take a nap. He lay flat on his back, and you were curled on your side curled facing away from him, staring at nothing and refusing to talk. He pulled you close to him and wiped at your tears until you fell asleep. Which led up to where he was now, drinking a cup of tea and contemplating what to do about your state.

“Let’s finish up the nursery, pick up the kid, and toss in another load of laundry, if she’s up by then we’ll get her to eat.” Steven mumbled, downing his tea and setting to work. Steven knew well that you can’t fix other peoples illness, it’s just a fact of life. He would take your pain and sadness if he could without ever thinking of the consequences, but you can’t just whisk away the bone deep dread and anxiety that was permeating your life like an unwanted rainstorm. He also knew that when you were like this, which didn’t happen often, it made Jake and Marc a little skittish. It didn’t bother him though, out of all the alters, he understood that life is always harder than you asked for, and depression can just amplify those things that make life as difficult as it is. Depressive episodes happen, the system has them, you have them, it’s just a fact of life for your family, and thankfully you were both committed adults who knew better than to take each others bad days personally. Instead, you did what you could to make the bad days tolerable. Today was one of those days, and Steven was more than willing to do what he could to salvage what was left of your day.

Steven put the last touches on the nursery and Rory’s new room. He moved Aurora’s name sign to her new room, switching it for the new baby’s. Then he tossed in the last load of laundry you needed done, and tidied up the toys in the living room. When he finished, he drove to Rory’s daycare. today it seemed that the daycare finally

won the girl over. With a shockingly complete change in attitude, Aurora told her Baba Steven all about the new daycare worker Ellie. Ellie, a new supply teacher finishing up he degree at university, had sat and read with her today. She told him all about how instead of going to the gym, miss Ellie let her stay in the classroom and look at books and listen to music. Steven grinned, like father like daughter, she didn’t like crowds, couldn’t blame her. This was good, a good improvement, one more win in the books.

When he got home, he found you awake and cooking dinner. He could tell from your puffy eyes and listless body language that you were still down though. When he came into the kitchen he gently wrapped an arm around your shoulders and kissed your temple. Even when you were struggling, you still took care of them. He loved that about you. You tried to smile for Rory, and while it might have worked on the little girl, he couldn’t be fooled. Though you did shoot him an impressed look when Rory told you all about her day at daycare, and her new friend Miss Ellie. Dinner was easy, just some pasta your threw together from a jar, but Rory ate it with gusto, and when she finished, he offered to give her a bath. You smiled and nodded, putting the dishes in the washer even though he insisted you leave it to them. You just waved him off and he sighed, carrying Aurora to the bath. Once he got her in the tub and soaped up her hair, the very intelligent child spoke up.

“Mummy sad today.” She stated matter of factly, splashing a toy around while Steven gently rinsed the bubbles from her hair.

“Yeah, she is a little bit down in the dumps, but mummy is gonna be alright, it’s just a bad day innit?” He said, smiling at the little girl gently.

“It’s okay Baba, people are sad sometimes.” She nodded sagely, parroting the words you had both instilled from the very beginning. Once again, Steven finds himself in awe of this perfect little girl, what on earth had a bloke like him done to deserve this perfect angel.

“Yeah mate, s’right. People just have bad days. Mummy is just tired, making a baby is hard work.” He chuckled, gently combing conditioner through her curly locks.

“Why doesn’t she just have the baby?” Rory scoffed and Steven chuckled.

“Would be easier wouldn’t it, doesn’t work like that though, your sister is not baking in there I’m afraid, mummy will have to just let her keep bouncing around on her bladder.” He chuckled, rinsing the girls hair again before pulling her out of the tub with a grunt as the child squirmed. “S’all right though- oh my days, have you gotten taller?- mummy will have your sister soon.”

“Well, then why don’t we give mum a dance party? Dance parties always make me feel better.” She says clapping her little hands at Steven and smiling. He nods slowly, thinking about it as he helps her pull on her Bluey pjs.

“Yah know? Thats not a half bad idea.” He grins at the girl, and he can see the proud stares of his alters in the reflection of the trifold mirror in their bathroom.

“God, we are the luckiest men alive.” Mark sighs, covering his mouth with his hand while Jake grins with a nod.

“We are surrounded by perfect women. How could any bastards be luckier than us?” Jake chuckles.

“Your Papí, Daddy, and I love you Princess.” Steven smiles, kissing her hair softly once he has it brushed out and pulled into two tiny little buns.

“I love you too dadas.” She smiles kissing him sweetly on the cheek. He carries Rory into the living room and makes his way casually to the record player. Time to dance.

You’re sitting on the couch facing the window, staring blankly at the rain as it beats down over New York with a vengeance. You’d been down lately, you know you had. Switching up meds and all the hormone changes of pregnancy were really beating you down. Life was changing, and when you weren’t able to fully regulate your emotions, it made every single inconvenience and struggle seems ten times more pressing. You were certain that this was a depressive episode. You’re sure your partner had caught on already, and you were grateful he had effortlessly picked up your slack without making you feel belittled. Starting a life with your Moonknight in shining armor had been the best decision you’d ever made. You may not be married just yet, but he had no hope in hell of getting rid of you that’s for sure.

You know you’d zoned out, but you couldn’t help it. You just felt… tired. Sad, and anxious, and tired. You couldn’t help it, you were trying, you got something done today at least, you cleaned the kitchen and did most of the laundry, you cooked and cleaned up dinner, but all you wanted to do now was pass out again. You felt so guilty, you had already slept for most of the day, you couldn’t be that tired, but alas, brain chemistry was a cruel mistress, and today you were in the doghouse. Then suddenly, music. You turned to look, dropping the moon necklace you had been fiddling with back onto your chest. You look up to see your sweet Steven reaching down and pulling you to your feet, while Marquee Moon by Television floated from the speakers on your record player.

“I remember

Ooh, how the darkness doubled

I recall Lightning struck itself

I was listening Listening to the rain

I was hearing Hearing something else

Life in the hive puckered up my night

A kiss of death, the embrace of life

Ooh, there I stand neath the Marquee Moon Just waiting”

Steven pulled you to your feet with a small smile and started to slowly dance with you in one arm, and your baby girl in the other. Twirling you with a grin.

“I spoke to a man Down at the tracks

And I ask him How he don't go mad

He said, "look here, junior, don't you be so happy And for heaven's sake, don't you be so sad."

He whispered the lyrics in your ear while you danced and twirled around the living room. For the first time all day, Steven was relieved to see a genuine smile grace your lips. He just knew you were recalling your first ever date to that little outdoor night market, a local band playing a cover of this song while you danced like nobody was watching. Just as he and his daughter had hoped, your impromptu dance party was working.

“Well, the Cadillac It pulled out of the graveyard Pulled up to me All they said, "get in, get in" Then the Cadillac

It puttered back into the graveyard

Me, I got out again Life in the hive puckered up my night A kiss of death, the embrace of life Ooh, there I stand neath the Marquee Moon

But I ain't waiting, uh-uh.”

You swayed to the time of the twangy post-punk classic, and your grin just kept growing as you twirled around the room. You started singing the lyrics to your daughter and curled your arm around Steven’s waist. Your joy was slowly creeping back in, this perfect Moment with your little family starting to bring you back to life second by second. You felt the warmth of their love creep up over your sadness, filling your brain with the glow of their love for you, and even though the sadness still lingered at the edges of your consciousness, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. This moment was too perfect to waist. Only made more perfect by the excited kicking of your newest addition where your belly pressed up against Steven. He grinned down at you, snuggling all of his girls closer and resting a palm where baby number two was kicking, and for the first time all week, you were content.

“I remember

How the darkness doubled

I recall Lightning struck itself

I was listening

Listening to the rain

I was hearing

Hearing something else.”

#marc spector #marc spector x reader #jake lockley #steven grant #steven grant x reader #moon knight #jake lockley moon knight #marc spector moon knight #matt murdock #jake lockely x reader #steven grant fic #steven grant moon knight #steven grant fluff #steven grant my beloved #marc spector fic #marc spector angst #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley fic #jake lockley x you

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catboybiologist · 6 months

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Hello, I've heard from a few trans women that their transition made higher education impossible I wasn't sure if they were talking about college or grad school, but since you're a woman in a PhD program I was wondering if you think transitioning would make getting a higher education harder.

