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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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Eddie, diary, detention ^^

Oh, y'all are getting sick of Eddie fluff fics? Too bad, sorry xoxoxo 💚

Warnings: none, all fluff!

WC: 1.2k

“Goddamn Carver,” Eddie mutters to himself, slinging his backpack onto the desk and plopping into the attached chair. “Always running his goddamn mouth and then pulling the ‘But I have basketball practice’ excuse to get outta trouble.” He brings his voice up to a grating falsetto, mocking the jock’s whiny tone. “But does Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson get the same courtesy for his Hellfire campaigns? No, sir, he does not.”

“Wonderful monologue, Mr. Munson,” Mrs. O’Donnell says dryly, heels clacking as she walks through the open doorway. “Perhaps you’ll be a playwright in your next life.”

“Like one lifetime isn’t enough,” Eddie grumbles, low enough so his least favorite teacher can’t hear him.

O’Donnell peers at him over her horn-rimmed glasses. “You know the drill better than I do, Mr. Munson,” she scoffs with a wry smile. “One hour. No talking, no music, no funny business. You may do homework if you’d like, though I don’t anticipate you choosing now to act like a star student.”

Eddie slumps down into his seat. He’d already counted all the ceiling tiles last week when he ended up here after shoving Patrick for picking on Dustin Henderson. Guess I’ll start on the floor tiles now, he thinks grimly.

He makes it to 28 before something catches his eye. In one of the baskets underneath a desk is a purple leather-bound notebook. The way it’s resting halfway out of the basket looks like it had fallen out of a backpack or accidentally left behind. It’s too fancy to only be used for school, and it piques his curiosity.

“Uh, Mrs. Oh-Dee?” Eddie blurts out, shooting his hand up in the air. “Can I grab a textbook? I think I’m gonna take you up on that homework offer.”

The teacher rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she quips. “And for the last time, stop calling me that.”

But Eddie’s already scrambling to the seat, plucking the journal from its spot and shielding it with a history book. As soon as he opens the cover, his eyes widen.

This diary belongs to is printed on the first page, with a name handwritten in neat cursive underneath.

“Shit,” Eddie breathes, earning a scowl from O’Donnell. This is your diary.

Eddie doesn’t have too many classes with you; you’re in mostly honors courses, while he’s in his third senior year. But you do take health together, and he constantly finds himself stealing glances at you whenever he can.

He knows he shouldn’t read any further; he can close the diary and turn it into the Lost and Found box. But Eddie Munson’s never been known for his impulse control, and before he knows it, he’s skimming the pages.

Most of the entries don’t draw too much of his attention. There’s one from a few weeks ago about an argument you had with your best friend, but Eddie’s seen you two laughing together since then, so he assumes all’s well. A few days ago, you’d just written, “that history test was a bitch” accompanied by a frowning face. Eddie laughs quietly, knowing you’d probably aced it.

It’s the entry after that where he finds what he’s looking for.

Mr. Ellison paired me up with Eddie today! We had to work on an anti-smoking poster together, which was ironic, because he reeked of cigarettes. He asked me what I was doing this weekend, and I thought he was going to ask me out, but he didn’t. Guess he’s not into shy nerdy girls. Then again, who would be?

Eddie’s heart sinks into his stomach. If you only knew how much he wants to take you to dinner, hold hands across the table, maybe kiss you after splitting an ice cream sundae. He had planned on asking you out that day, only to wimp out at the last second.

He hastily tears out the page and pulls out a number two pencil that’s sharpened down to a nub. In the margins next to your entry, he draws and arrow and writes:

He’s definitely into shy nerdy girls, but he didn’t think you’d be into loud metalheads. Meet me at my locker tomorrow before health?

He slips the diary into his bag, vowing to put the note in your locker after his prison sentence—erm, detention, is over.

The next day, Eddie waits by his locker in between second and third periods. His heart pounds in his chest, and his stomach is doing that flip-flop thing it does before a gig. He relaxes a bit when he sees you walking towards him, note in hand.

“Hey,” you say softly, holding up the sheet of paper. “Did you…”

Eddie laughs nervously. “Y-Yeah, that was me,” he admits.

Your ears heat up, suddenly bashful. When you found the note, you’d assumed it was some prank by one of the jocks. The fact that it actually was Eddie gives you heart palpitations. “I didn’t know you felt that way about me,” you manage.

“I didn’t know you felt that way about me till, y’know, I read it,” Eddie mumbles, hoping you’re not too angry about that.

You cross your arms over your chest. “So, we’re just snooping through diaries now? A bit juvenile, dontcha think?” But your tone is light, despite the truthfulness of your statement.

“It, um, wasn’t my finest moment,” Eddie’s cheeks turn pink as he reaches into his bag, “which is why I wanted to show you this.” He pulls out a tattered composition book and hands it to you. “It’s not as cute as yours—oh, which I also have, heh.” He offers you your beloved purple journal.

“Thanks,” you mutter, ensuring that it’s now safely stored in your own backpack before bringing your attention back to his notebook. “What’s this?”

Eddie bites his lower lip anxiously. “It’s my lyric book,” he explains sheepishly. “But not the one I show the guys. This has all my lovey-dovey songs in it. Y’know, shit they’d kick my ass for.” Another nervous chuckle. “They’re, um, they’re about you.”

“Me?!” you ask incredulously.

“Yeah,” he smiles, letting his fingertips graze your hand. “Figured it was only fair, since I totally read your stuff.”

You flip through the pages, heart warming at the words etched on them. Lyrics like, her smile melts me like snow on my tongue/grow old together but we’ll always feel young make you giggle. “These are really good,” you muse.

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “Not too corny?”

“Oh, no,” you tease him, “they are extremely corny. But I’m a sucker for a good rhyme scheme, so…” You trail off as Eddie grins.

“Maybe I could play them for you sometime? Like after school today?” He winces, hoping he doesn’t sound as desperate as he thinks he does.

You nod. “I’d like that.”

“Cool.” Eddie closes his locker and turns to you slowly, a mischievous twinkle in his chocolate brown eyes. “Actually, what do you say we ditch health and hang out at mine? I promise I’m a lot more interesting than whatever Ellison is going to lecture us about today.”

You peer around the hallway, making sure it’s clear of teachers before slipping your hand into Eddie’s larger, calloused one. “Let’s blow this joint.”

“That’s my girl.”

#bug's 2k celebration #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things

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cringeghostking · 9 months

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it’s 1am so this is more of a note to self than anything but:

Nimona isn’t human. She’s her own thing, and the movie refuses to explain where she came from or if others are like her (good). Nimona doesn’t want to find *her* people genetically, she wants to find her *people* in terms of found-family, something she’s always been denied for being different regardless of what species she seeks out

Ballister is an outcast well before he’s used to murder the queen, but for the majority of his life he’s able to carve out a place of belonging. he has institutional power and privilege in a way nimona doesnt, even when he’s seen as a queen-killing villain

Ballister’s character arc is about learning to challenge his internal biases and be a good friend and ally to Nimona, and despite himself also being a type of minority in this world, he never understands her from the lens of his own experiences; he has to mentally venture out from what he knows to meet her where she is. he doesn’t automatically understand who she is because he himself has experienced ostracization, he asks her (sometimes small-minded) questions and listens to her answers and learns---she understands what it is to abruptly lose the community you love, but he doesnt easily understand what it is to shapeshift, but he wants to---or at least, wants to understand her better. and that results in him defending her to his literal childhood best friend / partner.

this but community infighting + how tribalistically dividing the queer community, demanding that we split up into our own little pieces of the alphabet alienates us from each other just as surely as we’re alienated from the broader world. how you can be a minority or part of a marginalized group and suffer in your life for those things and still have privilege compared to others (and how you can bond together with those people and not resent your differences in experience, and have compassion for the parts that suck and work together to achieve world domination your goals)

idk, something about ballister explicitly having grown up hurt and othered no matter how hard he tried to make himself palatable, how ballister graduated top of his class by merit alone and he is still always going to be “the first crack in the wall,” (and being top in the class over the descendant of gloreth is another, and the queen declaring anyone can hold the sword henceforth is another, and so on); there is no world where ballister makes himself Good Enough to not be a threat, and even though nimona knows this, she backs him up and fights for him and hopes against her better judgment that the system can be changed and only walks when he refuses to have her back

and how this is still nimona’s movie and the point is how ballister may be a crack but she’s a fucking wrecking ball in the wall and she must be destroyed at any cost

something something abt respectability politics, yk?

anyway. this is just one thread im kinda absently picking at but fr im going to absorb this movie until it replaces blood in my veins and i can play it while holding a conversation without missing a beat. insane about it v excited to read the graphic novel (im aware it’s different)

#nimona #nimona movie #nimona spoilers #jas jabbers

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hayleysayshay · 11 months

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I think what I’m mad about the jury vote for Sweden is that the jury is meant to make it fairer. It is clear when looking at votes that some countries get an overseas demographic vote. With the televote it’s often front loaded to the most popular countries— you can see how many countries got low double digit televote scores and a few favourites scoop up the big points.

But the juries are meant to ensure more countries get varied points, but five jury members who are from composing, producing and pop star backgrounds are going to rank Sweden over Germany despite Chris’s very technical singing. They’re not big or diverse enough. So we have this situation where one country scoops up all the big points just like the televote, by a huge margin, so then what’s the point? How does this make it fairer?

Honestly if the jury scores for the top five countries were closer and the televote was different and Sweden still won I don’t think I’d be as mad or disappointed. It is how it be with the jury. But the fact that one country got so many jury 12s made it basically impossible for the public’s favourite to win, and it feels predetermined which is why people are looking to the ABBA 50th anniversary as an explanation. It probably wasn’t rigged but it feels like it was. The second highest televote score ever should be enough for a country to win but it wasn’t.

I think if they only want a small jury, then it has to be weighted down. If they want a 50/50 point split the jury has to be diversified to be more inclusive of non pop genres.

#Eurovision #Eurovision 2023 #esc 2023 #esc

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la-tramontana · 9 months

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I'm seeing some union support but not many stories about what exactly a strike can be like to experience personally, which I certainly didn't know about before it happened. I think more of us should share experiences.

When I was on strike, there was a period when I had the assignment to ride around on a bicycle and photograph every dumpster at our worksite, mark locations, and find out which fellow unions were in charge of emptying them.

(this didn't end up happening because my health collapsed, but it was something I was expected to do)

The reason for this was that we had sympathy from groups like the Teamsters who drive UPS trucks. By law they could refuse to deliver across a picket line, but that line could not be the metaphorical line of a struck workplace. It had to be a literal picket line and as our internal support for the strike flagged we were going to send groups of about 10 people to form picket lines around dumpsters and loading docks.

Because keeping our wages so low was driving a large and comfortable margin of profit for our employer, losing a large portion of their workforce to our labor action didn't do that much. We had workers at other sites waking up early to form picket lines at worksite construction sites, and picketing loading docks, stopping deliveries of substances that needed to be frozen, which ruined them.

We had a strike kitchen which served a lot of bad coffee and butternut squash.

We had riotous memey chats and constant arguments with our union staffers, fellow workers, and everyone split on whether to demand disability rights and childcare or give up or what. We were constantly, nonstop fighting. My phone would overheat and I'd look at it at 11 PM with more than new 900 signal messages.

At one point there were serious and pointed conversations about whether the lead negotiator for the other side was hexing our guys and about whether we needed to supply the bargaining team with protection from the evil eye.

We had folks scouting ahead on bikes ahead of the lines checking for cops.

We had multiple cars charge our picket line and clip workers.

We had a picket line drag show.

We shut down bus access to our worksite for days by staging a dance party around the entrance to the terminal for hours. Bus systems need to be reliable for them to be worth running. After blocking the terminal enough times our employer shut down the bus.

We had folks from HR standing far off and taking photographs of our pickets and movements. I got a feeling of constantly being watched, both by worksite labor relations and the staffers in my own union.

We had local anarchists barricading entrances to the worksite with makeshift structures, including just a wall of bikes. One of the barricades was charged by a car, which dragged a bike beneath it for some 50, 60 feet.

The anarchists also liberated workplace cafeterias so that for hours and hours no one had to pay and everyone ate for free, they spread leaflet material that was anti-union boss at our staging area and ran away, they chalked up anti-cop messages. How we loved 'em!

