#but i am resentful that is my only real access point

[impostoradult]

my stress level right now is sky high, and the fall of the Republic is like fifth in my priority list of concerns. which should emphasize just how stressed I am

[rayatii]

What War Is

(A sort of poem by me.)

What is war?

To me, war is

The streets of my city lined up with makeshift tents

The run-down school next to my place now hosting refugees

Every public school now closed because they are hosting refugees

Seeing places that were once so familiar to me, get destroyed in a wink

Passing apartments destroyed by bombings, and

Seeing workers already working on rebuilding them

The instructions and maps for bomb shelters on the website of my university

My professors constantly reminding us that we are going through uncertain times (but please take your responsibilities seriously)

The countless online lectures on stress management and living through times like these

The hybrid class arrangements where only a maximum of four students show up to class in-person, because many are out of the city or even out of the country

The extra burden of balancing stress from this situation and class requirements we fell behind on due to schools and universities closing for a while at the start

Learning the difference between the sound of a sonic boom and a bomb

Briefly mistaking every loud noise I hear for a bomb sound

Hearing more sirens outside than usual, and

Wondering more than usual where these sirens are headed to

Anticipating every day the familiar buzz of a reconnaissance drone over my city (I keep trying to troll it)

Losing sleep from being startled awake at night by distant bombings

The most depressing kind of packing for a trip ever

Living half a live in one place and half a life in another

Missing things I once took for granted

Texting and calling loved ones living in a certain area after a bombing, to see if they are still alive

My family always leaving the TV on for news and updates while I am catching up on my assignments

Me and others telling each other jokes about the politicians and military forces perpetrating the destruction

Feeling a certain sense of extra kinship with my fellow countrypeople

Discovering new points of view, on- and offline, new allies and new enemies, surprising or not

People online, living thousands of kilometers away, who see us as collateral damage or think we somehow deserve this suffering because of our political situation

Finding out how very little some people know about our lives here

Sometimes resenting people overseas for living their best life

Reminding myself not to let the situation corrupt my mind and turn me into an asshole

Learning more and gaining wisdom (but at what cost)

"Relatable" posts on Tumblr taking a whole new meaning

Understanding famous stories of war, real or fantasy, the true effects of war, more than ever

My friends and loved ones overseas asking me near-daily if I am okay, and

Me replying every time that yes, I am okay, I am safe

Being grateful that I am alive and well, but still not being quite happy

The awareness of the unreality of the situation

Living through historical times, and resenting it

Agreeing with others that we are experiencing a Lite™ version of survivor's guilt

My weekly therapy sessions now becoming more necessary than ever

Generational trauma becoming not-so-generational-anymore

Oscillating between complete desperation, and determination to not give my enemies the satisfaction of my submission to fear

The tiredness and stress I carry, often without knowing, and

Being aware that everyone around me carries that same tiredness and stress, often without knowing

Reflecting on hypothetical scenarios

Reflecting on where to go

Reflecting on whether the next bombs will drop on me or on people I know

Reflecting on what I might leave behind

Reflecting on the possibility of suddenly losing everything I hold dear

Reflecting on the possibility of suddenly losing everything

Reflecting on the very possible eventuality of death

Reflecting on my life itself.

But even so, I see that I am privileged, because

I still have access to food and clean water (some don't.)

I still have a roof over my head (some don't.)

I still have access to my education (some don't.)

I still have enough money to afford those basic needs (some don't.)

I still have all of my brain, both my eyes, ears, my nose, both my arms, legs, and all my fingers (some don't.)

I still have nearly all the trinkets and indulgences, useful or trivial, that are dear to my heart (some don't.)

I still have some time to focus on leisure (some don't.)

I haven't developed any serious mental issues from all this (yet) (some did.)

I live in a relatively safe area (some don't)

Me and my family have at least one option for areas to retreat to (some don't.)

My loved ones are all still alive

I am still alive.

(some are not.)

[thessalian]

Thess vs Lack of Accessibility

Is it petty to just be, like, really really sad right now?

I came to Tumblr because of the Dragon Age fandom. I hadn't been in a fandom in so long, not after the first one, which ... look, getting into a fandom while having a nervous breakdown is a bad thing, okay? Especially when that fandom has named you a BNF for some reason and the responses end up going from "nagging daily to finish a fic" to "long essays shitting on everything you ever wrote" and you're a people-pleaser by nature. Just ... that on top of everything else is ... not recommended. You have no idea how phobic I was of the very idea of fandom. I literally flinch when the media in question comes up (though I have some very good friends because of that fandom and I would not be without them; just ... I will avoid that particular piece of media the same way I do anything overly zealously Christian and conversations about politics with my mother, and for the same reason - my sanity).

Anyway, point is that the Dragon Age fandom gave me back my love of and, more importantly, trust in fandoms. Sure, there's some toxic bullshit, but it isn't like that. Y'all have been so wonderful, and between how awesome the fandom is and how DA: O itself really helped me cope during a particularly dark time, for all I flag up its flaws, I'm always going to have a soft spot in my heart for this franchise.

So of course it makes me happy that everyone's finding something to love about Veilguard and spreading it all over Tumblr. Picking their blorbos and squeeing about Assan and all of that, and it's everywhere. And on one level, I'd love to join in. I'd like to start thinking about what my Rook would be like - which of my internal presets would I send after Solas first? What faction would a Molly be a part of? A Jessie? A Jallira?

...Just ... why, when I probably won't even be able to play it?