Thanks

Someone who might be trans that wants to pursue a master's

Hm. This is weird to answer. Unfortunately I can't offer TOO much insight here. I'm very much a baby trans (~1.5 months HRT) and I present as a man day to day without issue (seriously, y'all have NO idea how masculine I look outside of my pictures). When I do finally socially transition, I'll probably have more thoughts.

With that out of the way, here's my personal experience so far:

I don't think I would have transitioned if I was NOT in academia/pursuing my PhD. I think most of the issues people run into can be divided into three categories:

1. Financial difficulty with acquiring HRT or other gender affirming care

2. Closer ties (financially and emotionally) to family and being seen less as an independent adult means greater pressure to not transition, and consequences if you do

3. Academic stress and pressure while you're undergoing emotional changes that may make things difficult short term.

Personally I was able to dodge most of those issues.

A huge part of this is because I spent a lot of time meticulously ensuring a lot of aspects of my life are in place before I started HRT. I waited until I was out of undergrad, which has weirder finances, I scoped out options at my student health center vs in the community, established queer community, waited a year to start in a good lab and establish there, scoped that lab out for queer acceptance before I joined, and in general became more financially and emotionally secure. Also, while I'm still in good terms with my parents, I'm not financially or emotionally reliant on them anymore- so if that changes when I come out, it won't affect me as much.

Looking back, it's hard to say whether I would recommend doing things this way. During the time that I was "figuring things out", I was dying. I was depressed and aimless, and I couldn't make happiness or contentment my baseline emotion. Starting an online femboy account was my only outlet for a while. Also, my results are going to be less drastic now that I've waited until I'm 25 to start.

Obviously, I still have the stress of a PhD to worry about while my emotions and body are changing. But to be honest.... My PhD has been kinder to me academically than my undergrad. All of my goals center around two or three long term, overarching projects instead of a million tiny assignment and study snippets from a million directions. I personally think this is easier to manage even if it's more work overall.

In return, the academia environment has been good to me about my queerness. There's a gender care specialist on campus via student health where I can get HRT, queer organizations and events are much easier to come by in a university environment, and people on average are far more educated and open minded towards LGBT issues than the general public. I have a role in the main queer graduate student group here, and it would have been hard for me to find explicitly supportive friends without that.

I'm gonna throw an additional paranoid note your way: a master's degree is hell for everyone. While the exact ways in which this is true vary from program to program, but in general, they feel like the worst of both worlds from undergrad and a PhD. You're locked out of or have less of a chance for the financial stability and employment positions of a PhD position, but you're also locked out of the financial aid and support of undergrads. I'm very biased from a miserable MS experience, though.

So yeah. I think my experience has been different than a lot of people, but I hope there was some small insight there!

#trans #transfemme #transitioning #academia #transgender

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dogtoling · 4 months

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🍕🍀💀 for engel because i love him sm

HE LOVES YOU TOO I PINKY PROMISE

🍕 - What is their favorite food?

This is a super easy question if we're talking everything that's edible. it's cake. he loves the kind of pastries that are covered in sprinkles and frosting and wafers and whatever the fuck else to a degree that makes food critics extremely upset and mad because you can't even tell what that's supposed to be anymore. But also there's like a billion different types of cake, and they are ALL good.

If we're talking REAL food (in peppermint's words REAL FOOD RIGHT NOW) it's a harder question because his eating habits are really odd. or unusual. He grew up eating mostly candy and STILL eats mostly candy (and other sweet things), he can't really cook, and he doesn't really like to cook because he rarely has an appetite for anything that's Not sweet. He's the kind of person who has NOTHING in the fridge except like, eggs, and who-knows-how-old preserves of stuff that CAN be used for cooking but he's not using them and will never be using them, and then there's just a whole cake in there. He gets DenDash 90% of the time when he's actually trying to put in the effort to eat something that actually IS in an octopus' natural diet, and in that case he tends to prefer things that are easy to eat, and generally considered snack food, and STILL socially acceptable to dip in chocolate sauce. So generally something like shrimp tempura. yeah, let's say shrimp tempura

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

This is a trip down the memory lane... i have no idea honestly. I have to assume he's one of those "random OCs" I made at some point, which is a thing I like doing where I just make an OC and then see if it goes anywhere. He's a pretty early OC, so it's likely a situation where I was just looking up different cephalopod species, or maybe gearsets that look fun, and making something out of that. He was originally based off the angel octopus which is where his name comes from! (it doesn't make much sense nowadays but eh.)

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias?

Oh does he. yeah. Engel has claustrophobia so severe that it very much dictates his life, which he also finds extremely frustrating but hard to find workarounds for. It developed for him sometime in his early adulthood, which is generally when his mental health took a nosedive as a whole, and it's severe enough to limit his life A LOT. He gets anxious being in rooms with no windows, to the point that indoor gigs are pretty much out of the question with a lot of clubs being dank cellars with no windows ANYWHERE, which would just be a death sentence for him. He gets anxiety with closed doors and closed windows; he usually tries to position himself next to windows indoors, and if that's not an option he needs to stay VERY busy to keep his brain in the right place. Trains and buses are not an option to him, which pretty much locks him out of public transit as a whole, and the only workaround he's found for not having panic attacks in a car is perpetually sticking at least half his arm out of the open window (obviously he cannot drive). And that's cars that are being driven by people he deems as safety pillars to begin with, and cars that are big enough so that he can fit in them at least a little comfortably (something that has really just gotten worse recently).

Needless to say he finds it extremely frustrating. Being locked out of like, the entirety of public transport AND the possibility of just taking a taxi AND the inability to keep calm enough in a car to ever drive one very much spirals into a situation where he can't really go anywhere. There's not a whole lot of other options other than WALK, or he has to be babysat by a friend (usually Peppermint) the whole time, because few other people can drive him places and actually stay on top of how he's feeling. Generally, as long as he can see the sky, he's doing pretty alright, but there are MANY situations in life where you DON'T see the sky.

He also feels bad because not being able to go underground or fully indoors also means that Deep Sea Dead Zone often can't do indoor gigs, which is EXTREMELY LIMITING for any band, but especially annoying for them given that there's offers! There's a lot of offers but he can't go 5 minutes indoors without the Badness coming out, and he is SO MAD about it. He spends more time than is necessary beating himself up over it despite repeatedly being assured by just about everyone that his safety comes first, and if it's something he can't do then it's something he can't do.

He's very annoyed and aware of how irrational his anxiety is, but it's something he's tried to work with, work against, find relief for, challenge........ and there's not been much improvement. He's just hoping it'll ease up over time or he'll find a way to manage it better in future, but in the present, it's got a chokehold on most of his life for much too long for his liking. The only big obstacle he's managed to conquer is the elevator, but even those need to have mirrors for the illusion of more space. He's employed the tactic of shutting off his brain for the extent of the ride and counting the chromatophores on his hands until he can get out because honestly he'd rather die than walk stairs.

thanks for the ask!

#mailbox #dodo ocs #he's... yeah.#much more i could talk about

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cornerstoreclown · 1 year

Text

Wounds

Summary: This is a one-shot (6690 words approx.) where the reader (Gender Neutral) is tending to Art’s wounds. At the same time, the Pale Girl is here and the reader has to deal with her being a distraction in the house. There’s more light domesticity, because it’s my favorite.

Warnings/Contents: None that I can think of unless you find general gore uncomfortable. This will contain some humor in it too. There’s also food mentions.

Author’s notes: This is a sequel to Laundry Day! I’ve decided to make some one-shot continuity here, where this will be a collection of SFW gender neutral reader x Art content following a timeline so it doesn’t feel like a different person each one-shot. I want it to feel like an actual relationship here. IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO SUBSCRIBE TO THIS SERIES AND RECIEVE EMAILS FOR ADDITIONS TO IT, HERE IS THE SERIES LINK ON AO3.

If there's any spelling errors or whatever else, I am sorry, I will probably fix it the day after slamming this down on tumblr. It's only me proofreading what I write.