Staffers tried to go behind my back to pull another lead strike captain for my turf but they didn't succeed in cutting the head off the snake. My companions were true to the end.

Some of them are now organizing their apartment buildings. Some won positions in union leadership.

We passed a contract that we all agreed was horseshit, with inadequate protections, and we're all-in now on defending the letter of it as our employer tries to claw it back.

Support the labor movement. Corruption happens, but it isn't the job of bystanders to regulate or manage it.

The union is the people and right now, we need support for every strike, every time. One day longer... one day stronger... to the line, to the line, to the line.

#strike stories #unions #labor rights #yours--truly #dothewritething #sag aftra #wga

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sarucane · 5 months

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How did Stede leave pirating so easily?

So in the space of 2 episodes, Stede goes from being "the motherfucking man" to an innkeeper, and there's really not *much* in between there--all his scenes are primarily about other characters in the finale. So I wanted to rant about what I think fills in this gap.

Why did Stede become a pirate in the first place? Well, because he wanted to be a "real boy." He wanted to have a life that felt like his own, a life that wasn't swaddled in comfort (completely, at least). He wanted to break the monotony, the despair of a life without room for deep emotions or agency. And he became a certain kind of pirate because he wanted to be someone important and good in the lives of others, not just a marginal figure.

But why did Stede become a pirate the second time?

Ed.

Sure, there were other reasons: he didn't belong with his family anymore, didn't fit in his old life, and trying to have his cake (having run away) and eat it too (coming back) was just hurting everyone. He changed, and they changed, and a foundational truth of this show is that you can't change back.

But the reason he didn't belong with his family anymore was that he had gotten his original wish. He'd become a "real boy," someone who felt things deeply, who didn't need to keep one foot in his old life by hanging onto his wealth. He'd become important and valued in the lives of his crew, which they demonstrated when Chauncy challenged his right to the Act of Grace

But the moment Stede crosses the line forever between his old life and his new one is when he tells Mary "his name is Ed."

When Stede leaves, he falls in with the marooned crew--but he spends more time pining for Ed then talking to them. There's a place for him with his crew, and he fits in it, and we see in E5-6 that he cares deeply about doing right by them.

But neither Ed nor Stede fully fit into the crew when everyone's back together. Ed's caught up in his own self-reckoning, and Stede's splitting attention between the crew and Ed. In a way, they've outgrown Stede: they no longer need his help to enable the community on the ship. They've reached a point where they can deal with the conflicts in E4 by themselves, can absorb Archie and then Izzy and give both of them space to relax and integrate. They like having Stede as captain, but they don't need him anymore. In E7, Stede takes Olu leaving as a betrayal, but even that goes back to Stede being more focused on Ed than on the crew, and acting out over hurt feelings from a fight.

The only thing left that Stede can only get through piracy is the lure of fame. And that's a real perk--Stede genuinely enjoys his taste of infamy in E7. It's fun, it's a fulfillment of a childhood dream.

But it's also hollow, and it's a trap. It's hollow because Bill isn't Stede's real friend, and the loss of Steak Knife wasn't worth Stede dying by challenging Zheng (nor was Stede's ego worth Steaky's death, but that's another thing). And it's a trap because Stede really is a terrible pirate. Stede has to deal with the pirate world without Ed three times during the show. The first time, the Spanish almost kill him; the second time, Spanish Jackie almost maims him; the third time, he challenges Zheng to a duel and refuses to back down, then tries to "ambush" British officers who kick his butt. Stede's fantastic when he stays in his lane of nontraditional piracy, but if he became a really successful traditionally infamous pirate, he'd no longer be Stede.

So Stede doesn't need the infamy of success as a pirate, any more than he needs is pretty clothes (though he likes both). Stede doesn't need to stay a pirate to keep his relationship with the crew, and they don't need him either. Stede doesn't need to go out and be a pirate to feel real things, or think he's "adequate" enough for his father.

But Stede does need to give his relationship with Ed a real chance, to be what they want it to be. And Ed just cannot be a pirate anymore--there's too much damage and pain. Plus, living on the ship, their lives in danger all the time, heightening everything, pushing their actions out of their control. Their relationship was crushed under that pressure in S2, and it's still a pretty fragile thing. They need space and time. And by leaving the ship, they can have it.

For Stede, piracy meant belonging, love, and fulfillment.

He has those things now: He's got Ed. He doesn't need piracy anymore.

#ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd #ofmd s2 #our flag means death #ofmd spoilers #ofmd meta #ed teach #stede bonnet #blackbonnet #i love the finale and i'm eternally grateful a cancellationwon't be straight traumatic but just FIVE MORE MINUTES oh well life is what it i

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aftgficrec · 17 hours

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oh i caught you open! can we get some either andrew & kevin or neil & kevin being best friends and supporting each other? i feel like they're not explored enough and the potential is right there :)

Luckily, Kevin and Andrew’ friendship is a topic the fandom is pretty interested in. So much so that we’ve split this ask. In this post we’re concentrating entirely on Andrew and Kevin, Neil & Kevin’s friendship will be addressed in another ask. - S

Some previous recs:

Andrew & Kevin’s friendship here

Kevin & Andrew’s relationship here

Kevin as Andrew’s best friend here

Kevin’s friendship with Andreil here

‘Where The Wild Things Are’ here

‘I know that you'll come if you want’ here

‘N for nebulous’, ‘And Then There Was One’ and ‘Wear it to Eden's’ here

‘Reckless’ here

‘Trust Me’ here

‘Searchlights’ here

‘fugue in red’ here

splinters beneath our nails by mostly_maudlin [Rated T, 3719 words, complete, 2023]

Andrew hasn’t decided what to do about Kevin Day. A few days ago, he’d have said that Kevin was dead to him. If things had gone differently, that might still be true. Today, he walks up to the car and throws open the door.

Not again by LetThemCuddle [Rated G, 698 words, complete, 2023]

Andrew circled the stony striker when silence answered him. “Hello? Anybody home? The answer is yes, a lot of nobodies, just one is missing. I’ll give you three guesses.” “Pass.” “Never took you for a quitter. This is quite refreshing.” The goalie quipped, lighting a smoke. “Come on, the cars’ still running.” “I’m going to stay here.” Kevin’s quiet voice echoed through the abandoned stadium. Somber, lacking the usual spiteful energy he towed.

right on time by dayurno [Not Rated, 10915 words, complete, Aftg Mixtape Exchange 2023]

"Has your Butcher called back yet?" Oh. “No,” Kevin replies, frowning slightly. “It’s understandable. He is a busy man.” “Kevin Day making excuses,” pulling away, Andrew puts down, “at this rate, you might just write his name on the margins of your books with hearts around it.” “What? No, why would I do that?” “Why wouldn’t you?” Kevin gives him a perplexed look. “Andrew, do you think I like the Butcher of Baltimore?” Alternatively, when the Butcher of Baltimore issues an order for his subordinates to bring him his childhood idol, he forgets what his choice of career entails. Kevin would hold it against him if he didn't find the man so fascinating.

tw: (accidental) kidnapping

Rescue Me by Demiwitchwoodwalker [Rated T, 4564 words, complete, 2022]

“I can protect you, from him and yourself,” Andrew said in a tone Kevin couldn’t quite place after a long moment filled with nothing but the muffled noise of the game playing on Kevin’s laptop. “I can help you stay instead of running further or back.” Kevin stared at him then, finally letting himself actually look at him, and the same feeling from before returned, feeling like a hand clenched itself around his lungs and heart. He pushed his laptop closed, the game’s audio abruptly cutting off, and turned slightly to face Andrew, whose expression had shifted back into the grin that seemed to constantly be present in the day and whose eyes looked almost dead. Kevin’s lips parted, words rising in the back of his throat, but he couldn’t get them past his tongue. How was he supposed to do this? The memory of Andrew the night before floated through his mind again, when he was as close to sober as he could get, more vulnerable than Kevin felt he’d ever seen a person despite the fact that Kevin was the one halfway through a breakdown. "Why?" --- Aka, how Kevin and Andrew make their deal. (Potential triggers are listed in the tags, please be careful!)

tw: self harm, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced suicidal thoughts

The Tide by zoeellendraws [Rated G, 20473 words, complete, 2022]

Kevin and Andrew participate in a showcase that could make or break their ballet careers and discover a promising new talent in the process. Or Mysterious Ballet AU

tw: implied/referenced violence

I came for the safety (stayed 'cause you made me feel) by Charcoalll [Rated M, 4621 words, complete, 2021]

“Day? We’re gonna get you out of here okay? Minyard’s gonna make sure you get out of here and down to the bus” Kevin looked over Wymack’s shoulder where he could see the figure of the small blonde man. Kevin nodded, how could he do anything but nod? These people were sticking out their neck for him in a way he couldn’t remember anyone doing before. No words could ever describe his thankfulness. Or: A little glimpse into Andrew and Kevin's relationship before, during and after AftG.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced alcohol abuse

biting down by vincevangothh [Rated T, 2257 words, complete, Aftg Exchange 2017]

kevin learns that in order to understand something, you have to allow yourself to learn, and talks to andrew about neil. '“Did I or did I not tell you that you have asked as many free questions as you are permitted to today?” This time, as Andrew snaps, Kevin hears it. “Free?” he asks around a mouthful of rice, swallowing hastily before he continues. “So if I give you something, I can ask more?” It's a rhetorical question, but Andrew grants him a small nod anyway. “Neil and I have - had - a thing.” Kevin agonisingly anticipates his next words as Andrew scoops up another mouthful of food. Static silence stretches out between them until he swallows again. “Truth for truth. For everything you ask me, I ask you something.” “Deal.”'

Reasons by orphan_account [Rated T, 1895 words, complete, 2016]

“You took me with you when you recruited him,” Andrew muttered, but he knew Kevin was listening. They both knew that it was the closest Andrew could get to a thank you, so they both kept quiet. A list of the times Andrew met Kevin, interwoven with the list of times Andrew met Neil.

Kevin, Andrew and their friendship by @andrews-jort-loving-pipe-dream [tumblr, 2023]

“Why are we here?” “I'm here because it's Josten's birthday next week. You're here because you can't be alone.”

Andrew and Kevin watching a movie together after one of them wakes up from a nightmare. by @foxesbettingpool [tumblr, 2018]

He’d been up the majority of the night, wasting away on a bean bag chair with textbooks, papers, and a mountain of notes surrounding him.

tw: nightmares

Future Andrew & Kevin hc by @thepalmtoptiger [tumblr, 2018]

Andrew and Kevin stay close friends after leaving the Foxes and going pro.

Kevin asks Andrew to be his best man hc by @palmettofoxden [tumblr, 2017]

Kevin asks Andrew to be his best man at his wedding and Andrew just stands up and walks out of the room without answering or even reacting.

Art

andrew & kevin brotp edit by @mint-and-memories

Andrew and Kevin meme art by @foxhole-doodles

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bisexuallsokka · 2 years

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would you be willing to summarize the poll drama for us that doesn't use twitter? :>

GLADLY

okay okay so someone started a best atla ship tournament poll on twitter and in the first round zukka was losing to ty.zula but members of zukka nation started hearing about it and posting the link to vote so it started spreading pretty fast and zukka slowly started to bridge the gap and then the final result was that zukka won and because they got so many votes people were implying that zukka stans were paying bots for more votes when really. i was keeping a close eye on it all day and i never noticed it have a big enough jump for bots to make sense. we simply just awoke zukka nation for more reinforcements. but i digress.

anyway, the rounds continued and zukka kept winning (and not by like a HUGE margin but always by enough to come out on top) and each round kept putting them against a wlw ship (rip i’m sorry mailee) but anyway all the zukka antis were FURIOUS and saying that if you voted for zukka you are misogynistic and lesbophobic which was just so funny to me considering the insane number of sapphics in zukka nation but whatever.

anyway these antis were begging people to vote against zukka but it simply did not work (especially when the poll had them go against two wlw ships and so they split the vote) and they were also saying how people who vote for zukka are just fetishizing mlm ships and all this insane stuff

so so so many of them are zootaras so two days ago one of the rounds was z.tara against kataang and it was insane because all the other polls were getting like 2,000 votes and the final number of votes for this one was over 8,000 so CLEARLY both sides were using votes to get more votes for their side and eventually kataang won and then a lot of people were acting like kataang nation was the only one using bots

and then kataang went against sukka yesterday and and all the people who are anti zukka and pro ztara were all rooting for sukka because they thought they could defeat zukka but kataang ended up winning

anyway now it’s between kataang and zukka and everyone who doesn’t like those ships are acting like zukka/kataang nation spent hundreds of dollars on votes, hate women, and are actively committing hate crimes against lesbians

and ITS SOOO FUNNY. i’ve been having the time of my life it’s so entertaining they’re getting so invested in a fucking. twitter poll. and they’re just making it toooo fucking easy to mess with them. low hanging fruit and all that.