One of the reviews had the reviewer literally screw up a livestream by getting knocked over a cliff because her reflexes weren't up to it, and highlighted just how much you need those reflexes and that dodge to actually get through the game. And she couldn't manage. And she's not, as far as I'm aware, fucking disabled. I, on the other hand, am. And it doesn't sound like easy mode and accessibility options are going to get me out of "you have to constantly dodge-roll or experience Death By Cliff".

For most things, I can budget my spoons appropriately. If I want to go to a convention - a big one like MCM or a small one like Dragonmeet - I can plan my life accordingly. But that's a one-off. So is "I'm going to bake things", or "I'm going to make soup", or "I'm going to Borough Market". I can have rest breaks after these things. I can plan them for good days. Most of the time, I can cope with this. I hate it, but I can cope.

But ... I mean, how do you do that kind of thing for a video game that runs so many hours? Too many breaks and you lose the momentum - far too many abandoned playthroughs of BG3 have taught me that. Waiting for good days could have me waiting a week or more before I'm up to even touching it again. If it's not a bad pain day, it could still be a day where I'm having spasms, and believe me, I don't touch anything that requires precision when I'm having spasms ... but sometimes I don't know until I'm trying to do a thing, so I could end up dodge-rolling myself off a cliff if I go to the spasm place.

Thankfully, I'm not the sort of person who turns around and resents the people who are looking so forward to it when I can only sit here and dither over what I'm going to do about this whole mess. I'm glad people are enjoying the anticipation. Just seeing it makes me sad, and I don't want to block the tags because a) I still have some tiny shred of hope and b) that's too many tags.

I resent the fuck out of EA and Bioware, though. I get that they couldn't necessarily go back to DA:O's real-time-with-pause tactical structuring, but moving us to something that's ... probably closer to Kingdoms of Amalur than anything Souls-like but there's still an element of that latter ... anyway, it's a giant fuck-you to the disabled. I've had one of those before. I got chosen for the closed beta of Secret World: Legends when Funcom was making its changes to The Secret World. I was not alone in flagging up that everything from the reticle targeting to the particle effects to the random-roulette light-up stuff all over the UI was a massive trigger for vertigo and migraines. And we all got the same response: "This is what we're doing and we're not changing it; sucks to be you". And it really wasn't that much more polite than my paraphrase, either. (Which is another problem with Veilguard for me, because even that first gameplay trailer full of prologue gave me a migraine that lasted for like two days; part of it was the particle effects, part of it was the glowy redesigns of all the demons, but mostly it was the dodge-rolling making the camera bounce around like a fucking squash ball.)

I resent EA and Bioware for jumping so entirely on the ARPG train that even the best their accessibility options can do don't help. I also resent them for not giving us a fucking demo. I know that AAA games don't do that anymore, for some reason, but how the fuck am I supposed to know whether or not I can play it if I don't have a demo? Steam gives a two-hour return window, and adding the time taken in character creation plus the prologue, that doesn't give that much time to really get a feel for whether or not it's playable, especially not when it depends on the kind of day I'm having.

There are a lot of reasons I hate being disabled. I think most of them boil down to "the people who make accessibility a fucking nightmare". That thing about Borough Market, for example, where I'd have to take a fairly roundabout route to even get there because the most direct route is via a train station that has raised platforms and no elevators, and those stairs were a nightmare even before the cane. And of course, video games. Far too many video games. Including, it seems, the franchise that really got me back into video games in the first place, and one of the first things that really gave me joy after fleeing the abusive ex.

Fuck my life entirely.

[the-s1lly-corner]

ATTENTION TADC FANS!

youve all been waiting, and im finally taking requests for TADC again! apologies for the sudden shut down and dismissal of the requests, but it was truly getting to a point where i was beginning to hit the beginning stages of a burnout; and in order to prevent myself from resenting the media or growing tired of it, i had to take a break.. but we're back! with a few news rules that i urge you guys look into since things are going to be slightly different this time around (not much, only one real rule is added, but still!)

As per usual for these posts, im linking my pinned that has most of the rules that generally apply to this blog, really these posts are just for me to announce that im taking stuff for a fandom, you know?

if youre not new around here, though, you will notice a note within the "i will write section", which is that new rule i mentioned above the cut!

however for those who cannot access the link for whatever reason, here is a summarized list of rules n stuff

Basic rules and boundaries:

all requests must be sent in through the inbox. any requests submitted via comments or dms will not be answered, period. i prefer the inbox because its all in one place and easier for me to keep track of things. dms feel invasive and make me feel pressured, and comments can be lost easily. as well as this, with asks i have the request right there so i dont have to dip back and forth for details on what you want

no spamming, please! while i am deciding to keep anon on i can tell when its different requestors asking for the same thing by chance, and when its the same person sending in the same thing. you will receive a warning once (this alone counts as one so technically you get two), after that your request will be denied flat out

as of 12/14/2023, i am not taking oc readers or readers based off of canon characters. while i did canon characters before, i do not have the means or energy to comb through many character wikis for every request. i do intend on opening character based readers eventually, but as of now it is not possible or efficient. you CAN ask for specific traits or personalities, though, thats still allowed

the new rule i mentioned: the new maximum number of characters you can ask for per request is 4-5. before i didnt see much point in limiting TADC since its just 7 characters but i found that most people asked for full casts, but most requests didnt spark any real ideas for every character; thus really feeding into that burnout i mentioned. any requests failing to follow this rule will be put in the wheel (wheel will have the characters names and it will choose who will be written for the request)

i can deny your request for any reason, usually though it will be for discomfort or for being in violation of the admins rules/falls into what he wont write

What I will Write:

fluff and angst! as well as general headcannons! scenarios are allowed too!