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Art was at your place a week ago last time you’d seen him, but you’ve seen him a handful of times before his last visit. The laundry stops were a little overwhelming sometimes. He’d show up at the most random intervals, but you weren’t one to turn him down, lest you invoke his wrath and end up like one of those poor suckers on the television. And you’ve heard what happens. The news was always kind and brief, but a good Google search gave you all the intimate details. You’ve read the creative ways that he’s desecrated bodies–chopping them up into tiny cubes, flaying them, putting their heads on sticks outside of residences, devouring their tongues, eating their brains or smashing their grey matter across the pavement–you could wax poetics about this man’s endless creativity. His friend, the young girl, was a wonderful accomplice, bursting with even more ideas than Art himself sometimes. So, staying on the clown’s good side is ideal.

Last you checked the clock tonight, it was roughly 7pm. The sun’s already down. The weather outside is downright cold. Spring and summer are biding their time until the earth changes its axis again. You are already in your pajamas for the night, and you had to pull out the more heavy duty clothes. Finally, the weather seemed to get a hold of itself so you didn’t have to alter between fall and summer nightclothes. With the transition period over, you are comfortably dressed in a long shirt and pants, sitting on your couch, opening up a bag of chips. The television’s on, and you’ve got your can of soda in front of you on the coffee table. The home is a little cold, but it isn’t too cold where you needed to turn up the heat just yet.

As fate would have it, right when you’re about to start snacking, there’s a knock at your door.

It makes you pause, quieting yourself as you have your hand in the chip bag, unmoving. You didn’t order anything, right? Nothing that you can remember. You didn’t order anything online that’s set to be here tonight, and you sure as hell didn’t order via Doordash. Maybe it’s just someone who is at the wrong door, your social anxiety tells you. Maybe they’ll think no one is home. You even take the extra precaution to reach for the remote to turn down the volume of your television in case someone would be listening in through the door.

A few seconds pass, and when you think you’re in the clear, you hear another set of knocks, only this one harder.

You squint as you turn to look over your couch, in the direction of the noise. Some of your fear begins to dissipate, but it’s replaced with a whole new kind of energy.

Stress.

Is it him?

You get up off the couch, put the open bag down on the table in front of you, and make your way over to the hallway where the door is. You make sure to keep your footsteps light, just in case. When you’re in front of the door, you take a second to gather yourself, and peek out of the peephole.

You feel relief, but with that relief comes a headache waiting to happen. Your cortisol levels are already rising when you catch the familiar sight of black and white. It’s not just the Miles County Clown that you see standing at your front door, but his friend. Daughter? You’re not really sure. As you watch them, she looks up, blue eyes locking onto yours through the peephole, seeming to sense you. You’re so thrown off and your blood runs cold that you’re temporarily paralyzed–until Art gives perhaps the most aggressive slam with his fists into the door that you’re rattled back into action with a yelp. It sounded like he’s about to bust in by the next set of knocks–you even saw the door literally move against the hits.

“Alright! Hold on!” You yell out, “Give me a second, please!”

Of course he’d be here in the middle of the night. Of course he’d be here right when you’re getting comfortable and getting ready to settle down for the night and do absolutely nothing. Of course! Of course.

Undoing the locks, you prepare yourself for the most friendly greeting you can give to a literal murderer and his accomplice as you swing open the door.

“Heeeey–OH! Oh my God.”

Art is slightly bloody across his face, and the cause looks to be from a few cuts. You don’t know how you didn’t notice it at first, but in your defense, you were a little overwhelmed when you looked down and saw the young girl. Art is somewhat manageable, but she is a handful. She is the one you were focused on when you looked through the door.

Your gaze finally travels down towards maybe the most obvious wound now that you’re standing in front of him–

Art’s hand is bleeding. Literally dripping, right on your porch. He’s got plenty of blood spots on his costume, too.

“Art–”

Putting two and two together, you look back to your door, and on the front of it is smeared blood. That’s definitely not going to get the neighbors attention or anything, you think to yourself rather sarcastically. You turn your head back to Art.

“What did you do?”

He raises both of his hands to his sides, then raises his shoulders in a shrug and blinks innocently a few times while giving perhaps the most sheepish smile you’ve ever seen come from him in a while. The little girl next to him only covers her mouth as she’s swaying back and forth in place, finding the whole situation humorous. She’s not laughing, but she is smiling, watching your exchange with Art. All you needed was a laugh track and this could be a sitcom.

“Okay, well, um, Art, can you–can you come into the kitchen? Please?”

The floor is just another thing you’ll have to clean off now that he’s here. Door, and now the way to the kitchen. No way in hell is he going to walk over your carpets like this. You’ve cleaned the carpets out so many times in the past, and you want to keep the mess to a minimum. You usher him in, and then the pale girl, who makes that brief flicker of eye contact with you, and you feel a shiver trail up your spine. Art listens to your request, and he’s leaving a dripping mess of blood from the hallway into the kitchen, as you anticipated. The pale girl follows along, chewing on her fingernails absentmindedly. Art’s standing in the center of the room when you enter the kitchen, and he’s looking at the dripping mess onto the floor. The little girl’s still smiling, and Art’s having a brief silent conversation with her as they have another laugh over something. Maybe they told a joke real quick that you missed, or maybe they just find Art’s silly little oopsie so funny.

“Over here, please.” You stand by the counter, right in front of the sink. Art follows, though a bit slowly on purpose you think, because now there’s more blood on the floor in him doing so. He’s smiling faintly right now, so you’re inclined to believe he’s just being a smartass. You purse your lips, not saying anything, and wait for him to put the bleeding hand under the faucet, and you run cold water.

“Keep it there, okay?”

He doesn’t answer you, he’s busy watching his hand under the running water. You see the girl looking at you in the corner of your eye, but you don’t make eye contact with her. She eventually directs her attention to Art, and they’re exchanging glances, communicating again nonverbally. She’s making hand gestures, in what you think is maybe something like a version of sign language, but not one that you recognize. Art is nodding his head in understanding. They’re talking again, but just as before, you don’t know what is being said.

You don’t dwell on it, and instead go to the bathroom, opening up the cabinet beneath the sink before kneeling down, fishing through the organized chaos for the first aid kit. After moving various plastic bottles around, you see the familiar shape that’s a square with red and white. Grabbing it by the handles, you close the cabinet and stand up. Your knees hurt at that, and you grimace. You’re not even that old, why is that happening to you?

When you walk back to the kitchen, you stare down at the familiar blood trail, then follow at the source of it all–Art. He is still standing in front of the sink like you asked. His back is facing you, hand still under the cold water. He seems happy to see you when he finally notices you, but you’re not smiling in turn. You see that he’s got wounds in his back. Blood spots, pierces in his black and white suit, between and around his shoulder blades. He’s a little on the tall side, you think. You’ll have to move him into the next room and sit him down on the couch next to you, hopefully with the girl in proximity so you know she’s not doing anything shady.

Speaking of…

You’re scanning the room as you notice almost immediately that the room has one less person–or, person shaped presence in it.

“Art,” You start, and he’s tilted his head at you. “Where did she go?”

Art is now looking at his hand, flexing his fingers under the water. He’s since taken off his glove, watching the way that the gushing blood mixes in with the water and drains down the sink. He’s not answering you on purpose, and that makes you uneasy.

Your nerves have been frayed a long time ago when it came to these two, and the sense of danger, while it still lingers over you like a shadow, you’ve maybe gotten a little more comfortable. Too comfortable, maybe Art and the girl are thinking. In theory, this could be a great time to take you out. Right when you’ve let them in this space, and you’ve adapted to them, and now your guard is significantly lowered. It would be the ultimate joke, the ultimate gag, something so hilarious and funny that these two would be laughing about it for weeks, reminiscing about how they tricked this adult into thinking that maybe they were on good terms with them, that maybe they were different. You’ve seen Art commit to the bit, and he does every year, it’s what Halloween was to him, wasn’t it? The man was always playing the long game. What would stop him now with you, in theory?

You feel yourself become tense. Art doesn’t seem to pay attention, he’s too busy with his hand either because he is genuinely focused and fascinated by the visual of blood spilling off his hand, or he’s acting. Again, you don’t know. You were becoming gradually more insightful to him in general, but some things with him still remained obscured.

Before you open your mouth to speak again, you hear the sounds of a bag rustling, coming from just out of the field of your current vision. When you turn your head to the source of the sound, it’s her.

With her hand in your bag of chips that you initially placed in the living room, fully intending to eat before you were interrupted earlier.

When she pulls her hand out and shoves a few in her open mouth, you take note of the fact that it seems like her fingers are always stained with something. Today is no exception.