#if im missing anything. feel free to add on to this post #anyway i love causing drama #anonymous #ask me stuff #twitter poll

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es-draws · 3 months

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Why are so many of us are so turned on by weight gain? Where do kinks come from? I'm curious if there's any science behind it. Which part of the brain is involved? Sorry for the multiple questions in a long ramble

No worries, I had the same question! Probably the top thing I think about with this kink. I've done a lot of research, and what I found is that we really don't know where fetishes come from.

Psychologists are split into two camps - it's either something you develop and learn, or something that you were innately born with.

Some research suggests that fetishes are developed in childhood, and are learned through exposure to specific scenarios and instances that end up "triggering" a sexual response. The most common example here is spanking - Freud and those that subscribe to his theories believe that spanking during childhood leads to sexual urges for spanking as an adult. With feedism, I've heard people say that being exposed to fat admiration at a young age triggered their kink. Listen to Fat Bottomed Girls if you want to hear an example of how a fat naughty nanny can cause you to enjoy big butts.

But many psychologists now believe that fetishes are innate. There's some prominent research on foot fetishes that shows that the neurons for feet and genitals are close enough to overlap. But just like how we once thought that anything that wasn't heteronormative was "learned", it is now much more commonly believed that sexual preference is something people are born with. The precise cause can't be easily found neurologically, but it seems likely that some are innately attracted to things that aren't as common as others.

As for me personally? I have always found weight gain attractive. I can think of no life experience that triggered or developed this kink for me. And I know many, many other feedists who say the same thing. So I personally would ascribe to the "born this way" hypothesis, but I also know that others might disagree, based on their own experiences.

And as a final note, I think we should be wary of the "fetishes develop in childhood" theory. Why? Then it becomes easy to say that this fetish is something that "went wrong" with you. You were exposed to trauma around your body weight, that's why you have this weird kink! You had an ED and body issues - see? It's all just a mental problem. Your feedism fetish is just another disorder. You should get therapy so we can "fix" you. Sounds a bit like how they used to treat other marginalized folks, don't you think?

This is just my opinion, but I'd be curious to hear other people's experiences too, of course!

#es-answers

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eebydeebyderby · 1 year

Text

Keep you Safe (REVISED)

In which Reader returns to field calls after a three-month recovery, and Egon struggles with past trauma.

A continuation of this one-shot, but it can be skipped without missing any context.

General info:

Egon x fem!Reader, established romantic relationship, hurt/comfort, the boys are dorks, good vibes

Part 1 of 5

Content warnings: blood mention, a spooky little guy

~5.1k words

(I was unhappy with the previous version of this chapter, but I'll leave it up so that people can see the huge improvements that two great proofreaders (@bookswinalways and @mirandamnit(derogatory) can make between drafts.)

You gasped in delight. That’s it.

You closed the book in your hands and trotted across the room to Egon, who was peering intently into his microscope. “Spengs," you said, a smile spreading across your face, "I think I’ve identified your ghost.”

He pushed his chair back and looked up at you, openly adoring. “Tell me.”

“It sounds like a revenant of Buer to me,” you said excitedly, handing him back his field book.

He furrowed his brow a bit, and leaned back in his chair. “I’m not familiar with that entity.”

“It’s a lower level demonic entity associated with healing and eternal life." You scuttled over to the bookshelf and pulled out your large, tattered copy of Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, its spine held together by several layers of yellowing clear tape. “I’ve always wanted to get my hands on a Buerian ectoplasmic sample,” you said as you flipped through the withered pages and handed Egon the textbook, “but it’s assumed they went extinct when the Shandorian cultists slaughtered the only remaining nest back in the twenties.”

Egon shrugged, reading over the text. “Perhaps we were wrong in our assumption. The description seems to fit perfectly, and this is entirely unique from cases we’ve previously had.”

“Egon.” He couldn’t suppress the small smile creeping over his face from the giddiness bubbling in your voice. “If this really is Buerian, and if we could secure a live ectoplasmic sample and construct a viable protein expression vector plasmid, it would be an absolute game changer in our research. Just imagine if we could isolate the enzyme production responsible for Buer’s regenerative properties.”

“This creature is a Class IV quasi-corporeal specter,” he said, reading over your notes written in the margins of the tattered pages. “I'm sorry to say that I don’t think it’s possible to get a fully serviceable sample back to our lab on time for it to be of any use. It would destabilize far too quickly. The site is almost eighty miles out.”

“Well,” you said a bit hesitantly, “I should be able to stabilize it in the field long enough to get it back here in workable condition, but only…but only if I go on the call with you guys.”

Egon’s head shot up from the textbook and he locked eyes with you. You saw the split second of panic on his face before he almost immediately forced it back. It took him a moment to summon his voice. “If you believe that is best.”

For just a few moments, a tense silence smothered the lab.

"Yeah. I'm coming to the next call with you guys," you said, trying and failing to sound firm. “I could show you or one of the guys how to stabilize the sample long enough to get it here, but it’d take a few weeks. The entity will disappear after Sagittarius passes tomorrow. We’d have to wait at least another year for it to come back.”

You searched his face as he kept his gaze intently on the textbook, avoiding your eye. “You don’t seem too thrilled about me going.”

He swallowed. “It’s something I’d have to get used to again,” he said. “That's all.”

You sighed. "You used to get so excited when I'd go on busts with you…"

His eyes flitted to the thick scars torn along your forearm.

You followed his gaze and yanked your sleeve down to your wrist, your face burning. “I think more than enough time has passed for me to start going on field-calls again, don’t you think?”

He stayed quiet, his gaze still on your arm. After a moment, he cleared his throat and glanced at his watch. “It’s 2:58,” he said, a bit strained. “Our debriefing for tomorrow’s call is in two minutes, so we’d better head upstairs.”

“Please don’t avoid my question.”

He fiddled with his collar and clenched his jaw, avoiding your eye. “Can we discuss this later?”

You sighed again. “Alright.”

The other boys were already seated around the kitchen table and munching on snacks when the two of you entered. The homemade rat-trap Egon designed sat ominously beneath the table, sizzling quietly.

Winston popped open a can of seltzer and leaned back in his chair. “Any updates on identifying our mystery ghostie?”

“We’re looking at a revenant of Buer,” you said. “It’s a low-level demonic entity. Pretty mellow.”

“I thought the Shandor freaks killed them all off seventy years ago,” Peter said.

“I did, too,” you said. “But I think this one may be the last of its kind. In all honesty this call can be skipped because the demon is gonna disappear once Sagittarius is over tomorrow.”

“‘But’?” Peter prodded, sensing your excitement.

A small smile crept across your lips. “But I really, really would love to get an ectoplasm sample off it. So if you decide to keep it booked, I’m gonna tag along on this one.”

Excitement exploded between the three boys, their cheers and delight deafening in the small kitchen. Peter accidentally kicked the rat trap in his excitement and yelped with the jolt of electricity that shot up his foot. Egon remained quiet, his face a bit pale. Winston cracked open another can of seltzer and forced it into Egon’s hand, somewhat concerned that Egon was about to vomit next to him.

Once the boys tired out their celebrations, Ray asked, “What sort of danger are we looking at?”

“None, really. It won’t attack unless attacked, but it’ll try to scare the crap out of you. It’s really only a two-person job, so a few of you could stay behind if you’d like." Your gaze momentarily flitted to Egon, but he averted his eyes.

“Are you kidding?!” Ray asked eagerly, practically bouncing out of his seat. “Your first bust after three months and a one-night-only one-of-a-kind ghost? We should all go! If Janine was here then we’d make her come, too!”

“Anything special with this demon?” Peter asked, rubbing his foot, “Or is it just the typical ‘trap it in a salt circle’ routine?”

“We’re just gonna trap it in a salt circle and harvest some goo,” you said. “Nothing special.”

Winston finished his seltzer. “Anything else before meeting adjourned?”

“Yes, actually,” Egon said, his voice uncharacteristically authoritative, but a bit cracked. He cleared his throat. “I want you all to re-read the first-aid protocols and be especially cognizant of emergency procedures. I myself am taking the time to do so as soon as the meeting’s over.”

Peter cocked an eyebrow. “You’re giving us homework? Don’t you think that’s being a bit—ow!” he gasped when Winston kicked him under the table.

“We’ll get it done, doc,” Winston said brightly, getting to his feet. “Good chat, everyone! I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The meeting ended and all the boys went their separate ways: Winston, Ray, and Peter headed home, and Egon returned to the lab. You decided to stay in the kitchen and make yourself something to eat, both because you were hungry and because you wanted to give Egon a bit of space.

Egon had all the medical kits out on a lab table when you went back into the lab, a clipboard next to each one.

“Whatcha doing, Spengs?” you asked, placing a full plate on his desk.

“I’m double-checking the first-aid kits’ inventories to make sure everything is in-place.”

“Oh, I see. What’s that one you’ve got? I don’t recognize it.”

He tilted the ampule in his hands so it was a bit so the label was easier for you to read: Norepinephrine intramuscular injection. “This is for only the most dire of situations. It increases blood pressure in the event of severe but controlled blood loss to prevent hypoxia and subsequent organ damage. In layman's terms, it temporarily makes the remaining blood in the body more efficient at moving oxygen.”

"That’s a pretty intense little item there."

He placed it back into the kit. “There was a time where it was needed and not available. That is a scenario that must never happen again.”

The remorse of his voice made your heart sink a bit. “Makes sense,” you said, not wanting to make him pursue the topic any further. “Anyways, who’s your connection for all this kind-of-not-legal medical stuff you got a hold of?”

“My old roommate in my undergraduate dorm.”

You cocked your head a bit. “I thought Ray was your undergrad roommate.”

“Yes, he became my roommate after the first one went to jail.”

“Why?”

“Crime, presumably.”

You grabbed one of his coats off the coat rack and pulled it over your shoulders. "It's getting late. I'm gonna head home before it gets dark out."

"Alright, sweetheart." He walked over to you and pulled you in for a kiss on your brow. "I'll see you in a couple of hours."

Egon was still rummaging through the medical kits when Peter came trotting down the stairs. Egon, figuring that he was simply down there to swipe a treat from the sweets’ drawer, said, “Careful with the rat trap, Venkman. I don’t want you getting burned again.”

"Spengler." Egon turned around to see Peter standing in front of him, uncharacteristically serious. “How are you?”

The question threw Egon for a bit of a loop. “I’m doing well, thank you.”

Peter planted his hands firmly on Egon’s shoulders. “Eegs, bud, I love you,” he said in a surprisingly tender voice. “And I don’t want to sound like an ass, but I’m calling BS. You look like absolute shit. Winston is keeping emesis bags in his pocket because you look like you’re ten seconds away from throwing up. We’re worried about you.”

Egon sighed, suddenly looking very tired. He reached forward and grabbed Peter’s shoulder, returning the gesture in a rare moment of affection. “I think that, once tomorrow is over, we’ll all be better off for it.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Egon's face was stuck to the pillow in a mess of dried tears when he awakened, exhausted, his heart pounding in his chest. He instinctively reached forward to feel your warmth, but your side of the bed was empty and cold. The bedroom was bathed in the deep, rich blue of the cold early morning, illuminating its interior with a soft glow.

He stumbled into the restroom and cringed with the sharp ache that settled behind his eyes when he switched the light on, not yet fully shaken from the waves of sleep, his hands tightly gripping either side of the sink. He squeezed his eyes shut to give them a moment to adjust to the harshness of the fluorescent light and soon managed to open them without fuss. The reflection in the mirror was somewhat blurred without his glasses, but he saw the redness and swelling around his eyes, the rawness of his nose and the flush in his cheeks. He blew his nose with some toilet paper, splashed water on his face, but it did little to conceal his congestion or the discoloration on his cheeks. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He stood completely still for a moment, trying to calm the blood pounding in his ears.