poly, platonic, romantic, ect is fine! any characteristics for the reader are usually fine (ex. child!reader, artist!reader, ectect, obviously for stuff like kid readers it will automatically be platonic)

really most things are fine, if theres anything that makes the admin uncomfortable, he will communicate it!

while technically i do write for it, please be mindful when asking for requests that tackle heavier topics (abvse, self h4rm, ect) and will be handled on a case by case basis rather than being set to a solid standard, as well as taking the admins current mental state into consideration when handling these requests

What I WONT Write:

NSFW or NSFW adjacent requests. no smut, no kinks. i have had people try to sneak kinks past me by trying to mess with wording or by trying to justify it by saying it was intended to be fluff. i do not kink shame, but that wont be tolerated here

no yandere stuff, admin isnt really comfy with it. theres a difference between writing characters that can be very jealous and writing something that is extremely unhealthy and to admins knowledge, demonizes those with mental disorders

as mentioned above, heavier topics will be taken with a case by case basis; however if youre asking for things like abvsive!jax x reader or jax walking in on reader SHing then its a hard no. active stuff will not be written here, however a character who has gone through that in the past is an entirely different story

full on fanfics; outside of special occasion, the admin only writes short little paragraphs and stuff for posts

general ban on basic nono content

On the off chance that you request something that has already been done before, admin will link the post that has your request!

with all that being said and done, go nuts guys! i kind of missed writing for TADC but i had to put me first

[a-god-in-ruins-rises]

Hello. simply, I am wondering what you believe is the best solution towards preventing gun violence within schools. Not an anti 2A questioner - guns are good and necessary. Nonetheless, the plague of these shootings has got to go..

i answered a similar question like a week ago but i was in a rush so i wasn't able to answer it thoughtfully enough. so i'll answer again.

second, somehow get the media to stop sensationalizing school shooters. i don't know exactly how this would be done because of the first amendment but i'm sure we could figure out something. even if it's just some industry wide self-regulation or something.

i think these two things would have the largest effect /directly/.

however, i believe that school shootings (and mass shootings in general) are really symptoms of a much larger issue: moral and social decay. and i can't take anyone seriously who doesn't take /that/ issue seriously. because without addressing that you're only addressing the symptoms, not the disease itself.

moral decay sounds ambiguous but you know what i mean. everyone knows what it means. it's shorthand for how disconnected, nihilistic, and narcissistic our society has become. we are more isolated and atomized than ever. we have no social trust. no community. wealth inequality. a mental health crisis. criminals walking our streets. families are broken. no one believes in anything. our media glorifies materialistic greed and self-indulgence.

then we act surprised when our society produces broken people full of rage and resentment?

so, some things that could help the /real/ issue which might help the issue of school shootings /indirectly/:

build denser, walkable communities. increase policing and get tough on crime -- clean up communities. invest in mental healthcare (this includes increasing funding for schools to hiring social workers). universal healthcare in general tbh. create a new type of "family planning" that emphasizes making families and making them work (financial resources, discounts on recreational activities, marriage counseling, parent-child counseling, etc). universal basic income. honestly, we should probably start censoring our media again (nothing too draconian but there should be /some/ standard). immigration control (i know the libs hate to hear it but ethnic diversity is negatively correlated with social trust). tax reform. land reform. education reform (more civic and patriotic oriented and also more emphasis on extracurricular activities and community-building). make my cult the state religion (i'm mostly memeing here but i do sincerely believe america is in desperate need of a new post-christian religious awakening). protectionism (bring back jobs that pay well).

first, it's important to note a few things.

most mass shootings are not school shootings but gang-related. school shootings are extremely rare statistical outliers -- you're about as likely to be killed in a school shooting as you are to be killed by lightning. guns used to be more accessible and there were virtually never any school shootings until recently. it seems clear to me that this is some type of social contagion more than anything.

none of this is to say that mass shootings aren't an issue or that we shouldn't try to mitigate them. the point is, this is a sudden and relatively recent phenomenon and, while tragic, it is not something to lose our minds over. if you're paranoid about school shootings you need to ask yourself why you're not also paranoid about lightning or cars or plane crashes or random animal attacks. and if you /are/ paranoid about those things then maybe you're just an anxious person and should probably seek therapy.

we can't live in fear. speaking of alcohol, alcohol causes a lot of harm. but we, as americans, have decided that it's worth the risks. that there is some inherent /good/ in having access to alcohol. that the benefits of having access to alcohol outweigh the harm it causes. we are a free people. and freedom is dangerous. there is more to life than maximizing "harm reduction."

but now for some possible mitigating solutions

first, we need to secure our schools the same way we secure our courthouses or airports. our schools are just as important as these institutions and we should protect them as such. this should be the bare minimum standard.

second, somehow get the media to stop sensationalizing school shooters. i don't know exactly how this would be done because of the first amendment but i'm sure we could figure out something. even if it's just some industry wide self-regulation or something. but getting them to stop plastering the names/faces of the shooters everywhere and publishing their "manifestos" and all that would go a long way.

i think these two things would have the largest effect /directly/.

however, i believe that school shootings (and mass shootings in general) are really symptoms of a much larger issue: moral and social decay. and i can't take anyone seriously who doesn't take /that/ issue seriously. because without addressing that you're only addressing the symptoms, not the disease itself.

moral decay sounds ambiguous but you know what i mean. everyone knows what it means. it's shorthand for how disconnected, nihilistic, and narcissistic our society has become. we are more isolated and atomized than ever. we have no social trust. no community. wealth inequality. a mental health crisis. criminals walking our streets. families are broken. no one believes in anything. our media glorifies materialistic greed and self-indulgence.