You feel your stomach turn.

That's her chips now.

She seems pretty pleased with herself, and you’re standing there for a few seconds, the gears in your head turning at a lag. She’s somewhat of a loud eater, and the loud crunching isn’t drowned out by the running sink. Art hears it too and he takes notice. With his free hand, he signals for her to come closer, because he wants some too. She obliges, holding out the bag for Art, lifting it up a little for him as he also now reaches in to grab a few to shove some in his mouth. He’s eating them messily, just like her. There’s crumbs hitting the floor from both of them. You’ve never seen someone eat so weirdly before. Open mouth chewers were something else, but these two ate like people who weren’t actually inhabited by people sometimes, if that made any sense. It’s like their physical forms are just a vessel containing something far more sinister.

And judging by how hungry they both look to be, maybe after all is said and done, you can cook them something. You did have some food in the fridge that you were going to make into a few days worth of dinner tomorrow. Maybe they wouldn’t be opposed to soup. Did clowns eat soup? You’re going to find out.

Taking a bit of a deep breath, you let oxygen fill your lungs as your shoulders relax and lower, and you make your way over to both of them. You stand next to Art in front of the sink, placing the kit on the counter and opening it up while he’s preoccupied. There’s a lot in the kit–standard bandages, antiseptic, bandaids, more bandages, medical tape, ointment, gauze pads, a small pair of scissors, alcohol wipes and cotton pads. You reach for the cotton pad and unscrew the top off of the antiseptic before putting the pad at the front of the mouth of the bottle. You let it soak up the hydrogen peroxide and set the bottle down on the counter.

“Alright.” You tell Art, who is still effectively distracted by the pale girl. She’s now taking a small step back, twisting from side to side slightly while sticking her fingers in her mouth, bag still in her other arm. Art now has his attention to you. You turn the faucet off and take a look at his hand, holding it, facing it palm up to inspect the damage.

It’s pierced through the center entirely.

You’re familiar with Art at this point. You know that he’ll heal fairly quickly. This is an inconvenience at best, if he even saw it as such. You aren’t sure if he could even suffer from infections given his ability to regenerate, but… Better to be safe than sorry. Worst case scenario, it does nothing and he’s fine. A lot of the bleeding has appeared to have come to a stop, and it really makes you wonder in those few seconds if it’s even really worth trying to go through the effort to even try and bandage him up.

But you’ve already gotten this far, and he hasn’t told you no, and Art is never someone who is not afraid to tell you no.

“Someone really tried to fight back, huh.” You ask, although, there’s no upward inflection in your voice to indicate that it’s even a question. Art’s smile is wide, and his eyes are closed as his nod is knowing and slow. He’s trying to hold back laughter now that you’re mentioning it, but he’s failing. You can see his shoulders rise and fall a little with his glee. He even uses his other hand to mime how it happened, holding an imaginary knife and ‘stabbing’ into his damaged hand. Art shakes his head and looks at his hand, then back at you. ‘Can you believe this?’ You feel like he’s telling you, and you sense that he’s telling you that the attempt was utterly laughable. He’s even silently scoffing, then gives a dismissive gesture.

You tilt your head slightly as he continues to ‘talk’, his silent laugh starting up again as he now takes that imaginary knife with the same good hand and gestures slitting his throat. He even emphasizes it with an expression on his face, eyes going a little funny and his tongue sticking out to emphasize death, then making his head go slack briefly thereafter. If he had a voice, he’d be making the choked out noise that came with it the moment of death he’s portraying.

“You slit his throat with his own blade. Brutal.”

You’ve since picked up a lot on how he communicates. You caught that the way that he talks with you and how he talks with the young girl is different. The two of them seem to have their own sign language for time to time on things that they couldn’t exchange with visual body movements, meanwhile Art has to be more direct with you, sometimes even to the point of writing when you just wouldn’t get it. He’s had to do that less and less, though. You’ve been catching on.

Your attention flicks back to his hand, and you look at him, before back at his hand. He could talk your ear off, figuratively in this case, about his murders, you’re certain. There’s a few seconds that pass that you once again assess if this is a good idea, or if you’re just being ridiculous.

“Okay,” You say, “I’m going to apply some antiseptic now. Might sting a little.” You warn him, and he seems okay with it–Until you actually apply the cotton pad right onto the open stab wound. Art jerks his hand back reflexively and pulls it to his chest, a mix of offended and what you interpret as a betrayed expression. His brows are furrowed, and he’s got a half snarl, teeth showing like he’s a feral creature that’s feeling threatened.

“Art.” You say, your tone pleading. “I told you it would sting. I know it hurts, but I can’t help you if you don’t let me. If you want this cleaned, you need to stay still.”

He looks disgruntled and mildly disgusted with you for a few seconds, eying you up and down like you just committed a true atrocity, nevermind the fact that he’s the one who runs around and kills people for literal fun.

“Can I have your hand again?”

His face scrunches up, still keeping his hand defensively to his chest. He doesn’t look convinced yet.

“Art.” You say. “Please.”

There it is, the magic word. He sways his head back and forth a few times, relaxing his shoulders, as if to say, ‘weeeell, okay’, before gently extending his hand out to you again. He’s got the cheekiest expression. Playful, even in the face of pain. Couldn’t be you–A simple stub of your toe could take you out and have you faced with the urge to curse like a sailor.

“I’ll make it quick. I promise.”

And you do, you make quick work of it, and you can see the way that he initially balls his other hand into a fist and looks slightly uncomfortable, but he keeps his hand there the entire time, despite how his fingers are faintly twitching. Once you finish wiping the wound, you place the cotton pad down, reaching for the proper cloth to put over his injury. When you cover it up properly, you begin to wrap bandages around his hand repeatedly until you feel like it’s tight enough, but not too tight. He watches you focusing on the task at hand as you begin to keep the bandages in place with your medical tape.

You don’t know if he’s ever received medical treatment once in his entire existence. When the last stand of tape is cut with the scissors and applied, you take a few seconds to admire your handiwork. He does too, turning his hand this way and that.

“There.”

Art is still judging the work that you did, and now you’re starting to feel moderately self conscious. The way that his attention is focused on it too long opens the door for insecurity to step in, but it’s kicked out when Art gives an approving expression, pointing towards the bandage job and giving you a thumbs up. You did good! Great job! He’s even smiling!

“I still need to clean your face and your upper back.”

The smile’s gone now.

For someone so dangerous, he sure had his moments of being funny and… cute. You feel a slight twitch of a smile wanting to form on your face, but you’re able to expertly resist it. His reaction is only a smidgeon amusing. You pack up the kit and all its contents, tucking it under your arm.

“Come on.” You tell him, taking his good hand. “Let’s go sit on the couch so I can finish up the rest of you.” He watches as you do so, and so does the young girl. You give his hand a gentle squeeze and sigh. There’s a flutter of something warm in your chest.

He squeezes your hand back, just a little. You take note of that as you make your way with him to the family room. You make sure that the pale girl knows that she’s encouraged to come along by looking over at her, but Art has already taken the initiative for her to gesture to come along with his typical smile.

She also trails behind you both, and you can’t help but feel her piercing stare at the back of your skull. You liked her, but for some reason, it’s taking you a lot longer to adjust to her than Art. Yet, Art’s the one whose respect you perhaps needed the most out of the both of them. Art’s a wild animal, you’ve told yourself this time and time again. You’re not sure if he even does respect you. He barges into your house at all times of the day, expecting for you to let him in, and you do. When he wants something from you, he takes it. And you don’t say a thing against it. What COULD you say to a homicidal clown?

You don’t have blatantly sharp edges like Art has. You’re far gentler, but you do have anger that simmers inside of you. There’s a lot of repressed rage bubbling beneath the surface. You’ve joked about snapping before. Maybe he’s counting on that. Maybe that’s why he’s sticking around. The nicest people could be capable of being the meanest, you’ve been told.

You make your way in front of the couch, and you have to sit this bloody clown on the seat next to you. There’s plenty of space for the young girl, it’s a three cushioned couch, but she had no interest as she’s still holding the bag of chips, but now the remote in the other hand. She’s flipping through channels and turning up the volume. You’re not sure what’s playing on the television because you’re not listening, nor did you care. As long as she’s taken care of, that’s fine.