He saw your silhouette sitting on the couch in the dim morning glow when he entered the living room, curled up near the armrest. You were scribbling equations in your notebook, trying to clean up the stats of your most recent experiments as your hot morning cocoa steamed on the nearby coffee table, perilously close to the portable computer. You were in pajamas, bundled up in his old coat that was far too large for you, cozy in the chilly winter morning.

It was really you this time. Warm, loving, safe.

And alive.

“You’re up early,” you said simply, switching your focus to your clunky laptop.

He came up from behind and snaked his arms around you, rested his chin on your shoulder, his flushed cheek pressed against yours. The position would very quickly grow uncomfortable for him, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to be close to you, to feel your presence pressed directly against himself, despite the muscles in his back already searing in protest.

You reached over your shoulder and ran your fingers through his plushy hair, still typing with your free hand. “Hey, Spengs.” You awkwardly craned your neck and quickly planted a few small kisses on his face, nipping a bit at the bridge of his nose, but it didn’t yield a reaction, as if he didn’t register it. You chalked it up to him still being half-asleep and resumed typing on the laptop.

"I can’t seem to get this ANOVA to run properly…” you muttered to yourself, staring intently at the laptop screen. “I’ve got the fixed effect models running. I’ve got all the means programmed in. I’ve got the confounds accounted for…” You idly flexed your wrist and stretched your arm up to relieve a bit of tension starting to build up from hours of typing. “The CSV is running. I double-checked all the data sets. Something is wrong…” you grumbled, unaware that your sleeve slipped down to your elbow, fully revealing the long, pale scars torn along your forearm.

The sight sent a harsh jolt of dread down his spine. He squeezed his eyes shut.

You were completely engrossed in your work as your fingers flashed over the keyboard, whispering obscenities at the numerous error windows popping up.

He reflexively tightened his grip around you, almost painfully. He started shaking and his breath hitched in his throat. You stopped typing. He felt the immediate change in your demeanor and he knew he'd been found out.

“Bad night?”

He didn’t answer.

You gently shut the laptop, its fans angrily whirring, and propped it up so the vents would cool. “Let’s get back to bed.”

In the bedroom, you slipped into the bed behind him and wrapped your arms around him, throwing your leg over him to pull yourself as close to him as you could, tucking his head under your chin. “Hey, Spengs.”

He grabbed one of your hands and pressed a kiss to your palm, held it against his cheek, feeling the slightest bit of the tension in his stomach unwind from the warmth of your touch.

You knew the answers to the questions you were about to ask, but you wanted to hear them said in his own words. “What are you feeling?”

A moment of silence passed.

His voice was thick and quaking when he was finally able to summon it, breaking the tremulous silence. “Dread.”

“About?”

“Tonight.” He cleared his throat. “It isn’t my decision to make for you, nor should it be,” he said, holding your hand to his chest. “And I really, really want to try and convince you to reconsider, but I shouldn’t, because objectively, your choice is perfectly rational.” He swallowed. “But, I’m terrified, and I want to want you to go, but I don’t. To be perfectly honest, I think yours is the best idea for putting a new foot forward, but I’m absolutely dreading it with every fiber of my being.”

"Maybe you should sit it out."

He shook his head. “I think I need this call much more than you do.”

You were inclined to agree, but you kept that to yourself. “I think it’ll be good for both of us.” You adjusted your position to one a bit more comfortable. “Try to get some sleep, Spengs.”

He stayed quiet, holding your hand tightly to his chest. He trembled from the tension radiating across his body.

“I’ll stay here for a while, if you’d like.”

He took a breath and sighed deeply, and you felt some of his tension relax.

“Thank you.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The Ecto-One was parked just outside the large tunnel of a decayed storm drain covered in layers of faded graffiti, with sickly pale yellow weeds growing in its numerous cracks. The day was just passing into evening, the sun sat swollen and red on the horizon as everyone readied their gear. The smog caused the glowing skyline to flicker, blurring the boundary between the city and the darkening sky.

All the boys now had their own emergency medical kit strapped to their proton pack, which added an additional five pounds to its heavy bulk. You opted to skip carrying a proton pack, instead carrying a large bag with refrigerated canisters and numerous tools for sample collecting. You stuffed a freshly harvested rabbit from the butcher into one of your oversized jumpsuit pockets, along with a few stones of Aztec turquoise.

Winston finished strapping on his equipment and looked around. “It’s exactly as we left it,” he said brightly. “Disgusting.”

“Oh, hey!” Peter trotted to the front of the tunnel and pointed to a large scorch mark. “This is where I blew up that one cult lady!” He put his hands on his hips. “Can’t believe it’s still here three years later,” he mused.

“Do you mean a ghost?” you asked as you prepped your streptolysin solutions. “Or did you blow up a live person?”

“Oh, I absolutely blew up a person. Oh!” He trotted over to another, much larger scorch mark. “And here’s where Egon nailed two at once!”

You snickered and glanced at Egon. Ray was muttering to him as the two readied their gear. Egon's hands were violently shaking as he struggled to secure the straps of his proton pack around his chest. Ray gently put his hands over Egon’s and held them steady until each strap was buckled into place. You turned away, providing them a bit of discretion.

“Why do I have to be the one to lure it out?” Peter whined.

“You volunteered for it,” Winston said. “But I’ll do it instead if you’d like.”

“No,” Peter said. “I want to do it.”

You held up the PKE meter, and it started glowing. “It’s resting in the tunnel.”

Peter poured out a half-circle of blessed salt with about a ten-foot radius, and stood just behind it, with its open end facing the tunnel.

“You remember how to lure it out?” she asked.

Peter nodded, rubbed his hands together, and cupped them over his mouth. “Oh, boy!” he hollered. “I would sure love to make a deal to acquire some supernatural knowledge in exchange for my delicious, tender Kosher-friendly flesh!”

You cocked an eyebrow at his crass phrasing, but now was not the time to acknowledge it.

The PKE meter flared in your hand just as the scent of rancid meat flooded the clearing.

Something began stirring from within the tunnel. Slowly, the demon uncurled from its sleeping position and stood up. Its flesh was partially rotted away and hanging from its skeleton, wet and gangrenous; it stood on gangly lion-like paws, emaciated; its arms dragged on the ground as it moved forward, painful and slow, very hesitant to put weight on one of its legs. The creature was grotesque, deformed and decaying as it slowly limped towards Peter, walked into the center of the circle and halted a few feet from him.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said pleasantly. “You don’t really look like the picture you placed in the Singles Newspaper ads.”

“Reddite carnem vestram, desertam a pastore vestro te ducere cognitionis deo,” the creature growled at Peter, its breathing labored and ragged between its words, unaware that you were rapidly pouring salt on the ground and closing the circle.

"Oh, I'm very flattered. But, I'm married. Dana already has claim to my flesh. You’ll need to take it up with her before we go through with anything."

You gave him a thumbs-up and he nodded back at you. “She’s trapped in there, right? No way to get out?”

“She could decorporealize her form and remanifest in her home realm,” Egon piped up, his deep voice somewhat strained. “But, in our world, she’s limited to the perimeter of the salt circle.”

“Good. I wanna see what will happen if I say something Christian-y to her.”

“Don’t say something Christian-y to her!” you, Ray, Egon, and Winston all exclaimed at once.

Peter stood at the edge of the salt circle and locked eyes with the beast, his mouth twisted into a devious sneer. “Bless you.”

The creature shrieked in outrage and Peter yelped as he was showered with a harsh downpour of ectoplasm. He stood rigid for a moment with his head ducked, absolutely drenched in thick, hot goo as the creature paced in the salt circle, shaking its head. “You never mentioned that she could slime the hell out of us,” he said, dripping ectoplasm on the ground. “Would’ve been useful info to have. Thanks.”

“I didn’t know Buerian entities could do that!” You couldn’t hide the excitement in your voice. “This is going to be the first documented report of it ever happening.”

“Guys, I’m gonna tap out on this one,” Peter said flatly. He walked a few paces, every movement accompanied by a wet squelch, and laid down on his back with his arms outstretched. “Goodnight.”

You started walking towards the salt circle. The creature snarled at your approach and Egon instinctively seized your forearm with an iron grip, but immediately let go when you gasped, “Ow!”

“I’m sorry,” he stammered quickly, struggling to keep the quiver in his chest from reaching his voice.

The beast cackled in delight. “Ab hoste maligno defende me, Anima Christi,” it croaked jeeringly, baring several rows of filthy human teeth.

“We don’t mean you harm,” you said, walking up to the edge of the salt circle and bowing. “Do you speak English?”

The PKE meter in your hand whirred excitedly and rapidly flashed through different color signals, jerking back and forth in your hand like a captured fish and almost jumping out of your grip.

The creature hissed again and backed itself as far as it could within the confines of the salt circle. "What is that?!"

"Spectrometer. It helps us find spirits." You silenced the PKE meter and stuck it in your back pocket, your head still bowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m actually very excited to meet you.”

After warily eying you for a moment, the creature lowered its hackles and bowed its head in return.

“I brought you some gifts, and I have some questions if it’s okay with you,” you said, stepping into the salt circle. The creature cocked its head as you laid the rabbit and turquoise on the ground. “Who is your master?”

“I serve my Lord and Shepherd Buer, master of knowledge and power,” it growled, lifting the rabbit up by one foot and looking it over. “Commander of The Fifty Legions and the greatest of Kings. Praise be to Him.”

“Are you the last of his legion in our world?” you asked.

The creature hungrily sank its teeth into the rabbit’s belly with a sickening squelch and tore out a mouthful of innards, swallowing them without chewing. “Yes. Until my Lord ascends from the depths and lays claim to this world as an expansion of His kingdom.”

“Thanks for the heads up!” Ray piped up from behind the salt circle. “That is incredibly foreboding.”

The creature cackled in amusement, its teeth and chin filthy with gore. “It is upon the nature of your shepherd to keep you sheep ignorant of your impending slaughter. My ilk is that of knowledge, which you so scornfully cast away as the original sin for fear of what it may unearth.”

“How many languages do you know?” Ray asked.

“My good and generous Lord blesses me and my brethren with knowledge of all tongues of Man. Can you truthfully say the same for your Lord your kind so desperately grovels to?” It bit the head off the rabbit with a swift crunch and swallowed it whole. “Can you even guarantee the merit of your beliefs?”

“That’s a pretty loaded question,” Ray said. “We vacuumed up a chumbo out of a Caribbean restaurant last month, and an oni at the Shinto temple four days ago, so I don’t know what the heck is happening on your guys’ side of the realm. You should consider unionizing.”

“The sun is due soon," you said to the beast as it gnawed on its rabbit, "and you can't stay here. I don't want to leave you trapped here to cook at dawn, and I don't want to lock you away in a box to decay for your last few hours. Sagittarius will be over today. You should go home."

“Did she just tell it to go to hell?” Peter muttered to himself.

The beast chuckled at Peter's remark, but kept its attention on you. "You are the most cordial of exorcists. Perhaps the fearful grip of your Lord is slipping? Why does He so jealousy forbid knowledge in His domain?” It bowed its head again. “For your generous gift of flesh, I shall take my leave per your request back to the domain of mine Lord Father upon this dying breath of the sigil.” The beast quickly devoured the rest of the rabbit and crossed its arms over its chest.

“Nearer mine God to thee, oh great Lord of Buer. May it serve thee well.”

A pop, a flash of black flames, and the creature was gone, leaving behind a scorched mark in the dirt.

You pulled the PKE meter out of your back pocket and switched it back on, but it remained silent. “It's gone.”

"Woo!" Ray hollered, pumping his fist in the air. "A bust can't go any more perfectly than that!"

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard as much blasphemy as I did tonight,” Winston mused. “But she was very polite.”

You bent over and pocketed the turquoise, now colored black. “Oh, yeah. Higher intelligence demons are pretty affable. It’s easier to sway people by being friendly.”

“Yeah, I found her to be incredibly friendly, YN," Peter said bitingly. "Just like you said."

You walked over to Peter, who was still lying flat on his back with his arms outstretched, absolutely filthy with ectoplasm, and crouched down next to him. “How are you doing, Pete?”

"She slimed me…" he said flatly.

“That’s great!” Winston and Ray said in unison.

"Stay still," you said, pulling out a field sample kit from your bag.

"You and Janine are the experts," he said as you swiped a swab across his forehead. "How can I get this stuff out of my hair in time for our dinner tomorrow?"