then we act surprised when our society produces broken people full of rage and resentment? i've heard someone describe it as a "slow motion riot" and riots are the voice of the unheard. well, our society is sick and disconnected so there are more "unheard" than ever.

so, some things that could help the /real/ issue which might help the issue of school shootings /indirectly/:

build denser, walkable communities. increase policing and get tough on crime -- clean up communities. invest in mental healthcare (this includes increasing funding for schools to hiring social workers). universal healthcare in general tbh. create a new type of "family planning" that emphasizes making families and making them work (financial resources, discounts on recreational activities, marriage counseling, parent-child counseling, etc). universal basic income. honestly, we should probably start censoring our media again (nothing too draconian but there should be /some/ standard). immigration control (i know the libs hate to hear it but ethnic diversity is negatively correlated with social trust). tax reform. land reform. education reform (more civic and patriotic oriented and also more emphasis on extracurricular activities and community-building). make my cult the state religion (i'm mostly memeing here but i do sincerely believe america is in desperate need of a new post-christian religious awakening). institute a new militia system (kinda memeing but also serious). protectionism (bring back jobs that pay well).

basically just reform society bro. our society is deeply sick and requires some pretty fundamental change.

[drip-drop-brain-pop]

Struggles of Healthcare

I work as a CNA, and I'm super super passionate about it. I'll be the first one to start screaming at the top of my lungs about resident rights, their dignity, their humanity that people forget about. I take my job seriously, to the point where I go above and beyond to help my residents, to make sure they're comfy/safe. I've worked at VP since January this year, and it's been one wild ride. I started part time, literally only 12 hrs every other weekend, with promises for more hours. Guess what never happened, to no one's shock. So in late July I picked up another job at WS, and was so impressed by the place I wanted to go full time. So starting in August, I dropped my hours at VP and started working at WS. Come to mid September and things are going terribly at WS, I've got coworkers targeting me for no reason and trying to claim I'm bruising the people we care for. Well this wasn't true, and I wasn't going to stick around to find out how much worse things could get. I ended up crash landing back at VP, working overnights. Starting back at VP felt good, like coming home after a stressful trip. It wasn't going to feel that way for very long, as I would discover.

Today is 10-21, and I'm waiting for a call Monday to schedule an interview at another home. Things are not good in the land of VP, and for the first time, I'm nervous to be working at a place. State has a magnifying glass on the place over inappropriate resident relations, and our Director is still trying to hide things from them in regards to the open investigation. One of the residents in question was given a notice of eviction, but it's up to her kid to find another facility for her to go to, and they haven't done anything yet. On top of this, the place is literally falling apart. The transportation van has been broken for over a year, the wifi is very spotty and hard for the residents to use, but they won't pay to fix that either. We are in charge of washing our residents clothes, we have 3 washers and 3 dryers. The problem is one dryer has been out of order for over a year and a half and another one is about to go out, but nothing has been done to resolve that either. I feel angry for my residents, because they live there and don't have other options. This place also keeps employees that are lazy, neglectful and rude to residents, and any reports of this behavior are brushed off by management. One employee literally posted one of the residents on her snapchat story because he fell and she was mad about it. The resident's face wasn't visible but that isn't the point. I just feel like the resident's deserve better and nothing is being done to change it. Also, we can't get new hires in, because our background checks are being delayed by the state. All because we are behind on our Medicare charting, which we wouldn't be behind on if our Director (who cannot fill them out, she has no medical certifications) hadn't kept them in her office where we couldn't access them.

At this stage in the game, I'm just hoping I can kill this interview so I can get out of there. Someone is going to end up getting hurt, and I can't be there to witness it. I know that I wouldn't be able to contain my temper, and I can't guarantee I wouldn't get physical, which isn't who I am anymore. I care about the people that live there, they all have a piece of my heart, but the burn out I feel is real. In the space of a month I've gone from being joyful and peaceful to angry and resentful, and most of all, constantly exhausted. There's only so much one person can take, and I'm reminding myself that there's nothing wrong with knowing your boundaries and honoring them.

[forgottenyear]

[I do not see any triggers]

[only ~600 wds, but under a cut anyway]

--

It was the overwhelming shame and self-loathing.

...

It was the painful closeness of the past.

--

It is frightening to be close to Angela. I have wrongly attributed negative attributes to her to justify this fear. During the self-sustaining amnesia, this was the only way I would deal with her. Fear and denial.

I have made inroads toward reversing this erasure of her, but more passively than not.

--

I have written this so many times before, so I will not go too deeply into it again.  Angela was all that was good about the child, protected from the punishing world outside. The child could never be good, but she could be.

I am confident that she did set me up with my partner. Set us up, but then I forgot everyone else.

I am also confident that her life was based on dreams and magical thinking, which was also her undoing. Yet, somehow, my relationship with my partner was nearly a fulfillment of this unrealistic approach.

It is too easy to look back on her time and to see red flags, considering I already know the outcome. At the same time, it is unclear if she would have noticed. Or if, in desperation for a new life of her own, she would have gambled on magical thinking to win out sooner. It is not as though a negative unlikely occurrence would have been valued more highly than a positive one. It was a roll of the dice, and it was my good fortune that the second roll won for me.

It was also unlikely, but true, that we would have had access to the Internet before the greater world knew what the Internet was (I have memory of someone in the hospital telling us that people on the computer were not real life people, and we responded that this would have been helpful knowledge before one of those “not real” people travelled from Europe to visit for a week). It was unlikely, but true, that we would have found a transgender community in an age when it was still a diagnosis and illegal almost everywhere. It was unlikely, but true, that the community we found was mostly based in or around a city that was only a day’s bus ride away.