She’s been a bit of a mystery to entertain, especially since she didn’t have the standard interests of a girl her age.

You learned that the hard way when you tried to give her a stuffed animal a few months ago. It was at the grocery store when you were shopping and you thought to get it for her in hopes of maybe establishing some sort of positive relationship instead of one where you felt that you were walking on eggshells. There’s just something about her that sets you off in a way completely different from Art.

She was certain to reinforce those feelings of unease the next time she visited after that, handing the stuffed bear you gave her back to you, and it was leaking. It was literally leaking fluids of some kind, and it smelled god awful, until you saw through the poorly done sutures on the back of the bear that there were rotting organs and maggots inside of it. You almost threw up when you realized, and Art and the little girl had laughed at you, Art even going so far as to slap your back like you were in on the joke. You did your best to keep the contents of your stomach inside your body, and you did, but the moment that you were alone by yourself, you had to sit and figuratively digest what happened.

That bear was disposed of. Whether you buried it or threw it in a dumpster was irrelevant, but you took care of it.

You put the kit on the coffee table in front of you next to your drink you left earlier. You open up the kit again, and Art doesn’t react to you doing so. He looks like he was nicked a few times across the face with the same blade that stabbed him in the hand and back. One across his cheek, one on his forehead, one across the bridge of his nose, and another on the opposite side of his face, right next to his jaw. They aren’t deep cuts, which leads you to believe that whoever tried to make deeper wounds, wasn’t successful. You wonder how it all went down, how it all happened. A small part of you wishes to have been a fly on the wall during that encounter. You grab a fresh cotton pad and have it absorb the antiseptic again like last time, pausing for a few seconds. You swallow and make eye contact with him. He didn’t like how you touched his hand earlier. How the hell would he react to his face being touched?

“This is going to sting a bit like last time. Okay?” You ask him. Art watches you, doesn’t respond or seem opposed to it outwardly, and is looking at you almost expectantly. His teeth show a little and he gives a silent yet expectant huff. Taking that as him accepting it, you reach out gently and begin to clean the wounds on his face. His lip twitches in a snarl a few times as he closes his eyes. His teeth are showing again, and it’s like you’re in front of the face of a lion right now, praying that the beast won’t have a sudden change of heart and maul your face off. You know he can do that. He’d bite your nose clean off your face if he wanted to and stab you with the medical scissors right in your ear. You’ve thought of all the possible ways that he could kill you at any moment, and you don’t know why you do it, it only creates further anxiety for you. Your mind’s attempt to protect you and keep you prepared only seems to make matters worse.

“Okay…”

It doesn’t take long to clean his face, and the makeup somehow still stays on the entire time you are cleaning him. Whatever face paint he’s got, it’s pretty good quality. It’s impressive, actually.

“I think we’re done with your face.”

You flash him a gentle smile, but it’s kind of forced. You’re trying to be nice and not focus on the mental images you’d had going on in your head a few seconds ago. His eyes open after you speak, and you feel your heart skip a beat. It’s only for a brief second, and had you blinked, you know for a fact that you would have missed it–the glint in his eye. It makes you feel as if you’ve just been jolted with a current.

This back and forth between the two of you has been a long game. A lot of moments of intimacy, but never anything acted upon. It’s thrilling in these interactions alone, and no matter how often it happened, you couldn’t get enough of it.

As much as you are afraid, you couldn’t get enough of him. And even as he watches you through half lidded eyes and you stare back, he once again reaffirms to you what you’ve known for months now.

You both like each other. You like the way that he makes you feel like you’re living life on the edge, and despite how he could devour you piece by piece, quite literally, a part of you is okay with that. A part of you … Wanted that.

Have you been in the dark for too long? Not literally, but… Mentally?

You suddenly hear a crash coming from the direction of your bedroom, which instantly snaps you out of whatever spell you could have sworn you were stuck in when you were looking at Art. His smile is wide, teeth showing as he looks off in the same direction as you. You immediately glance over to where the little girl was standing earlier, only to see… She’s not there, but the plastic chip bag she had is.

Yeah. Figures.

Art appears entertained. You’re feeling your blood pressure rise.

“I’ll be right back.” You tell him, and he’s shaking with the giggles while giving you a nod. Nothing is ever simple with these two. You’d have been shocked if it was.

The door to your bedroom is cracked, and you almost don’t want to open it fully in fear of what you might find, but you rip that bandaid right off, knowing that you would very much like to get Art taken care of so that maybe you can eventually settle down for the night, if you’re given such a moment of grace from him. And her.

Especially her.

The door creaks when you open it, and what you see is a lot better than what you’d been expecting, which, you’re not sure what, specifically you’d think you see, but to only see a knocked over potted plant from your dresser is a relief.

The girl’s back is to you, which doesn’t bode well. The plant is still here, albeit amid a shattered vase that is sprinkled across the floor with a bunch of dirt. You pause and hear a munching noise… She was eating chips earlier... So... What is she eating now? You know kids have appetites, but when she wanted to eat, she ate.

“Uh…” You clear your throat gently. “Hey.”

When she turns around, you’re only slightly thrown off. You’ve seen worse from these two, but the sight of her holding a mouse with a missing chewed off head is still something you would not have anticipated to see. In retrospect, if you think about it, it makes sense. You’ve had mice problems in the past during the colder months… But now it begs the question–did she catch it? And if so, did she just eat it? Did she have any hand in killing it? She smiles at you and continues to chew on the stump of where the mouse’s head used to be, grinning cutely at you in the way that children who knew that they are charming would act. Only, you’re not sure how charming she really is. You’ll admit though… She could be adorable sometimes. But definitely not right now.

The destroyed plant in the room, while you are upset, is nothing. You’ve become used to things in the house being subject to destruction or theft. That’s why you’ve vowed to not get too attached to anything here once they made it clear they’d be regulars.

“I’m almost done cleaning up Art. You want to sit and wait a few more minutes until I start to cook?”

Evil entities and demons or not, who could say no to food? You knew few who could. It’s an indulgence and one of the few joys that comes with existing. Food is a source of comfort, and a way to keep oneself going. The act of nourishment and bonding over a meal with those you might not understand entirely is another feature worth appreciating. The times that you did eat with them, though quiet, and despite how messy they could be, you felt a connection in the silence. Art seemed to be a bit more on the amicable side after eating, too. He’s prone to moody fits, you acknowledged. He’s been hangry before.

When you start to walk back to the living room, she follows behind you, mouse still in hand. Art’s back is to you from the way that you both come in, and when you come closer to see the side of him, you see that he’s drinking your soda that you left on the table, shamelessly chugging the rest of it until the can is entirely empty. Some of it runs down his chin.

You can’t have anything in this house to yourself when they’re here. Privacy or food.

When he sees what his companion has, he gives that mute laughter, pointing at it, gesturing as if to ask ‘did you catch that?’ and the young girl responds vaguely. Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. But they both find the mouse with the chewed off head hilarious. While this is all fun and games, you’d rather get right back into it.

“Alright, let’s finish this up.” You announce, moving over to the couch and taking a seat next to the clown. “Art, can I see your back?”

He’s still finishing the drink, and you wait patiently. When he’s done, he silently says ‘ahhh’ to himself in a way that shows that he found the drink refreshing. You scratch your elbow as you continue to give him the time he needs, and finally he gives you an incline of his head in acknowledgement, turning around to give you his back.

You take a few seconds to brace yourself and purse your lips inwards a bit. You’re looking right at the zipper at the back of his suit. Carefully, you reach for it and begin to unzip the top half of his suit, enough so that you can see the wounds of where he’d been stabbed. It’s not as bad as you thought it’d be, at least. You prep another cotton pad, meanwhile in the corner of your eye you see that the pale girl is in the doorway of the kitchen, looking in, as if contemplating on what to get into. She’s still holding that mouse in her hand, and you don’t know how much longer she intends on keeping it, because you anticipate it ending up on your pillow or under your blankets or in your bathroom eventually as a small surprise for later after they’ve long left. You aren’t going to exactly take it away from her, either. It just didn’t … Feel right to try and do that. Your senses of self preservation might be practically nonexistent, but there’s a twinge of it that kicks up when it comes to interacting with this kid.