"Let it soak in unrefined coconut oil for about two hours, then wash it out twice with lukewarm water and a shampoo with sodium laureth sulfate as its main surfactant. Don't use hot water because the slime will cook in your hair like scrambled eggs and be a nightmare to wash out."

Peter sat up. "Do you swear by this method?"

"Yeah." You snapped off the swab inside the collection tube and screwed on its lid. "It works pretty w—”

Plap.

“Ah!" you yelped when Peter slapped a handful of ectoplasm on top of your head. "My hair!" you whined. You ran your hand through your hair and pulled away a handful of hot, stringy slime, absolutely disgusted. "Peter!"

"You're a Ghostbuster again, girlie. Get used to—AAAAH!" he yowled when you tackled him over with a vicious snarl, spattering slime all over the place as you wrestled him to the ground.

“Alrighty, kids. Break it up before I have to call your parents.” Winston tapped your heel with his boot and you released Peter.

“Second time this month I’ve had to rescue you from your own sister, Venkman,” Winston said as you got to your feet, completely covered in a thick, mucousy layer of slime from head to toe and smiling like a goon.

You turned to Egon, who no longer looked like he was seconds away from becoming violently ill, and handed him back the PKE meter, now absolutely drenched in filth. He was still trembling a bit from residual nervousness, but the familiar gleam that had been missing for the past few months had partly returned to his tired eyes. "I'm proud of you. You did well."

You grinned at him with absolute delight, globs of fluorescent ectoplasm dripping off her head like raw egg whites. “I got my Buerian ectoplasmic sample.”

“Yes, I see. You’ve got about a gallon of it dripping off your head.”

“I think you need a hug, Spengs.”

"That won't be necessary. I feel much more reassured and my stress will greatly decrease in the coming hours once the cortisol in my blood is metabolized an—Oh…" Egon muttered in defeat as you pulled him into a tight hug with a sickening squelch, trying to get as much ectoplasm on him as you could. A smile slowly crept across his lips. "Oh, yes. Thank you, sweetheart. Yes, I love you, too."

"I also love you, Eegs," Peter said as he approached Egon with open arms.

"I love you as long as you stay at least five feet away from me right now, Venkman."

Peter put his arms down. "Yeah, alright. That's fair."

Part 2

#egon x reader #egon spengler x reader #ghostbusters fanfiction #ghostbusters x reader #ghostbusters #egon spengler #ray stantz #winston zeddemore #peter venkman #Reader is Peter's sister because that's an absolute recipe for chaos #reader insert #ghostbusters angst #ghostbuster x reader #keep you safe

189 notes · View notes

sgkophie · 2 years

Text

Charles Leclerc One Shot - Hidden Love Part 2 - Request

Read part one HERE!

Pairing: Reader x Charles Leclerc

Warnings: smut, language,

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: Charles and reader go to Monza, where he comes 3rd in the race. Charles is upset that reader goes to congratulate his archival Max first. Smut ensues ;-)

Word Count: 4k

AN: So, I had a request for a Part 2 of Hidden Love and then this request above - so I figured I would merge them together!

******

A year and a half had gone after Charles had admitted his love for me at the Austrian Grand Prix. We were now in the 2023 Season, and Charles was winning the championship – although only by a small margin. Things had begun to heat up between Charles and Max. With only 20 points between them and fewer than half the races left in the season, there was everything to race for. Tension had begun to rise between the two racers – and the two teams for that matter. Still, that hadn’t stopped me from becoming closer friends with Kelly, Max’s girlfriend. With both of us attending most of the races and coming from Monaco, we were often on the same private jets and car rides to and from the airport. The boys might have decided they were enemies this season, but that didn’t mean Kelly and I had to be.

In fact, Kelly begun to drop by my art gallery quite a bit, and I saw her at many of the big Monaco events. As a representative for my gallery, I was attending more and more gala events as a way to bring in new clients. My newest collection was stunning, and it was truly an honor to be able to represent such an incredible artist. Max and Kelly had even bought a few paintings for their home, which had helped me bring in several new clients to the gallery.

I knew Charles was slightly annoyed at our friendship, but I refused to apologize for it. No sport was going to come between me and my career. If Kelly and Max wanted to support a local gallery, good for them.

About a month ago, Charles and I had decided to move in together. I felt like it was possibly a little too soon, but as Pierre said – we’d been in love for almost 7 years, we’d waited long enough. I was pretty sure he just wanted our Monaco apartment to himself, but I agreed with him. With Charles traveling so much and my career picking up, it was becoming harder for me to attend races, so being able to see him when he was home was a real selling point.

Needless to say, ever since I had let Charles into my life, I felt like I was on an upwards trajectory. Pierre would probably only partially agree, but only because he was frustrated that he now had to share me between on race weekends. I spent my time fairly split between the Alpha Tauri garage and the Ferrari one. I felt a little guilty, but honestly your parents were always with Pierre and Charles’ mother was split between him and Arthur, so I wanted to make sure that Charles had someone too.

Regardless, Pierre was thrilled that we had begun dating. He made it very clear to Charles that their friendship hinged on him being the best boyfriend a girl could possibly ask for – which of course Charles obliged. Honestly, I felt like it had made them even closer. Now evenings were spent the three of us, drinking wine and watching silly television shows.

The week before Monza, I was asked to help host an event at a local hotel. The event would showcase a new collection of impressionist paintings that the gallery had put together. The guest list was of a decent size, no more than 500 people, which was plenty for a collection of this size.

Unfortunately Charles and Pierre were both in Italy working on the Sims for their respective teams, but Max and Kelly had graciously accepted the invite. I got the feeling they were looking for a little escape from P, and I was happy to oblige them that refuge.

As the night dwindled on, the champagne kept flowing. I had recruited several contacts for the collection and I was feeling on cloud 9 – until I saw a familiar face in the crowd.

Fuck, it’s Gerardo, I panicked.

We hadn’t spoken since a few days after the Austrian Grand Prix where he decided to follow up on his breakup text with a string of insults, curses and sexist remarks. I blocked him after that, and while Monaco was a small country, I was fortunately able to avoid him over the last year. But I knew eventually we would run into each other again.

Before I could turn around and make an escape, I heard a name calling out for me.

Shit, he had seen me. Maybe he won’t make a scene.

I turned around to the voice that was calling me, but as I turned around I bumped into a large chest. Gerardo was already next to me, his eyes told me he had definitely been indulging in the free champagne. “Well, well, well – if it isn’t Charles Leclerc’s little bitch,” he chided.

I moved to go around him, hoping to ignore him, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me closer. “I think we have some unfinished business to discuss.”

“Get your hands off of me,” I demanded, trying to pull away from Gerardo to no avail. Gerardo grabbed me closer and started to pull me outside of the crowd and towards an open balcony. I looked around, hoping I could see a familiar face and have them intervene, but all I saw were strangers, and making a scene in front of my potential clients seemed worse than chatting with Gerardo on the balcony.

“You have some explaining to do,” he demanded as we walked outside, still gripping onto me.

As I went to open my mouth to defend myself, I heard a noise behind me. “(Y/N), all ok?” I heard the familiar voice call out.

Max, thank fuck he was here. Before I could respond, Max walked over to me, his usual grin on his face, although I could see behind his eyes he was furious – and concerned.

“Who is this (Y/N)?” he asked casually. By now Gerardo had dropped my arm, likely due to the fact that a two time World Champion F1 driver was standing in front of him.

“I-I’m Gerardo,” he gritted out. I wasn’t sure if he was pleased to be meeting the Max Verstappen, or if he was slightly annoyed that we had been bothered. Likely both.

“Ahh, yes, the ex-boyfriend. Charles has told me about you. Gotta say, he was a bit kinder than I would have been. He only said you were kind of overweight with a slightly unappealing face, but all I see is an overweight asshole with an ugly face.” Max put the emphasis on asshole.

I let a small smirk come onto my face. Gerardo clearly had no idea what to say to that.

“Now, I suggest you piss off back to your pathetic friends, before I report you to the event staff and get you banned from every event in Monaco. Do I make myself clear?”

Gerardo only nodded, huffing as he left the balcony. I turned to Max and gave him a gigantic hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I breathed, finally letting go of the breath I was holding in.

“Get that guy on the banned list, (Y/N) – you don’t deserve to be treated like that.” I nodded shyly and agreed with him. I truthfully wasn’t sure how Gerardo had managed to get onto the invite list. Soon after, Kelly spotted us on the balcony and came over. After Max explained the situation, Kelly insisted that they help get me home.

As we walked into kitchen on Charles’ and I’s apartment, I offered them both a cup of tea. I figured they were both tired and would decline, but to my surprise Max and Kelly both accepted. I supposed that they were wanting to make sure I was okay, which was kind of them, and truthfully – I didn’t really want to be alone right now. Charles wasn’t back until tomorrow, and I was a little shaken up after the incident with Gerardo.

I finished making the cups of tea and saw them down in front of us in the living room. Max and Kelly took a seat on the sofa across from us.

“Thanks again, Max. I know you and Charles aren’t exactly on the best of terms, but I appreciate you guys coming and stepping in there.”

Max just smiled at me. “Of course. Look, I know Charles is frustrated and he wants the Championship and its caused us to drift apart. I get it. I feel like now I understood how Lewis saw me all those years ago. That first season when I was desperate for the win, I wanted it so badly. I was angry. It eats away at you, but now – now not so much.

Also, I’d never let another driver’s girlfriend be in harms way, even if we were angry with each other. Plus – Pierre would never forgive me. I hear your brother can pack a punch,” he added with a laugh. I nodded; it made sense and I appreciated Max’s candor.

A few more minutes passed of us idly chatting about P and a new redecorating project they had taken on, when I heard the sound of the door lock click. As we all turned our heads towards the door, in walked Charles with all of his luggage. His eyes looked tired and he dropped his bags on the side table placed next to the house door.

“Charles? What are you doing here – you don’t get back until tomorrow,” I squealed, quickly jumping up and running towards my boyfriend. Upon the sound of my voice, a smile leapt onto his face and he looked up. However, as Charles looked up, the smile immediately turned into a frown when he saw Max Verstappen, his rival, sitting on his couch, drinking tea from his mug.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Charles gritted out.

“Charles, I can explain.”

“Explain why my fucking rival is here, hanging out with my girlfriend?” He said it with such anger, but I rolled my eyes, pointing to Kelly in the process. I don’t think he meant to imply I was cheating on him, especially with Kelly sitting there, sipping tea in our living room, but it certainly came out that way.

“Dude, I just wanted to make sure your girlfriend got home okay,” Max said, throwing his hands up in the process. Kelly shot Max a look that said don’t escalate this please, but I felt like Charles was going to beat Max to it anyway.

“Look I know Max and Kelly come to your little events, but that doesn’t mean we need to invite them round for tea,” he spit out, walking towards Max.

“Excuse me?!” I blanched, stepping closer to Charles. The look on his face told me he knew he had fucked up.

“Little events? I’m sorry my events don’t bring in 300 thousand people from around the world, but at least they perpetuate art and character around Monaco. More than I can say for a job where you drive a little red car around a little race track.” I knew I was now the one who was escalating the situation, but I was pissed. Charles had never degraded my work before.

I saw a smile slightly grow on Max’s face, but Kelly gave him a look that clearly said we should go. As they both moved away from the couch, Kelly came up to me and gave me a hug. “Glad you’re doing ok – call me tomorrow, okay?” I nodded to her and watched Max step towards me, his arms slightly outstretched, as if he was going to offer a hug. I heard Charles scoff uncomfortably as I wrapped my arms around Max, thanking him again for the help.

Once the door was shut I turned to Charles, arms waving in the air.

“Care to explain why you decided to pick a fight in the middle of our living room for no apparent reason?” I demanded.

“I’m going to bed,” Charles gritted out. He had never been one to face a fight in the evening. Probably for the best.

“As long as it’s the guest room!” I called out after him.

And with that, I heard the guest room door slam.

Charles POV

I woke up the next morning with a pounding headache. As I turned to my left, I saw an empty spot in the bed and remembered that I was in the guest room – without (Y/N). I knew I had screwed up. Yesterday had been a disaster. After the mishaps at last week’s race weekend, I was dragged back to Italy for longer than usual to discuss some new upgrades. That DNF last week had put Max closer to me in the points.