I carry an old resentment, inherited (I flatter myself to think), against Angela for walking into the trap. For trusting that all her friends were actual friends.

It was an extreme event, and reactions were equally extreme.

It is unfair to think they would have been more aware of what happened as a young child. They were closer in age to when the earliest violations happened, but they were also still heavily influenced by the parents.

--

The time has come, as if it did not come sooner, to stop blaming Angela. Given that we were punished for the actions of others, and internalized responsibility for the actions of others, this is probably a group thing. That we all, including Angela, need to stop blaming any member of the system, for what other people did to us.

--

The thought just came to me that I am not qualified to counsel others.

“If another part would like to sue me, let them try,” was my first reaction.

But our old therapist essentially passed the mantle to me when he said, “I think you are ready to work on your own.”

I cannot do worse than many of the licensed therapists we encountered, so we will make do for now.

--

[never did get to the point, but this is enough for now]

[marylandlifecoaching]

I Ain't Afraid Of No Ghost

We all know the famous line from the movie Ghost Busters, I ain't afraid if no ghost. Well, now more than ever, I take it to heart. Because ghost are everywhere. And everyone of us are involved with them. Are you afraid...

I tend to drop off of the face of the earth from time to time. And those who are intimately involved with me, know that I will appear like an apparition if they need me. They do not take offense when I am gone. No access means, I am hyper focused on something. Short of a real emergency, let me be. In other words, if I have ghosted you, it is not done out of punishment. It is because I need me, for me things. 

I am at the age where people walk out of my life all the time. And the beautiful thing about it, is I accept that you are doing you things. I too, am not offended by it. I honor your process. My best friend of almost 35 years understands this. We may talk 2 or 3 times a year. There is never any resentment when either one of us ghost. We me send a text saying call me if you need me. But there is no expectation there. It is saying, I love you. I am here. And that is what true connection is.

In an era where we are bombarded daily from repeated request for our time...via our cell phones, family and places of employment, I totally get when someone must ghost. Do you. Honor you. Save you. I'll be here. The only time I won't, is when it is done out of spite, or used a means to try and hurt me...

I interrupt this post for a quick story. Wife and I have a routine down that includes ghosting each other in the evenings, to pour into ourselves. She literally just sent me a text from the other side of the house asking if I was okay, because my "me time" was not unfolding as I previously discussed. Case in point. You okay? I love you. Peace out.

Like it or not, ghosting is the new norm. Know when it is healthy, know when it is not. And just because I ain't afraid of no ghost, doesn't mean I will tolerate a bad ghost in my life. And neither should you. But maybe, just maybe, when someone does disappear, they just need a minute. In fact, I would probably argue that as most ghosts come and go, they will return in peace. And that is why you should not be afraid of ghosts either. 

[7ban-sama]

What do you think about Aoi and Nene’s friendship?

If you could allow me to be a little crass, my Hanako brain leads me to regard the situation in a kind of indifferent manner. 'Good for them. They are friends (in that way girls can be)... *doesn't have more to add*' ... if that makes sense? Lol. I don't think it's nothing, because they get along well enough. Nene genuinely worries for Aoi when things go awry at the school, and I think Aoi herself worries about Nene when she's mysteriously running off or talking to herself. (I love whenever she's distressed and going 'Nene-chan...!? Q.Q' ww) So there's that... but I also am aware that there's a limit to how well they know one another. There's a barrier, keeping them from getting closer.

The crux of Aoi's issues that we end up tackling through Akane, is that she doesn't trust anyone with her 'real self'. She's not the picturesque, sweet model student she appears to be, but actually is prideful, resentful, and looks down on others. She feels like everyone is lying to her, so she has her own front, refusing to let anyone inside. This means that Nene is, effectively, being withheld more closeness from Aoi. Nene remains on the 'outside', along with other people. Aoi creates this separation in her mind.

When discussing their relationship with my wife, she's astutely pointed out that, one could almost assume that Nene is a 'safe' friend, since she's typically quite naive. You can keep Nene-chan in the dark... as much as Hanako gets away with lying to her repeatedly. So there's no risk in being friends with Nene. The fact that Nene doesn't have any other friends, and isn't popular, also probably makes her appealing to Aoi, who doesn't care for any of that. Perhaps Nene also seems so earnest, that Aoi cannot feel threatened by the idea of Nene learning about her nature... You just know Nene doesn't have ulterior motives; she's not trying to 'get' anything out of this. We can just be two girlies together.

I figure that's always just been 'enough' for both of them, though, and they don't ache or yearn for more out of the other especially? They can compliment each other, be in the gardening club together, give relationship advice, etc. It all feels like a humble amount of providing support/company for one another.

This is pretty mundane though… Friendships at this age are often only so 'deep'; what are your friends at age 15 aside from someone who is friendly that you share a hobby or two with?

According to the Nene's book in the bookstacks, she met Aoi in middle school. This would be their 3rd year of being friends, I believe. Which makes sense to me, given this level of closeness.

More recently, after all the events of Obon/the Severance, it seems that Aoi coming to terms with the distance between her and Nene. It must finally be so pervasive, it's hard to swallow. Unable to be ignored or skirted by.

This moment is quite sad to me. Aoi has to realize that Nene interpreted all that she saw as, NOT the real/normal Aoi. Because Aoi hasn't ever let her access that side of her.