“Hey… Um… Art?” You give him a gentle tap on his shoulder, where you know that there’s no stab wound, and he looks over his shoulder, first at you, then at the sight of the young child. He seems past the point of finding things funny at this particular juncture, and gives a snap of his finger to catch her attention. A single snap is all it took, and her head turns. She stares at you, and then Art, who is gesturing for her to come sit next to him, on the other side of the couch. There’s space for her.

You couldn’t control the young child. You could only guide her. Art, however, is a different story. They have a special bond.

She sways gently in place, then obliges Art, listening to him and taking a seat in front of him. You can’t see what she’s doing, nor what he’s doing either since you’re looking at the back of his head, but you can tell that he’s communicating to her. That’s fine.

“I’m about to apply the antiseptic again.” You warn Art, in case he needs to brace himself. Seeing his skin so largely exposed isn’t jarring to you. The instances of him coming to use your shower really level set what you were used to around him. He saw you fully naked only recently, and you know it was on purpose because he was trying to scare you when you were in the shower, peeling back the curtain with a weapon drawn. He’s walked around in similar states of undress without a towel once or twice after a shower. It’s been very much an oh moment for you every time you did see it happen, but you didn’t remark on it.

You both felt very much like a couple sometimes in that regard. A weird one, but one nonetheless. You’ve been more comfortable with him walking in on you when you’re getting dressed. He’s done that a few times, for a variety of reasons, but never just because, except maybe one time.

You still have yet to see him without his makeup though. Part of you is okay with not knowing. But if it happens to be something you do see, you know it’ll be because he let you.

After a few minutes, you clean the wounds there. You’re not sure if you should bandage those up. The worst one is in his hand.

You suspect he’ll be right as rain by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. Again, you ask yourself, was this even really necessary?

You’d like to believe it was. Art seems to like the attention from you, anyway. You think that’s why he stopped by here. His visits used to be out of convenience, but they’ve most certainly become frequent.

You zip up the back of his suit, and he turns his head again to look at you.

Your eyes meet his.

You feel it again–that sensation like the rays of the sun have enveloped your entire body like a warm blanket.

“Well.” You say with a light huff and a friendly smile, “Guess I can get started cooking then, huh?” You close up the kit and ball up the cotton pad in your hand, which you intend to throw away in the kitchen trash can. You left another one in there too at the counter that you also need to dispose of if you remember correctly.

You don’t know how well this will go tonight. You don’t know if the both of them will behave. Last time when you played scrabble with Art and the child to keep them out of trouble, he had a good laugh spelling out profanities like cunt, bitch, fuck, shit–the entire dictionary of curse words was all on that game board. You’re not sure if you’re in the mood for that.

“And if you’re going to try and help in the kitchen, please…” You emphasize on the please. “Please don’t eat the raw meat in the fridge. Not like last time.”

Art blinks innocently at you, giving the most guilty smile that you ever did see. The girl is still holding onto the mouse. She might stick it in between the couch cushions when you leave the room. You know you can’t stop her. It’s only a matter of trying to find it as soon as possible before it stinks and there’s bugs on it.

“Alright.”

Maybe after this, you’ll have to get Art in the shower. You’ll just have to… put a covering over his hand like they do at the hospital. You can make it work. You always did. He needs his clothes cleaned again, too. And stitched up and repaired. You knew how to do that too. It’s a life skill.

Work is never done for you with these two, and they are part of the reason that you learned how to be so self-sufficient. To this day you still don’t know if you should thank or blame them.

“Let me know if either of you need anything,” You tell them, leaving them to the television. Art gives you a thumbs up. Hopefully they can sit still for twenty minutes.

They probably won’t.

You already hear Art’s footsteps as he’s making his way in the kitchen, presumably to help.

#art the clown x you #art the clown x reader #art the clown #terrifier 2 #coulrophilia #slasher x you #slasher x reader #long post #minors DNI #canon x reader

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reliabledragon · 2 months

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Hi! I’m genuinely curious, why is Seattle a bad place to live? I’ve thought about moving there at one point, until I realized I wouldn’t be able to afford it.

Ah, well, I should probably clarify that I don't think it's, like, an inherently bad place or anything. It was just a really bad fit for me, so being stuck there for several years really sucked. Basically, it boiled down to a few things:

Making Friends: Seattle is so notoriously unfriendly that the "Seattle Freeze" even has its own Wikipedia page. People will be plenty nice to you, but most have no interest in actually becoming friends, and it takes ages to build a social network there.

Lack of Diversity: In this case meaning the cultural sense, not the racial one. (It is racially homogenous as well, but I'm not really qualified to open that can of worms.) Seattle basically does like, three things: extreme outdoor activities, substances, and computer stuff. ("Substances" here meaning things like weed, but also beer, coffee, etc.) So if you want to go skiing every day, climb mountains, smoke weed, drink artisanal beer, play video games, or found a startup, it's a good place for that. However, if you want to do anything else then you are going to be fighting against Seattle every inch of the way.

The Dating Scene: Again, Seattle does some things very well here — it's probably the best dating market in the country if you're poly! But again, the monoculture means that if you're Seattle's kind of person then you're going to have the time of your life, but if you aren't, then you will simply be screwed. And I wasn't, so I spent three years basically unable to find anyone to seriously date. (I will grant that part of this could have been a me problem, but I certainly had far less difficulty both in SF before and NYC after.)

Urban Design: Maybe this is a personal one, but Seattle is in this really awkward middle ground, where it absolutely sucks to have a car in the city, but it also absolutely sucks not to have one. It's my least favorite city in the US that I've ever driven in, but it's also a pretty rotten experience trying to get around town on the bus or (very limited) light rail system. I'd much rather live somewhere with functional public transit, but if that's not possible then I'd at least like my mandatory car usage not to feel like I'm turning the ignition key in a Saw trap.

Distance: Unless your friends and family are in the PNW, you're probably going to want to leave occasionally to see other people, and Seattle is really very far away from everything other than Portland and Vancouver. Perhaps this isn't the biggest issue on this list, but combined with the Seattle Freeze, it can make the city intensely lonely. And combined with the weather, it makes it even harder to get away when the sky starts feeling oppressive in the winter. And speaking of winter...

Climate: This is a big one, and one that I think you can't really understand until you live there. Or at least, I certainly didn't grasp the implications beforehand. Everyone knows Seattle as a "rainy city", but it's one thing to hear about it and another to live it. The thing about Seattle is that it's both accurate to say that it always rains, or to say that it never rains. It's not like most of the country, where you have rainstorms and then times when it isn't raining. No, not in Seattle. In Seattle is drizzles, constantly. From September until June, every time you step outside, it's just... Damp. And cloudy. Once the clouds come in the Fall, you will not see the sun for nine months. The sky is just a bright gray mass hovering oppressively overhead, not dim enough be properly melancholy, not bright enough to be cheerful. It just looms, vaguely too bright to look at, no matter which direction you look. For most of your life in Seattle, you live in hollow light and hollow rain.

Despite all that, I really do think Seattle is a great fit for a lot of people, but it's hard to know if you're one of those people before you move there, and the penalty if you're wrong can be a pretty terrible living experience. My response on that poll was playing along with the "city hate group" thing they were asking about a little bit, but I really did have a very bad time there. It might well be a great fit for you, I know it is for a lot of my friends who live there! I would just advise anyone thinking of moving there to make sure they understand what they're signing up for, because it's easy to get taken in by the aesthetic and not realize what sort of place it is, and what sort of person you need to be to enjoy it.

Thanks for the ask! I'm always happy to talk about cities. :)

#my posts

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gurugirl · 2 years

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The Tiffany Club Part 1

Summary: Camille is a sex club worker living in NYC. She meets Harry, a private equity CEO millionaire one day and they realize they like each other. A lot. But will Harry be willing to overlook Camille's career choice?

AN/Warning: I will have a * by the parts when smut is included. This warning list is comprehensive for all parts, not all contain smut or listed warnings. NSFW, smut, oral (male and female), 18+ only (as always), angst, dom & sub themes, sex work, light alcohol use, mentions of disordered eating and food restrictions

Pairing: Sex club worker Camille x Harry Styles

Part 1 – Camille

Friday night, 11:00 pm. New York City. The Tiffany Club.