Honestly, the race tension between me and Max was mostly my fault. I was frustrated, competitive and angry – but mostly angry at my team. Sure, Max was driving like an asshole, but he’d always driven like that since we were kids – this wasn’t targeted at me.

Still, seeing him in my living room, chatting away with (Y/N) made me livid. I had caught a late night flight because I was so desperate to see her, desperate to see her beautiful smile. Desperate to wake up with her in my arms.

Instead, I had made the biggest mistake; I had insulted her work. It was unfair, and I was an asshole. She was right – her work was important, hell of a lot more important than driving a car. She spent her life bringing culture into existence – I spent my career bring CO2 into the atmosphere. I didn’t really have much of an upper hand here.

I heard some movement in the kitchen, and decided this was my time to make amends, but things started to spiral even further. I took a quick shower and changed into some jeans and one of (Y/N)’s favorite shirts, but as I walked out into the living room, my face dropped.

Of course he was here. There sitting on my couch was the other Red Bull sponsored driver I didn’t particularly want to see at this moment.

Pierre looked up at me as I entered the living room, a look of disappointment on his face. Not even a few seconds later, (Y/N) walked in with two cups of tea in her hand and a packet of biscuits. She stopped when she saw me, a look of disapproval on her face. Immediately my eyes went to the floor.

Pierre cleared his throat and looked at his sister. “I think you and Charles should talk. I need to go to the gym anyway, call me after?” he said, giving her a tight squeeze as he left the room, completely ignoring my existence.

(Y/N) motioned for me to sit down, which I did across from her.

“I’m so-“ we both started to say at the same time. She paused for a moment, and I took the opportunity to go first.

“(Y/N), I am so incredibly sorry, mon ange. You didn’t deserve any of what I said. This is your place to, and if you want to invite Max and Kelly over, you should have the right to. They went and supported you, more than I did.”

A small smile formed on her lips, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. “I know you are struggling right now, and I know you want to win the championship. I am and always will be your biggest supporter, but Charles, we have to be able to separate our jobs from our personal lives too. Max and Kelly have introduced me to some incredible clients.”

I nodded; I knew she was right. “I’m sorry I disrespected your job though. I love that you drive cars. I love going to the races. I love watching you be happy,” she added.

I moved to the same couch she was sitting on and grabbed her hands in mine, looking up into her eyes. “I know you do, and I hope you realize that I am incredibly supportive of your career,” I said with a smile. She nodded and leaned in, giving me a kiss on the lips, which I happily returned.

She looked as though she was going to say something else, but she closed her lips and just leaned into me. I decided to let it go, if she wanted to tell me more, she could when she was ready.

Your POV

A week had passed since that evening, and as every day went by, I wanted to tell Charles what had happened, but he was so stressed and worried already about Monza, so I didn’t have it in my heart to add to the stress. I knew he would be worried for me. He needed to focus his energy on Monza – and the championship.

However as race day rolled around, it had become clear that Ferrari had once again fucked up Charles’ strategy. Instead of coming in first after earning pole position, he instead came in fourth. Charles was livid. This put him only 10 points behind Max now, who had managed to get into the podium.

After the race ended, I quickly left the garage to find Kelly and give Max a quick wave hello. I knew Charles would need a moment to cool down from his anger – plus he had to wait in line to be weighed. As I saw Max kissing Kelly, I waved to him and he walked over to me – giving me a quick hug. “Congrats, Maxie – some good defending there,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. He thanked me and I quickly excused myself so I could get back to Charles’ driver room. I figured he’d be there fairly soon, after his cool down in the motorhome, and I wanted to be waiting for him.

However as I walked into his drivers room, I was shocked to see Charles sitting there, head in his hands. As soon as I walked in he frowned at me and pointed at the tv.

“You know for someone who meant to be my girlfriend, you’ve sure been spending a lot of time with Max Verstappen,” he said, his voice laced with anger and jealousy.

I knew he was angry and frustrated about the race, but still, I was starting to become annoyed at this. Before I could stop myself I blurted out, “You know for someone who claims to love me, you sure have quite a hatred for the guy who rescued your girlfriend last weekend.” I hadn’t meant for the words to sound quite so harsh, but I was getting angrier by the second.

Charles stopped all of a sudden and looked at me, a look of shock on his face. “Wha- what do you mean?” He was worried, that much I could tell from this voice.

“Last week, when you were away in Italy, Gerardo attended one of the events I put on. He saw me and dragged me outside. Max caught him and basically threatened to end Gerardo’s social life if he ever did it again,” I said with a sigh. I sat down next to him on his sofa.

“Oh, baby, I am so sorry. I am so sorry I wasn’t there. I wish you had told me sooner.” Charles wrapped his arms around me and engulfed me in his embrace. It felt good to get this off of my chest. I nuzzled deeper into Charles’ chest, feeling his warming embrace surround me. We sat like that for a minute, the sound of screaming fans getting softer as fans started to dissipate.

I looked up at Charles and smiled, giving him a kiss on the lips. Charles grabbed the back of my head and pulled me deeper into the kiss, his tongue slowly asking for permission. I obliged and he pulled me onto his lap. His hands started to languidly run up and down my back as he repositioned me onto him, my legs now wrapped around his torso as he smiled into the kiss.

“We don’t have to if you aren’t up for it,” he said, biting his bottom lip. Bastard knew what that did to me. I just chuckled and leaned again into the kiss, still smiling.

“I want you, Charles Leclerc,” I breathed. “Need you so bad.”

Charles nodded and then grabbed the bottom of my dress, pulling it over my head, leaving my bright red bra and thong set on display. He smirked at that – he loved when I wore the red set for him. I slowly started to undo his racing uniform, and he stood up and pulled it all off of him, followed by his fireproof clothing.

Charles pulled me back on top of him, letting his hands skim over my breasts and down into my heated core, where I truly wanted him most. “Oh, mon coeur, you’re so wet for my already I see?” He asked, but it wasn’t really a question – more of a statement. His hands slid into my underwear and he began to tease my clit, enjoying the soft moans he was pulling from my body.

I grabbed onto his hear, raking my nails over his scalp as Charles picked up his pace a bit, sliding not one by two fingers into me at the same time.

“Charl…fuck.” I groaned out, letting my hips move over his torso. I could feel his hard on as I ground on top of him, but still he kept up with his fingers, placing soft kisses on my neck and shoulders. I could feel myself start to get close, my moans were getting louder and louder. I moved my hand to my lips, trying to help silence my moans, but Charles used his other hand to grab it away from my face.

“Oh no, don’t even think about it,” he demanded, taking my hand and putting it behind my back, as his other hand continued its assault on my clit. Finally Charles sunk in a third finger, and I was done for. You could hear the wetness as his fingers slid in and out of me, and as Charles picked up his pace, I began to see stars.

“Let go for me baby, you deserve it,” he whispered in my ears. And let go I did. Ripples of pleasure tore through my body, and as I started to come down from my high, I slumped into his body, letting him hold me up. Charles quickly moved my thong to the side and pulled his cock free from his boxers. I felt him slide it up and down my warmth, hissing a bit at the contact. He looked into my eyes, silently asking for permission and I nodded, giving him a messy kiss on the lips for all the confirmation he needed.

Slowly Charles pulled me down onto him. It didn’t matter how many times Charles and I had been intimate, I could never get over of how full I felt when he was inside of me. It felt like absolute heaven. Slowly Charles started to move in and out of me, and his head buried into my neck as he continued to kiss my sweet spot that he had discovered last year in Austria.

“You feel like heaven, princess,” he cooed, whispering softly in my ear. It was probably embarrassing how fast I was to approaching my second orgasm, but Charles was good like that. He knew my body like the back of his hands, and he had spent the last year and half studying it. As he started to go faster, he carefully shifted the angle of his thrusts, making them go even deeper inside me. I called out his name, clutching on his back and hair even harder than I had before.

With just another few thrusts, I was coming undone with another earth shattering orgasm from Charles. My own orgasm triggered his, and he was right behind me, calling out my name into my neck as he panted. Soon we both came down from our highs and he looked at me, pulling my lips to his, him still inside of me.

“I love you,” Charles hummed into my ear. “Come on, let’s get you home so I can properly show you how much I love you.”

And show me he did.

*******

@charlesleclercje - here's that part 2 you wanted! <3

@phiadc @xeqr - thanks for reading Part 1!

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incarnateirony · 1 year

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The censorship of Persona 4 has always been a fascinating topic to me.

Not only the whole "deleted queer romance dating paths with full dual language audio on disc still" part, which is over discussed.

But the margin writing. In 2007, the amount of queerness achieved seemed impressive, but SMT had intended more, far more. Kanji needed a "maybe it wasn't about gender but fear of rejection" buffer despite the gay hot tub and split queer self weilding gender signs.

And Naoto?

Boy, Naoto got taken for a ride.

Naoto was first designed as a cis boy, and yes, Kanji x Naoto, and Kanji's bisexual panic. However, the transing and detransing of Naoto began all at once. After all, it can't be censored as gay if ~he's actually a ~she, right? Nevermind maintaining masc presentation and shit but okay it's 2007, we get it. No need for the body alteration procedure with the shadow WE GOT IT OK.

But then like, Golden and later content came out. And while I love me some Chad Yu, I'm less fond of the direction with naoto.

Every fandom in the history of ever has some self interested douchebag that literally refuses to let people debate things like queer cultural limits by era, design intent and changes, it's just What They Can Argue In Hard Canon, rather than What People Might Appreciate In Context Of The Show Paradigm.

So like, that kind of arguing already happened but everything that came in the reboot CLEARLY came with a new command from ATLUS international to Girl Up Naoto. Tittydance butch queen was apparently more marketable than dorky lil trans guy in the sidebar, so all the new content added eyelashes, changed Naoto's face shape subtly, shoved them in naked positions and bathtub scenarios and things they were clearly uncomfortable as hell in, and just left me sitting there squirming.

Even before I had unpacked my own trans shit it made me INTENSELY uncomfortable because NAOTO, regardless of what pronoun or gender you see on them, was intensely uncomfortable and nobody around them cared. And then the animation changed for the design change, and it just kept skewing further and further and further until by dancing spinoffs the character is barely recognizeable beyond color pallate.

Like, I would never buckle down and really argue, "it is 100% hard text canon Naoto is trans and there is no other interpretation." But on the other hand, it's just as silly to argue it from the other absolute. Looking at the game history, a mix of intent, adjustment, barriers, dubs, translations, international marketing limits and whatever else completely recontextualizes the discussion in a way I don't think the average discourse really holds up to in meaningful lit crit, everyone's just yelling NUH UH at each other, as happens, in every fuckin' fandom.

Naoto, if anything, is more an interesting landmark historically IN queer and gender issues, with a flavor of Gold Star Attempt Totally Butchered Trans Stuff circa 200X. Was there stuff that is. Not. Great. Modernly? Yeah. All around. There's still lolgay jokes even in a game this gay, there's some dated elements all around, so it's just weird that this part of the debate is expected to be frozen in time and not discussed in the context of both the series and cultural evolution.

Anyway dems my thoughts.

(WHY DOES NAOTO HAVE A TITTYCUT BUST LIKE THIS IN THE DANCE GAME. THE GOLDEN OUTFIT ADDITION ON THE RIGHT WAS BAD ENOUGH)

#persona 4 #naoto shirogane

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system-of-a-feather · 1 year

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Some Anecdotal Debunking Things About DID Treatment and DID in General

So we're thinking of possibly taking a VOLUNTARY break from therapy as we swap insurances, pick up a new job, open a new part in life etc due to it being an additional complication and we have gotten to a place in healing where we are not as dependent on regular professional support (though we do intend to return when settled to work through a few more things)

And while I know its no where compared to how long some others have been in it, after 7 years of weekly / biweekly therapy and 5 years of DID specialist therapist who explicitly worked with the FBI that helped victims from trafficking cases (luckily not us) just some straight up things about DID that I see non-DID people saying especially on a certain other website that starts with r and ends int t.

Thought it would be a fun thing to do while biking and before studying.

DISCLAIMER: This is based on my experience in healing and working with my therapist. My answers are not the only experience. This is 100% anecdotal. I don't think this will get big enough for me to need to say this, but do not use this post as evidence for literally anything.

"DID isn't having a bunch of friends in your head talking and making jokes and waiting for turns!"