Feels like it's painful for Aoi to process that... and she currently can't bring herself to unveil the truth to Nene, yet. It's the result of all her actions though, so we can't feel toooo too bad for her, but still. Interesting at the very least. Ultimately, this just leaves her closeness with Akane, exclusively. I think romances are just the highest echelon of closeness in this manga, so the most intimate things are reserved for our couples.

So yeah... I like Nene and Aoi both, and their friendship is a fine one, though I can't say it's very touching/moving either. I'm at most curious if Nene becoming steadily more perceptive as a person, will mean that she comes to understand Aoi's issues on her own, orrr... if that'll just be something they never quite bridge, I wonder? Who knows..

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Things I am/have been in my lifetime: farmer (flowers, herbs, succulents, vegetables fruit trees), livestock keeper (bird flocks, horses, sheep, cows, goats), therapist (licensed and certified), emergency response medic (first aid, minor trauma, overdose rescue), and herbalist (cough and fever, minor wound repair, minor burn treatment)

Things I also do in my freetime for fun: dick around on tumblr

Like. I get that this is the posting website. And it *is* wise to remember that those who do mutual aid are usually not explicitly posting about it (this has more to do with how often we get arrested for feeding homeless people, organizing bail funds, or providing medical aid to protestors than it does anything else), but people who post online are still people. They still have lives, careers, and skillsets that you may never know about.

Parasocial relationships aren't just for big name youtubers and social media influencers. Every single one of my followers who interacts with my posts and thinks that means they know me is also participating in a parasocial relationship. That's not inherently a bad thing! But don't let the belief that you know a person based on what they post dictate how you view the world or what another human being is or is not capable of.

Mutual aid is explicitly NOT charity. That is. Well it's definitionally the point. There are a lot of charities in the world that do good (or bad!) work too! Don't get me wrong, charity absolutely exists and is far more common and easy to maintain than mutual aid.

But mutual aid is a very specific type of program that does exist and can be highly effective for specific roles and needs in society.

I've seen this post going around a while now with various petty objections and it's just so evident to me that they're coming from people who have never actually interacted with mutual aid in any capacity outside of the conceptual. That's fine, you don't have to. But like. Maybe don't pretend to be an expert in something you've literally only read about. Armchair experts aren't helpful, and in a world rife with misinformation and propaganda, you really aren't helping anyone by pretending that your feelings of resentment towards ideas you barely understand are useful in this discussion.

I feel like I'm being harsh here and I don't love that, but I'm so tired. Truly, it is exhausting to spend so much of one's time building up systems of survival, dedicating so much time and energy to the well being of one's community, keeping my words careful, thoughtful, kind, sanitized at all times for the optimized psycho-educational effect against propaganda and miseducation, only to slam my head against the same bullshit debunked claims over and over again from people who think they're so much better than us because they would never deign to do the work we do, and instead know everything they need to know from sitting behind a computer screen. It's hard to stay graceful when that happens, truly it is.

I have empathy for you that your view of mutual aid has been so tainted. I expect it means you have been cut off from accessing resources and support you could benefit from, and for that I'm truly sorry. You deserve to have been supported, rather than denied. But my god. Have the decency not to universalize your fucking misery.

Mutual aid is not a new concept. It has been the way of hundreds of communities for thousands of years in uncountable forms, and it will literally ALWAYS have some sort of place in any society. I guarantee that you have experienced mutual aid, even if it wasn't called that.

Mutual aid is strongest the more people get involved. Because it's....you know. Mutual. If you are convinced that your local mutual aid programs are worthless, maybe you could actually show the fuck up and see what they need, how they function, and what benefits you would receive from connecting to them. I would bet dollars to donuts you find out real fast they're functioning more effectively than you ever realized.

Not to electionpost but I think the fact that we're seriously debating whether or not the president can pardon himself is evidence that we're fucked on a deeper level than a future risk of something bad happening

[wonlouvre]

hello!! can i request a fwb!wonwoo + angst to fluff 🥺 thank u

start | j. ww.

pairing: race car driver wonwoo x g.n. reader genre: fluff, angst if you squint, also 18+ (some sexual themes, mentions) warnings: couple’s arrangement is FWB, but nothing explicit, accident, injury mentions of sex (please tell me if i missed anything!) word count: 1.5k+ (i have no regrets)

💌: hi anon! thank you so much for requesting <3 this is not as explicitly fwb and angsty and i’m so sorry :((( i hope you still like it tho! i actually thought of developing this into a oneshot someday-ish. who knows? tell me what you think!

It’s no secret that you frequent Jeon Wonwoo’s office a lot. It’s also no secret that something bloomed the first time you introduced yourself to him after he won the race hosted by his very own racing track. You’re interested in cars as much as you are interested in the youngest owner of the most coveted luxurious cars in the world. You own yourself a few. Some you have purchased from him and some he has given himself for free in exchange for the special arrangement that the two of you have.

The attraction was quick but it took quite a while for the two of you to give in. Being professional business partners and all. But along the way, the two of you reached an agreement. An agreement that you thought would only last for about two months tops and yet here you are, eight months later, still running to his arms. You know Wonwoo is no different. 

“Hi Woozi. How’s my favorite racer doing?” You greet Wonwoo’s friend lounging outside the closed doors of the office you’re supposed to be visiting.

“If you’re here to visit your man, there’s a line,” Woozi deadpans as he boringly flips through the magazine with his fingers. “I’m supposed to be practicing with Wonwoo right now but he seems to be caught with something, someone that isn’t you.”

You didn’t fail to catch Woozi’s disdain and that only makes you giggle. You sit on the opposite side of the center table, placing your Prada purse beside your hip as you cross your legs. You feign ignorance on his “your man” remark but the term “someone” fuels your jealousy. Of course, you will never admit that to him. 