Everyone here tonight is here to get lucky in one way or another. There are a handful of types in attendance this evening. First, there are the out of towners that have no idea what they’re getting into by being here but had heard about the adult member’s only club and were curious (they are usually way out of their league here), there’s the eager influencers (many quite annoying and naïve), then there’s the New York City socialites that either were born to be a socialite or had to start off as a social media influencer and work their way up (both types are overly entitled and far too confident for their status), there are the rich heirs and heiresses as well as generally wealthy individuals who are usually worth at least 8 figures that tend to prefer everything be kept quiet and like a low profile (usually), there are various levels of celebrity (from A and all the way down), and there are the entertainers and staff (which is my category). So, breaking this down, there are the patrons who can afford the show we put on and everything in between and then there are the performers who are working hard to make a buck.

I mean, I can’t really complain about the money. I make more here than I would sitting in the back room of the metropolitan museum dissecting ancient text, and drawings to uncover antiquities unknown. That was what I got my degree in - ancient anthropology and communications. It’s hard to be a well-paid anthropologist in general, but it’s even harder when your subject is prehistory and is no longer in existence. But that’s what I love about it. Unfortunately, I need to earn to survive in this city, so dancing, entertaining, stripping, and… kink service we’ll call it, is what I do. And I’m fucking good at it.

The other good thing about working at Tiffany’s is that I can choose what happens. If the workers want to take it all the way we can and we’ll be protected by security, if we don’t want to, well, we don’t. Obviously the more we’re willing to do the more money we can bring in. I’ve only had sex with one of the patrons in my year and a half at the club and he comes around about once a month. He’s an older man in his mid-50s, married with two adult kids and a dog, lives upstate in his beautiful home, and he’s handsome and polite. He’s quiet though, and he likes it when I dominate him. Which for some reason just works for me in this type of setting. I choose everything when he comes around. Everything is on my terms. I think that’s what makes me feel okay about having sex with Edmond. It’s safe and it only happens how I want.

Two years ago I would have never thought I’d be doing anything like this, but here I am. Who knew the anthropology and history nerd would be bringing in $375k a year by entertaining men and women in the nude five nights a week and dominating an older man once every month? Not me. I grew up in a Christian household but then in college when I began religious studies and ancient history I learned that religion is not what I once thought and that history is so much more than I ever knew. I went through a bit of a transition during the first two years of college and then one day I just decided I was happier away from religious thinking and so I informed my parents and my closest friends and now I am left with two friends who were on the same path as I was and a dad who still occasionally reaches out to me. My mom won’t talk to me. That one hurts the most. The “friends” I lost, good riddance to them. But I miss my mom.

And just because I’m making bank doing what I’m doing, having cocktails and dancing for celebrities, don’t think for one second that I live life large. On the contrary, bitch. I live quite simply. I shop at Old Navy, Target, I buy generic, and workout at home with cheap apps, dumbbells, and a yoga mat. The rest of my money goes to buying things for my dog, paying my bills, buying nice outfits for work (the nicer you look the better you’re paid), and into savings and investments. That’s it. IF I go out for fun I use my credit card and then pay it off at the end of the month, that money getting deducted from savings. But I pretty much loathe going out. I go out for a living. Sure, it’s all under the roof of the club, but I get enough of that life as it is. I like peace and quiet on my days off. It’s either Netflix, tofu curry, and my dog Barry all cuddled up on my bed with piles of pillows or I’m researching diffusion and evolution in ancient cultures (lately it’s the Incan Empire) with a bottle of sparkling water and a joint.

I drink a little at work but rarely outside of it. Drinks tend to be encouraged but within reason while working. So, I keep a good flow of alcohol that keeps me almost-not-quite tipsy. I have gotten used to the slight level of intoxication during work so I always know when to slow down or when I need a little more. Sounds bad, I know, but it helps the nerves and I’d rather that than pills (which are highly recommended in this line of work). And this all just means I don’t go out of my way to drink alcohol on my days off. Plus the shit I like is expensive (yes, there a bit of bougie in me thanks to Tiffany’s) and the calories in liquor just isn’t worth the extra time it would take to work it off.

I guess that’s a good segue into a not-so-good part of the job. The drinking at work is kept to a minimum so it’s not that bad. Nah, I can handle that part. The worst is the constant need to keep my body perfect. I count calories for everything. I usually get a Belvedere vodka with a splash of olive juice - or just a Belvedere on the rocks. Both can be around 120-150 calories (I just round up to be on the safe side), depending on the bartender and how heavy they pour. I also love champagne. I don’t mean the cheap sparkling wine either. I’m talking French champagne from the champagne region of France. The expensive stuff. Dom, Cristal, Moet, Salon, Krug… you get it. A glass of brut champagne is about 100 calories but you have to drink more of it to get tipsy enough so I usually stick with vodka because pound for pound, I can drink less calories and get more buzzed. I usually have 3-5 drinks at work (3 if it’s vodka, 5 if it’s champagne) so that’s 450-500 calories, which is already almost half of my daily allowed calories. It’s not hard to keep track once you’ve been doing it for as long as I have. So, on my days off, those extra 500 calories come in the form of food, not alcohol if I can help it. I cap myself at 1250 calories each day. And I work out every other day, with yoga every morning (it’s technically usually afternoon by the time I wake up).

So, I’m trapped in this strange routine thanks to my job. Count calories, workout, buy high end clothes for work, get dolled up, make money. My eating habits aren't healthy, but if I'm going to keep making as much money as I am it's a necessary evil. On my days off I rarely even leave my little apartment except to take Barry out for a few walks in Midtown.

Yeah, I live in Midtown. I’m renting a tiny one bedroom, one bathroom apartment off 8th Avenue for $3k a month. The building is old but nice, and the neighborhood is stellar and it’s safe. I could live in a cheaper neighborhood but the commute would be further and safety is always a big concern of mine. Plus, my dad helps a little. He sends me $500 a month and honestly, it’s kind of a lifesaver. I don’t need the money, no, but it means I can save more. I told my dad not to but he insists and just like clockwork, at the start of each month, he’s deposited the money into my checking account.

Walking home after working at 4am is also a not-so-delightful part of the job. Sometimes I catch a cab, but I live so near I hate spending the extra cash. I've been lucky and have never had any major issues. I've been followed by creeps, have had people offer me rides, and even once had someone grab at me while walking home but have had no true harm come to me so far. I also do enjoy walking outside when I can. It helps me clear my head after a long night of being sexy and mean to clients (well, mean if they want, and they usually do). Tonight was no different. I was paid to demean and insult a client in a private room while he stood tied to a pole in nothing but his underwear. I shake my head laughing at the ridiculousness of it all but I'm not here to kink shame, it's just not my personal favorite. I have my own specific kinks, but I keep my personal life away from the club.

I’m not complaining. I hope it doesn’t sound like that. My life is good. Great even. I make good money, I’ve saved up a lot, and I’m thankful for my dad. I also get to wake up to the love of my life every morning and come home to him every night (and by night I mean closer to 4 am). He’s always so excited to see me when I get home and he never judges me for what I do at work.

Which is how I found myself waking up the following morning, a long tongue licking over my cheek, whiskers poking my skin, stinky dog breath… Barry is ready for his morning walk and I have only had 4 hours of sleep but duty calls. I drag myself out of bed at 9 am, yawning and stretching. Barry is doing the same on the bed behind me. I pop into the bathroom to brush my teeth and pee, before putting my hair in a ponytail and slipping on my baseball cap to cover any offending stray hairs, drape a coat over my pajamas and slide my vans onto my feet. I get Barry set up, grab our things and out we go. It’s always such a production taking Barry out for walks. Living in a tiny apartment with a 70 lb pit-bull mix is nuts in itself, just imagine us doing this in the dead of winter when he needs his own coat and little rubber booties to protect his paws. Yeah, so fun. But he’s worth it. He’s the best boy, the love of my life.

After we’ve gone a few blocks and Barry has done his business we begin to head back to the apartment. It’s a little after 9 so the streets aren’t overly busy, but NYC is pretty much just a busy city no matter what. When you live here long enough, though, you recognize patterns and this time of day is one of the quietest (even if it’s not actually quiet). It’s also Saturday so many people are off for the weekend, still at home in their pjs.

Just as we’re walking past the pet shop, which Barry is obsessed with by the way, I run into a tall man with dark curls who’s just stepped out of Brooklyn Bagel with a paper bag and a hot cup of coffee, and who is now drenched in said coffee.

“Fuck! Fuck…” he pats at the front of his shirt and frowns, the cup now laying on its side in front of Barry, who’s sniffing at it.