Eh, usually not but why can't it be? Like it takes time and work but people without DID can sit in their head and make jokes at themselves and have fun with themselves. Why is it so outlandish that someone with DID could eventually be happy enough with themselves to get that? Cause tbh, its a lot of how thing are now for us so...

"DID is due to severe and horrific childhood trauma! There can't be this many people who experienced that!"

Oh how I WISH I had your naivety.

"No therapist would just acknowledge something! They would always diagnose! If they don't diagnose you don't have it."

Nah they do. Sometimes its not the main or relevant concern to diagnose (as DID is the primary diagnosis) and other times the diagnosis itself is stigmatizing and/or not the strongest in its construct (a lot of personality disorders) or most of the symptoms of that disorder are mostly covered by other disorders; or just straight up they don't like to diagnose those disorders for a number of clinical reasons. Also, sometimes people are undiagnosable which does not mean "does not have" but that their specific case makes it impossible to create a certain diagnostic differential as it is unclear which came first. We are undiagnosable for autism as we have had an autism and trauma specialist both say we behave and appear very autistic however we have too few overt dysfunctions so it is unsure if we "learned it" from the two family members we have + have OCD, OCPD and PTSD or if we are just a well-adjusted / adapted individual. Either way, it would hardly be a relevant diagnosis, so no therapist finds value in trying to spend time getting the the core of it.

"You can't switch on command!"

Yes but no. You can learn to be really good at switching and drawing parts out but there will always be a margin of error cause shit be like that.

"You can't have two alters talking at the same time at the front! You can't rapid switch"

Yeah nah, we've had four it's chill. Welcome to lessening dissociative barriers.

"You can't split alters after childhood"

the fuck you on about of course you can life sucks after childhood too dumbass

"Introjects / Fictional Introjects aren't real!"

Nah. *sips drink in introject*

"Animal alters aren't real! Inanimate object alters aren't real!"

Nah. Our therapist has seen dragons and zombies and werewolves, we had even specifically mentioned this. They're pretty darn common.

"Why are all their alters QUEER?"

Have you considered.... that they might be queer? Just a thought.

"If you had DID people would know! It would be obvious!"

Nope.

"If you had DID no one would know! It would be covert!"

Also nope.

"A GOOD therapist would not let you operate as different parts! They wouldn't feed into the delusion! They'd have you fuse"

Wow, I didn't know forcing your patient to do anything is the HALLMARK of a good therapist, thanks for letting me know. /s

"DID is a life altering disorder! It would ruin your life! You would be unable to do anything!"

Uhhhh no. That's just infantilizing and honestly a really negative / problematic thing to say about anyone with mental illness. Thats the shit that perpetuates the "this mentally ill person should be institutionalized 24/7

"People with DID can't drive!"

Partially true. A lot of people with DID can struggle with driving, but plenty can navigate that.

"Parts can't talk to one another! Parts don't know about eachother! Parts dont know / talk / do XYZ"

Nope. Just that shits all dumb ngl get your head out of your ass.

"People with DID would hate having parts! People with DID would not actually identify as multiple people! People with DID would be chronically miserable!"

Bro stop. Not true.

"People with DID would ALWAYS identify as multiple people. People with DID would LOVE having parts"

Not as common of a thing I've heard but also not true

"Befriending and sharing your experiences / being overt with your DID expression is only harmful and only worsening the condition."

Nah a large part of DID recovery is learning about your disorder and the parts you have to navigate life with and realistically it is very difficult to hide this disorder from people who are permanent parts in your life so a lot of the time - at least with your close personnel - it's very important to be open and communicative about it and leave space for all parts to exist as they wish.

"You can't have THAT many disorders"

Have you read about how badly chronic childhood stress fucks up the body and brain? People with DID tend to have a fucking essay worth of diagnoses. Chronic childhood traumatic stress is extremely damaging and taxing.

That's all for now cause I need to get to studying but just a few. Maybe Ill add more as I think of more stupid things I've heard.

EDIT: one more important one

"XYZ trauma isn't real! This is all just the Satanic Panic! False Memories! Iatrogenic! XYZ trauma is fake! RAMCOA isn't real!"

You are a mother fucking little bitchy asshole huh. Who the fuck do you think you are? Please refer to fucking #2 and I wish I had your naivety

#alter: riku #actuallydid #dissociative identity disorder #fakeclaiming #did #probably some xiv snark too #ill give him credit #i dont hear him but probably passive influence #alter: xiv

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halloiambored · 2 years

Text

Random Snippet

CW: ‘woops, I’ve been stabbed! Would you look at that…’ Of course, Hero is very explicit when tired, but aren’t we all.

Dear god, it is 3:17 in the morning.

Hero glared daggers at their bedside clock, grumbling as yet another round of knocks cut through the silence of their apartment.

Getting out of bed was a struggle, and with every bang their grumpy rage grew by a significant margin.

It’s 3:17 in the fucking morning.

“I swear to all that is good in this world, if you aren’t dying, I am going to kill you mys—”

It was Villain. They did not have enough energy to deal with this.

“Hero! Oh my, you look terrible, what have you done to your hair?”

Morally, Hero knew they shouldn’t slam the door in their face… but damn was it an appealing thought. No, instead they settled for crossing their arms and deepening their scowl.

“I slept. What the fuck do you want?”

“Lllanguge! Why so grumpy? It’s not like I woke you up or anything,” Villain smirked, they knew exactly what they did. The bastard. “I just wanted to sleep here - pretty please?”

Silence. Did they hear that right?

“Damnit Villain, I’m going inside. If you know what’s good for you, get the hell off this property.”

A shaking hand stopped the door from closing, and for a split second Villain looked scared. Genuinely scared.

It was gone almost immediately, so Hero attributed it to the poorly lit hallway.

“Look, I need a place to stay. Sssoo… I’m sleeping here with you. But don’t worry, there’s no need to make accommodations. I’m sure your bed is perfect.” They winked.

“No - nope, not a chance. Go away. I’m tired as a fucking sloth who took one to many Benadryl —”

“What?”

“Nope, a sloth, don’t question it. Goodnight, Villain! I mean it, I’m tired. Wish you the worst of dreams.” This time Villains foot blocked the door, and Hero almost stomped on it. The fucker.

“You’re so mean when you’re tired - do we need to talk about your aptitude for profanity?” Though originally snarky, the mischievous glint in Villain’s eyes disappeared with Hero’s growing impatience.

“Okay, seriously Hero, I can’t go anywhere else. I don’t think I’d make it. So I’m sorry for bothering you - I really am - but please let me come inside.”

At that, Hero squinted, trying to make out some kind of injury. They seemed fine?

“Please, I’ll sleep on the couch. Just let me in?”

Villain’s hope lifted at Hero’s deep exhale, and the way their nemesis scrunched up their face to rub their eyes. It was promising!

“Fine. But you owe me an explanation in the morning.”

As Villain hopped through the entryway their mask of false confidence bounded back in full force. Yet, even then Hero noticed a weird limp in their steps - and the way their right arm was at a crooked angle.

Sighing, they wondered what the hell Villain had gotten themselves into this time…

#original #hero x villain #writing prompt #not finished #but I’m fucking tired ;)

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sevdrag · 1 year

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spoilers: i am an engineer

hello tumblr, and welcome to the most well informed shitpost you're going to see today: some Fun With Data involving the Harry Du Bois vs Vriska poll that just went around.

We started watching the poll just as the swing in votes started to happen, and as such, we're missing some crucial data I'll be upfront about. The poll started at noon, and we didn't start taking in information until the percentages started to change, at 13:53, so we don't have information on total vote count for the first 2 hours of the poll. And in the rush to nerd out about this, our first few data points of the vote swing - where you see the most change - didn't have total vote count either. There is also a brief period where I had to take my cat to the emergency room, and a longer period where my ass slept because this is just a silly tumble poll. Those present as straight lines in charts like this, but keep in mind, they could have had wild variation for all I know. However, based on the results, I doubt it. Big thanks to @smolalienbee and @pass-the-salt and I think @orderlyhouse for screencapping this data and relentlessly spamming the discord with it so that I could put it in this spreadsheet like the nerd I am. (do YOU have screencaps? DM me!)

Early on in polls like this when total vote count is low, you expect to see big swings -- with 4000 votes total, for example, the amount you need to swing a vote 1% is 80 people. As these go up, however, obviously, the amount of votes needed to swing 1% increases. By the end of this poll, 1541 tumblr users would have had to make UNCOUNTERED votes, that were NOT cancelled out, to move the poll 1%.

According to our data, the swing you see above took place over a two-and-a-half hour period. For the remaining 20 hours of the poll, votes one way or the other weren't significant enough to be seen in the tumblr results.

For those who are interested, our first data point showing the 50/50 split hits at 16:21, when total votes were at 14194. From this point on, voters would have needed at least 248 UNCOUNTERED/NOT CANCELLED OUT votes to change the poll a single 1%. Just numbers to keep in mind! We talk about this at the end :)

Any winning margin smaller than 248 would, therefore, not register to tumblr. Keep in mind that by the end of the poll this number was 1541 votes required to swing a percentage, because the total vote pool grew so heavily.

In the end, as it turns out, after 77,019 votes, the poll was won with a margin of only 618 votes. final percentages were, surprisingly neatly, 50.4% v 49.6%. Won by 0.8%! Now that's a close poll.

(thanks to @mio-nika for grabbing these and @smolalienbee for confirming!)

Because I was additionally curious, and a huge nerd, I wanted to go in and calculate votes per minute to see whether there was anything weird going on. I am going to be polite and put this under a cut to save your dash from my utter nerd joy, but I have caveats to put in here first.

The first thing to keep in mind is that your data is only as good as your collection method! In our case, it was a very unprofessional method that went: someone took a screencap and posted it in Discord, and I entered it into a spreadsheet with the time entered as whatever time Discord registered it. While this ended up being pretty accurate for a 24-hour poll, it presents the problem that will come up when we start talking about votes per minute: I only could measure in increments of a minute, because getting into seconds here would have been (a) impossible and (b) super overkill. However, that means that there's more noise in the votes-per-minute data because everything is assumed to be in increments of 1 full minute. Good scientists acknowledge the weaknesses of their data sets as they do their analysis! (Source: I worked in research for 15 fucking years lol.)

Here is my ESTIMATE of votes per minute at each of the data points taken above. The green trendline is a rolling average that tells the story of the poll, more or less: Lots of quick voting at the beginning, calming down over the (American) evening, then ramping back up at the end. Much like we'd expect, I think.

(And again, remember that the bit in the middle where Americans AND Europeans were asleep presents as a straight line here but could be ALL over the place. We don't have that data because we were sleep like good feral grownups.)

The noise at the beginning, I suspect, is again because I'm measuring over small and discrete increments of time. However, unless Tumblr wants to help me develop an app dumping real-time poll results into my EXCEL 24/7, there's no reasonable way I can see to get around this. Because of the noise there's a big standard deviation on here that I'm too lazy to really dig into because I did all of this while I was supposed to be working for the government, so imagine your error bars appropriately.

So what does this mean?

Well, let's make a couple assumptions for conversational purposes. Looks like people were voting at about 50 votes per minute during the slow times, and up over 100 votes per minute during the fast times.

At the beginning of the 50/50 period, we would have needed 248 votes one way to see the percentage change. Votes per minute at this point were flying, at about 100 votes/minute. That's only (the equivalent of) 3 minutes of voting time that would have had to go SOLID for either Vriska or Harry to produce a 1% change we could see on the face of the poll. And while we certainly weren't watching it live, the density of our data for the next hour or so was pretty solid, and we didn't see a 1% change. We have screencaps, baby! 248 votes going one way or the other at this particular point is chump change at that speed, so it IS surprising that we didn't see more scatter around 49/51 for an hour or so before things settled in.

In fact, I would stretch to say it's unusual to have seen such an even curve as the percentages changed on their way to 50/50, in a case where a few minutes' worth of solid voters could still have an impact, but as this is the first time I've ever done anything like this on a fucking tumble poll, I am not putting money on that either.

If someone wants to pay me, I am more than happy to become a tumble poll expert!

At the end of the poll, votes were also flying in, on average about 80 votes per minute. At this point, we would have needed over 1500 votes one way or another to see a last-minute shift. That's (the equivalent of) 19 solid straight minutes of every single voter picking the same candidate. So at the end it is NOT surprising to not see any 49/51 fluctuation. This is why once polls settle in, they so rarely change. It's just statistics.