“It’s an admirer,” you say and grab yourself a magazine to skim through. Might as well entertain yourself if you’re indeed going to wait. It’s unbelievable. You keep in mind to avenge your wasted time in the bedroom with Wonwoo. “Been doing a lot of visiting on behalf of they’re old father who has no single interest in race cars.” 

Woozi frowns at the information. “How do you know that?”

You look up from the latest issue of racer weekly and blink up at him before pursing your lips. “I saw their car parked in my supposed parking spot. Plus, they send an awful lot of gifts that Wonwoo just gives away to his staff. Gifts are a normal exchange between potential business partners, but it’s not when said business partner always leaves love notes.”

“And, you’re not bothered at all?” Woozi finally asks the question you know he’s been dying to ask. 

You smirk and return the magazine to the table. Then, you pick your bag up as you stand to your feet. “Of course I am bothered. I could be with Wonwoo right now, at this moment, but they’re holding me up and I don’t like that.”

You fix your hair and skirt before strutting to the huge doors and opening them without knocking. Wonwoo is not surprised to see you but you can tell he’s relieved with the way he’s smiling at you. On the other hand, his visitor doesn’t appreciate you barging in like that. They’re resentment is pretty obvious with how they’re glaring at you. 

But it doesn’t matter. They don’t matter as you walk to the man you’re here for. 

“Woozi is waiting for you,” you cheekily say before rounding straight to his executive table to give his cheek a smooch, your red lipstick leaving a mark. You gingerly wipe it with your thumb while he just keeps smiling, looking up to you. “I wanted to stop by to invite you for lunch, but it looks like you’re busy.”

Wonwoo shakes his head and holds your hip and stands up from his chair. “No, I’m good. They’re just about to leave.”

The other person in the room panics. “But I wasn’t done explaining—.”

“My team will review your proposal and we’ll get back to you if they deem it beneficial for our company,” Wonwoo bids farewell and holds your hand to his. “My assistant will escort you outside. Thank you for your time.”

Wonwoo didn’t give them the chance to say anything else because he’s already leading you outside to meet Woozi who’s been waiting for him. You also didn’t have the chance to say your goodbyes to them because the toned arm around your waist and deep voice against your ear is enough to distract you. 

“They were cute,” you make a point to mention the culprit behind your stolen parking spot when you finally get the chance to sit down at Wonwoo’s favorite restaurant. “I think this is the third time I saw them at your office this week.”

Wonwoo gives your orders to the waiter without the need to ask what you fancy because he already knows. When the order is set, he returns his attention to you and flashes his signature smile that makes your legs grow weak. “Why? Are you jealous?”

“No, no,” you’re quick to answer before sipping on the lukewarm water you requested. “Just annoyed that during the three times I saw them, they have also taken it upon themselves to just park at my spot.” 

Wonwoo chuckles and opens his palms on the table, seeking your hand to hold halfway. You roll your eyes, but you don’t hesitate to grant him access to your ring clad hand (the ring was a gift from him and you haven’t taken it off ever since you received it). His phone suddenly dings! and you know it’s Woozi grilling him for not keeping to his end and practicing with him. 

You let Wonwoo cater to his friend’s needs all the while letting his other hand caress yours, his fingers digging on the silver band once in a while. Your heart and mind can’t help but get confused about where you stand with him because of gestures like this. 

At some point, you’re supposed to end this, right? Whatever this may be. But the real question is, do you want to end this with Wonwoo? This happiness, this warmth, this comfort, this lov—.

You step on the brakes before you could continue and blink away the daze you were stuck on for a moment. Wonwoo must have noticed you flinch because he drops his phone back on the table, eyes full of concern directed towards you.

“Are you okay?”

You force a smile. “Never better.”

It’s not less than three days later when you receive a call from Wonwoo’s assistant, voice frantically shaking as they inform you about what happened. 

To your horror, Wonwoo got injured in an accident while performing practice laps with his friends. 

You own race cars but you never thought you would be driving one beyond your usual speed limit because the stupid boy you’re in love with got in an accident. There, you admit it. You’re in love with Jeon Wonwoo not only because of his stroke game, abs, broad shoulders and deep voice among many perfect features of his.

You’re in love with him because he makes today's you look forward to tomorrow’s him. 

You try to calm your heart that’s been beating so fast because of the adrenaline and anger that’s coursing through your blood right now. Wonwoo better make sure he’s not badly injured, otherwise you would throw your hands at him yourself. 

A cut on his forehead, lips and nose. 

And a dislocated shoulder as cherry on top. 

You couldn’t mask your disappointment when you saw Wonwoo getting checked on for the last time by the doctor in charge. You grimace when you hear him groan as they place the sling on him. What do you even do with this boy?

When everyone else is gone and it’s only the two of you left, your disappointment and anger vanishes the moment he calls you.

“Hi baby.”

Your tense shoulder loosens and your legs quickly run towards him (carefully). 

“I hope you know that I hate you right now,” you say without meaning them anyway. 

Wonwoo has the energy to giggle and tug at your hand to sit beside him. He leans his head near your chest, a habit he’s been doing whenever he wants you to coddle him. Carefully and gently, you hold his head and caress his greasy locks. You’re sure it’s going to be a struggle to help him shower in the coming days. 

“Did you see your parking spot?” Wonwoo suddenly mumbles. 

“Why are you bringing that up now?” You frown. 

“I put your plate number on the wall so that no one can take the spot.” 

“Wonwoo!” 

“Baby,” he whines. “Not so loud.”