Everything happened so fast. First I was explaining to Barry how we could come back to the pet shop later (after I’ve slept another 3 hours) and now suddenly I’m here.

“God, I’m sorry! Are you alright?!” I keep my distance because I have Barry and plenty of people are scared of him (which is ridiculous because he’s an angel) so the last thing I want to do is make this situation worse, the tall man seems a bit upset.

“Yeah, great. Don’t worry about it.” He replies coldly toward me, never once looking up at me. Which I prefer actually. I look homeless and this man looks rich, and he’s hot as fuck.

I grasp Barry’s leash to move him around the spill so we can continue on, “Okay, good. Sorry again.” I spit out. This time, he looks up at me. His eyes are a soft green and his lips are full and deeply pigmented. His brown curls are pushed back from his forehead, and he’s dressed very smart. When he stands at full height his broadness becomes more evident and I notice his sharp jawline. God, this might be the best-looking man I’ve laid my eyes on in a long time.

I smile and nod as I begin to walk away but then he speaks, stopping me in my tracks, to Barry’s dismay, “Yeah, it’s okay. Really. Didn’t mean to react that way.” I pick up on his accent, British. His voice is deep and raspy. Of course he’s British. I smile at him again and notice how he’s looking over my attire, probably feeling sorry for me.

“Well, I mean, I just made you spill your coffee all over yourself. I feel like your reaction was pretty tame compared to what I’ve dealt with. This is New York City after all.” I chuckle a little and he follows suit. I notice the fucker has dimples when he smiles. He’s adorable and hot at the same time. Jesus.

“Glad to hear it.” He pauses, eyes still on me but now he’s more relaxed and smiling, “Um, well, I’ve got to go grab another coffee and try to wipe this up a bit. You two have a great morning.” He looks at Barry as he says the last part and Barry wags his tale at the eye contact from the gorgeous stranger. If I had a tale it’d be wagging too. And just like that, he was stepping back into the bagel shop with a wave and Barry and I continued our trek back home.

Before going back to bed to sleep a few more hours before I have to get ready for work this evening I can't stop thinking about the stranger I (literally) ran into and sigh, knowing I'll never see him again.

(Part 2 here)

#harry styles #harry smut #harry styles smut #harry styles fan fiction #harry fic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic

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kakashi-posting · 4 months

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Thinking about the concept of trans Kakashi being given a newly out Naruto and how they help each other learn and grow. Think kind of like those 5 things + 1 thing tropes, that type of vibe.

Kakashi having came out at a young age was able to get to a point where no one really knows. He'd always just gotten on with it and no one questioned that he ever could have been born female. It was all a quiet thing, they made sure he was sure about it but were willing to assist him with transitioning and not making a big fuss over it. Medical files had a note in case it was needed but it was mostly just his choice if he wanted to tell people.

Naruto however, was a loud and proud newly out trans kid. Takes it a lot harder when people slip up on names and pronouns. Willing to talk openly about how he realised and what his goals are with transitioning.

At first Kakashi struggles with having this kid around because it's never been something he felt the need to be proud about, it was another thing that just made him different after all. Who wanted to publicly share something like that?

But things start to shift the closer Naruto gets to being allowed to start hrt. Kakashi recalling his own anxieties when he was told how they'd have to do an interview with him beforehand just to make sure it was a choice he really wanted. He thought it was dumb that a bunch of cis people got the final say on him being "trans enough" to have access to medicine so he ended up offering to go with Naruto as moral support.

Whilst he wasn't allowed in the room during the interview, he'd spent the morning helping Naruto go over what the questions might be like and explaining to him that he shouldn't need their approval for something like this but that he'd support him regardless of the outcome.

He'd still never explicitly said to Naruto that he was trans too, maybe he didn't need to anymore but something in him was nagging him that he should just say something. Being the "different" kid was never an easy thing but being the trans kid came with a whole set of other issues.

Like the time he'd been genuinely taken aback by Naruto telling him how half the village didn't care what name he went by because they'd portray him as evil anyways. Kakashi had always been glad to come out so young because it saved him a lot of the social transition stress with his peers but Narutos story was just another layer of pain ontop of an already difficult situation. That was probably the first time he'd truly related to the kid.

Which made it no surprise that when Naruto reappeared with a huge smile on his face that Kakashi couldn't help but offer a sincere one back.

Kakashi is ultimately the one to teach Naruto various things from how he can cut his hair in masc ways to how to figure out his clothing sizes. He was even there to help with his first T shot, playing it off as a worry that Naruto could hurt himself if done wrong so he'd supervise to be sure nothing happened.

Navigating some topics were admittedly harder though like binding, how to do it safely, how long you can do it for, stretches that can help.

When Kakashi finally did outright confirm himself being trans he hadn't expected for Naruto to be shocked. After all how else would he know about all this stuff when most of the village hardly got even the concept of being trans?

But in typical Naruto fashion he had to listen to the excited, over exaggerated response as it finally dawned on him that there was someone else like him. When Naruto did calm down about it, Kakashi noticed that he did feel better about finally saying it, getting the words "I'm transgender" to the other person in the village who could get his experiences was just refreshing. Especially as Naruto eased the tension by explaining how he just assumed that Kakashi was a good ally like how Gai is always aggressively supportive of him. Only for Kakashi to sigh and nod. He remembered his coming out to Gai, it was the biggest most dramatic response that Kakashi would have normally hated. But it was so incredibly Gai that he just didn't mind.

Some of his old friends from his ANBU days knew too, not that they'd ever say anything without his permission.

And when Iruka had found out that Kakashi would be teaching Naruto it had sparked them to become closer so they could discuss their student. Eventually leading to him comforting Iruka that it would be strange for him to be transphobic towards another trans person. Iruka seemed to process it in waves, comfort that his student was safe, confusion in his phrasing, understanding what he meant, acceptance.

But after all this time with Naruto and seeing how the village seemed to warm up to him slowly and accept him wholly for who he is, it made him wish he had more of that acceptance rather than just keeping it something he pushed down.

So deciding it was about time to change things, he followed in Naruto's footsteps for once and started to casually bring up his gender in some conversations. Mostly just little jokes here and there. If Naruto could so bravely be open and proud, then maybe he could do.

#kakashi hatake #transgender Kakashi headcanon #transgender Naruto headcanon #reminder that I'm trans incase it's needed context for anyone lol

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flock-talk · 1 year

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how do you distinguish between a bird that simply won’t be comfortable with hands and a bird that just needs some work to get them more comfortable? my tiel just isn’t an affection guy and i can’t tell if that’s just how he is or if i need to work harder getting him acquainted with people.

So in the grand picture of things any animal can be taught to preform any behaviour they’re physically capable of doing given enough time and the right motivating factors. So when we’re looking at things like step up any bird can at some point be taught those skills no matter what the starting point is. When faced with complicated influences like trauma you do often have to get creative and find alternative ways, often if there’s significant trauma locked in place it’s much more practical to find an alternative (perch, new cue, sleeves rather than a hand) than keep pushing.

But when we’re talking about genuine enjoyment that’s where things get more complicated. You can train them to cooperate in behaviours they may not enjoy by default and even establish classical conditioning protocols where participating in the undesirable behaviour becomes desirable. But that doesn’t always mean it’s a self reinforcing behaviour continuously, if the additional reinforcement ends then depending on the source response they may revert to losing interest. This tends to apply to behaviours like scritches- where ideally the behaviour becomes self reinforcing by them enjoying the social preening. Some birds simply won’t make that transition, you could in theory train them to accept the head touches and even selectively reinforce the head fluffing where they will participate in “scritches” for the goal of a treat at the end but if the treats were to stop for long enough they could easily fall back to hating the scritches again.

In theory you could train anything with enough time and skill. In practice it’s best to go with what the animal naturally wants.

How you tell the difference between what needs training and what’s a personal preference is a bit tricky to explain and you could even say it’s up to interpretation. A part of it is just what you want to achieve and a part of it is sorting out what the animal enjoys vs. What they tolerate.

If you’re using the right strategies there’s really nothing wrong with continuing to try, altering your training plan and seeing if you can make more progress if that’s what you’d like to achieve. But if you feel like it’s something your bird doesn’t want to do in general and you’re content with that then that can simply be how it is.

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