So, Sev. Was this poll botted? I don't fucking know. We all need to go outside. However, if you're going to make drama on it, please do it on this post so that I can see. I'm getting laid off in 2 days and I would love the distraction and entertainment!

And a big thanks to @handwrittenhello for all the work they put in to this, and personally for providing me with an opportunity to spend a day doing one of my favorite things: working with data in Excel!

#tumblr's plmm contest #statistics #the most detailed #shitpost #you'll ever see #I WILL SHITPOST SCHOOL YOUR ASSES

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boundinparchment · 1 year

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Dream a Little Dream of Me - XXXI

Celestia has a cruel sense of humor. He’s always known this, ever since his days as a student. But a soulmate? Really? Dottore/Female Reader Soulmate AU. Lore speculation, interpretations, etc. Chapter is on AO3 here.

You woke to the sound of rustling leaves and the distant chirping of birds, the scent of fresh grass mingling with the unmistakable smell of something burning. Shooting upright, your head swam for a moment as you took in the moss-covered machinery and tanks, an overturned desk, and ruined sheets of parchment.

Where were you now? And why couldn’t you just be back in your bed in the inn?

Was this, too, another dream, another nightmare?

The last thing you recalled was your claymore, finally heeding you in a time of need, and the anguish on your soulmate’s face etched into his crimson eyes, before your swing failed and…

You felt the sheets beneath you, moth-eaten and damp, the mattress in even worse shape. Humidity clung to your skin and made everything heavy and sticky. You could move your fingers, your toes, and when you reached down, the moss was spongy and soft. The dryness in your mouth that was becoming more and more noticeable told you that no, this was not, in fact, a dream.

A dull ache sat behind your eyes. Dehydration, most likely. You felt like someone had dunked you into a lake headfirst and then wrung you out to dry.

Everything should have been straightforward after meeting him. This was tiresome, this back and forth, these games.

Games.

That’s all the other one saw you as: a game, an experiment.

Your head pounded even more, blood pressure spiking at the thought that you were nothing more than a toy, again. Acid licked the back of your tongue, sour and vile. What was it with those in power just taking what they wanted and doing as they pleased?

Why did your soulmate have to be someone so vicious, so cruel, that he would split himself and then do harm? Wasn’t there an oath against that for medical practitioners?

You willed yourself to your feet, swaying once as the world wobbled, and then made your way over to the scattered pieces of parchment and the upended desk. The wood was worn, cracked, and warped by both humidity and time. It had been this way for a while. Kneeling down, you picked up a note, the parchment discolored and rippled and the ink flaked. Mold on one corner was slowly making its way through the rest of the note. The text was illegible but not because of the rapid pen strokes and the splashes of ink; only a few characters were recognizable but not in a way that made sense to you. A list of sorts, either inventory or steps in a process. Squinting, you noticed a detailed sketch in the margins and an arrow with another scribble, emphasizing something.

You stood, shook your head, and then winced at the motion. What were you expecting? This place looked as if it had not only seen better days but that someone wanted it to be forgotten. Anything of value was already long gone, by the looks of it.

If that was the case, then you shouldn’t be here, either. There was nothing for you here.

“You’re awake sooner than I anticipated.”

Your shoulders rounded slightly, instinctively. The fire in your stomach was the only thing that kept you from crumbling entirely. Everything you’d waited so long for, hoped for, and this was the result? You looked over your shoulder, turning just enough to take in the sight of a familiar beak-like mask, hair the color of fresh mint, and a blue shirt that did not seem to be well-suited to the humidity. You hated that you knew, too well, what he looked like underneath; and yet you didn’t know him at all.

“And you’re nothing like I expected, Zandik, but neither of us can get what we want, can we?” you snapped, pushing through the pain.

His shoulders drew back and he cocked his head, silence prevailing. You turned, jaw tight, eyes burning.

“And yet you haven’t drawn your weapon against me,” he replied. “So there must be more you wish to say.”

“Nothing that wouldn’t be a complete waste of breath.”

“Try me, then.”

Your hand twitched before you ran your thumb over your calluses, seeking comfort in their presence, in their hardness.

“Everything I worked so hard for, everything I wanted to get away from, and you’ve ripped it from me. I know not everyone gets the best match in a soulmate but to get someone capable of building lies and illusions that play out as if they’re real? I’m so lucky.”

“There’s more to it than that.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care which of you did it. I want nothing to do with you. Any of you. I don’t want a soulmate who sees me as a toy that can be used however they please, as if I’m not my own person.”

The words were sharp around your tongue and they landed as you expected them to, with little impact or effect. You hated that, be it from the years of genuine dream-sharing or the most recent events, you knew the corner of his mouth would twitch, that he would shift his weight and cross his arms, gesturing his words with a casual wave of his hand as if this were any other conversation.

“You’re free to leave. I’m hardly keeping you restrained here against your will. If you think you can defend yourself from the Rishboland tigers and the Eremites and the Withering, let alone my Segment, then do as you please.”

He swept one arm to his side, gesturing behind him. The entrance had been there the whole time, obscured by foliage and branches, but hardly invisible.

“After all, you seem to be quite fine and know your own mind. One such as myself would never ask Celestia for a soulmate anyway. And even if I did, I would not have picked such a spiteful and emotionally inconsistent soulmate who cannot appreciate going beyond the limitations of this pathetic realm. Of all the things I do deserve, it’s someone who isn’t so small-minded.”

Neither of you said another word as you walked past him, pushing branches out of your path and splashing through stray puddles as you went.

He was right and you hated it. Not that you expected any less; he always gave as good as he got, but usually it was teasing, playful. A gunshot would have been preferable. At least then, there would be an end to the sickening knot in your chest.

_______________________________

Sumeru City felt different when you arrived. The path under your feet, worn and welcoming, gave way to paved stone as the Akademiya and its Tree loomed overhead. That stupid Tree and its winding paths was the only indicator you had to the direction you needed to go and it took you the better part of the morning and afternoon to get there.

As you walked through, you saw ladders and tangles of flower garlands being taken down, petals drooping and falling in the process. The streets smelled sweet, the same way Petrichor smelled during the autumn rains; the unmistakable smell of decay. The Sabzeruz Festival was over and it was time to return to normal routine. More than once, you caught children dancing, emulating the dancer you recalled from practice, their parents gushing about the performance.

You’d missed it.

The very thing that you’d stayed behind for, that rescued everyone from your pushback against the Akademiya’s stupid policy.

Another thing, ruined.

If you never came back to Sumeru again, it would be too soon.

When you arrived at the inn, you were just as surprised as your manager, their entire table decorated with invoices and schedules. You were gone long enough to miss the festival but not to miss everyone traveling out of the city.

A whole lifetime in the span of a few days. The knife in your gut twisted itself this time.

Supposedly, according to your manager, you’d been on your way to Fontaine, having decided to take up your patron’s offer after all. You bit your cheek as you were handed a letter sent on your behalf, the handwriting this time unmistakable, and you apologized for both the confusion wrought and for your unexpected presence.

“I got halfway there before I remembered I’d left for a reason,” you explained. “And it would leave the orchestra in a lot of legal trouble to boot, if the rumors of new legislation and fines are to be believed. I’m sorry for being so short-sighted.”

The apology felt more hollow than you made it sound. The burden did fall to you. After all, it was your soulmate, your connection to someone so selfish and arrogant and fragmented, that others were put in less than ideal positions.

But you couldn’t exactly say that.

The words came easy, just as they had years ago, in that office before you became intimately aware of how intricate the carpet’s pattern was. At least here, you only ran the risk of garnished wages, perhaps extra duties in packing and coordination; fair but understandable punishments.

There was one more performance, your manager said, and then you would be onto Port Ormos for the next leg of the tour. If you were up to it, you could perform. Your very bones ached with need, to feel the bow in your hand and the stringers beneath your fingers.

No dream could ever do that justice.

_______________________________

Your instrument is a familiar stranger beneath your touch. Your sole companion all these years and yet it felt as if you’d never held it before. Warm-ups and scales took a moment, your fingers slower than your brain, and by the end of the afternoon, you’d all but split your fingertips open. How you’d missed that ache, the one that sat in your joints, in your tendons, that told you of a song well-played.

Your colleagues did not ask more than necessary but their eyes said what their lips did not: you left with no notice, no intention of coming back, and you do not deserve your place here.

Perhaps not.

All were ecstatic to be moving on, spoke of nothing but the festival, recounted to you how marvelous Nilou’s performance had been. The Sages tried and failed to stop the performance but it continued on anyway. No one cared much for the politics of it all. If anyone wanted that level of nonsense, they’d have become an administrative assistant for the Fontaine Research Institute. Their words never quite reached you, however much you smiled and nodded and lamented that you missed it.

You wanted to feel as they did, excited and passionate and reinvigorated. You told yourself that if you just immersed yourself, you would, that this, too, would pass.

Pulling the bow across the strings that evening was no different than any other time. As you went, however, you found that with every note, you seemed to pull yourself along with it; a thread undone, unraveling. Vibrations that once felt comforting could only remind you of a familiar rumble of a voice you never wanted to hear again. Instead of wrapping you, the notes felt like hands around your throat, squeezing until all that was left was the sharp gasp as you drew the last high note across the strings.

The audience was just as enraptured as you expected, smiles wide, eyes damp.

You tried to ignore the flash of white out of the corner of your eye, the tell-tale glow of blue crystal from the dark recesses of the performance hall. Exhaustion haunted your very soul; perhaps you were hallucinating. It would hardly have been surprising.

No, you told yourself, watching the crystal earring as its owner titled his head. You were not.

And the glimpse of red eyes, watching you like a wary raven, held little more than rapt attention.

Not the Segment, you surmised, your gut knotting itself. Despite their identical appearance, your brain knew the subtle differences, the way emotion never quite reached the stranger’s eyes as it did Zandik’s. Whatever he was, he could never be rid of that; to do so would be to remove the shreds of his humanity.

But who were you to know him, really, when all you’d known was a figment of subconsciousness?

_______________________________

The afterparty was as though you were watching a moving film, your colleagues and acquaintances actors on a silver screen. Food tasted like sand despite the beautiful colors and mouth-watering scents. You opted for water over wine but you were certain all you would taste would be vinegar anyway.

Conversations consisted of nodding, interjecting as you observed others doing. An attempt to fit in, the way a leaf already yellow would cling to its branch, unwilling to let go and fall away from its verdant brethren. You had already witnessed this, and more; to be here felt stagnant, static, strange.

Motions to be repeated for the sake of them, nothing more.

You had been here before, of course, before you learned to navigate your patronage. But there was no comfort in this, no safety. Eggshells had become glass shards and every step in this world you once knew the path of was as painful as the first time you snapped a string and it slapped you in the face.

Sleep was no better.

A dark abyss, thoughts circling like carrion birds until everything floated away into nothingness.

You woke to early sunlight, your vision blurred, tears unspilled and pooled in the corners of your eyes. Not even a sensation of falling disturbed your slumber. In any other circumstance, you’d be grateful for the peace, for the chance to know a good night’s rest for the first time in an unidentifiable frame of time.

Nothing about this was ideal, felt right, and laying in bed wouldn’t solve it. Your cello was packed away already. Catharsis would have to wait.

You dressed for the day and slipped out of the inn, Vision tight in your hand until you could feel the metal housing pressing into the skin of your palm. As you wove your way through the city, the merchants still waking and setting up their wares for the day, a flash of green and white caught your eye. Not the little sprout from your false life, surely?

Now you truly were beginning to doubt your own mind.

Around every bend, every curve and rise of the pathway, you caught a glimpse of a skirt, or a cowl, or the flick of a ponytail. For a moment, you were back in the fields of Fontaine, chasing other children, always just out of reach to tag and pass along the curse of being ‘it’.

You arrived at the top of the Akademiya, at the set of doors all too familiar now, imposing in their beauty. Just as you rounded the corner, you caught green eyes, bright and vibrant, before they disappeared into the dark seam between the doors.

The last time you were here, it’d been under false pretenses; without any kind of authority, you could be arrested for trespassing, or worse. But what other path did you have?

You slipped between the doors, your very being swallowed whole as you entered the Sanctuary of Suristhana for a second time.

#dottore #il dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #il dottore x female reader #dottore x female reader #soulmate au #fic: dream a little dream of me

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