“Why would you do that?” You hiss. 

“Because I love you?” Wonwoo answers, his soft kitten eyes gazing up at you. 

You gulp and look away, trying not to smile at what he just said. 

“I was supposed to make a romantic confession over the weekend,” Wonwoo says, making you look back at him. “We’re gonna have to postpone, I guess.”

“You’re an idiot,” you whisper before pressing your lips against his smiling ones. “But, I love you too.”

“Does that mean you’ll be staying over my place until this shoulder is back to normal?” Wonwoo pleads, lips moving against yours. 

Your eyes glimmer with mischief. “Yes and that also means no sex until then.”

“Wait, what? No!”

There’s still a lot of talking to do and a lot of changes to happen. But for now, you’re just glad that today’s Wonwoo is alright. 

[attemptsonherlifepdf]

bojack horseman and bo burnham: the art of acting like you’re acting and the comedy of misery

at the core of bojack horseman, raphael bob-waksberg’s 2014 comedy, is a story about the relationship between performance and depression. the protagonist of this renowned tragicomedy is best described as a sympathetic villain; he is shown to clearly be in the wrong across various events of the show, and is explicitly referred to as a bad person, but the audience is granted deep access to his personal struggles, resulting in some portions of the audience finding themselves on bojack’s side. the duality of his character is complex, but can be broken down into some core components, that all stem from the impacts of stardom and performance. the standup comedy of bo burnham arguably echoes this sentiment in real time. having been a performer from a young age, burnham creates work that serves as a satirical commentary on the life of entertainers. he uses original songs to explore the reliance upon and resentment for his performative nature both onstage and within his personal life. both the comedian and the netflix show are widely understood to be thinly veiling their critiques of the entertainment industry behind a particular brand of witty and absurd humour.

both bojack and burnham’s content openly criticises their audiences and explicitly states the manufactured nature of the narrative the audience is fed. in the fifth season of bojack horseman, the show satirises itself by having bojack star in a police procedural drama, parts of which are actively written by other characters to reflect events of bojack’s life. the titular character he plays, philbert, is the epitome of selfish male angst, and an example of what bob-waksberg’s show could have been; another story about a sad and angry man whose guilt supposedly makes up for the people he has hurt. according to bojack, philbert teaches us ‘we’re all terrible, so we’re all okay’, an interpretation that is harshly disputed by diane: ���that’s not the point of philbert, for guys to watch it and feel okay. i dont want you, or anyone else, justifying their shitty behaviour because of the show.’ this moment is a direct reaction to some of the online reception bojack horseman has received. various circles of the show’s fanbase have found themselves relating to the protagonist to the point of defending his untoward behaviour, a response not intentioned by the show’s creators. this is not the only example of bob-waksberg’s ability to make his work self-evaluative. in season six’s exposure of bojack and sarah lynn’s problematic relationship, characters question their sexual encounter from the first season. the writers use this as a way of examining their own choices, and the harmful tropes they played into when using this exploitative sexual encounter as a gag. this self-evaluative quality is what sets bojack apart as a show that assesses the performance it participates in, much like the comedy of bo burnham.

bo burnham is known for directly addressing his audience, particularly in terms of discouraging idolisation and parasocial relationships. some examples of this manifest as responses to hecklers rather than a planned bit in the show, for instance:

heckler: i love you!

bo: no you don’t

heckler: i love the IDEA of you!

bo: stop participating!

he actively addresses the issues posed by being an entertainer, and encourages the audience to understand and recognise that his onstage persona is just that: an exaggerated persona. not once does burnham claim to be fully authentic onstage, and even moments of authenticity we see in his latest special, inside, are staged. we make the assumption that having the physical setting of a stage stripped away grants us a more personal look at the entertainer’s life, but he makes it clear that even in his own home we still see the aspects he has carefully constructed rather than the full truth. arguably though, parts of the show really are authentic; in his monologue during make happy, bo deconstructs his own show in a way that is similar to bojack horseman’s later seasons, admitting that all he knows is performing and thus making a show about the more mundane and relatable aspects of life would feel ‘incredibly disingenuous.’ in his attempts to separate himself from this onstage persona he actually manages to blur the lines between what is acting and what is now part of his nature as a result of his job. this notion is echoed in bojack horseman as bojack’s attention seeking nature is attributed to his years acting in front of a camera every day.

bo suggests that the era of social media has created a space in which children’s identities mimic that of an entertainer like himself, describing the phenomenon as ‘performer and audience melded together.’ in this observation he criticises the phenomenon. bo attempts to force the audience to recognise the ways in which their lives are becoming shaped by the presence of an audience and to some extent uses his own life as a warning tale against this. he points out the way in which the ‘tortured artist trope’ means that your cries for help or roundabout attempts of addressing mature themes such as substance abuse, mental illness and trauma become part of that on stage persona and therefore become part of the joke. both bo and bojack address these topics in more discrete manners earlier in their careers, but this eventually becomes expected, and thus they are forced to explicitly detail their struggles with these topics in order to be taken seriously. even then, portions of the audience are inclined to see it as part of the persona or as something that fuels the creators creativity and thus does not need to be addressed as a legitimate issue. the emphasis on creating a character or persona promotes the commodification of mental illness: any struggle must be made into a song or a joke or a bit, must be turned into part of the act in order to have value. this actually serves to delegitimise these emotions and create a disconnect between the feeling and the person, as it becomes near impossible to exist without feeling as though you are acting. even when an artist’s cries for help become blatant, they continue to go ignored because now they serve the purpose of creating content that criticises the industry they stem from. online audiences can be seen as treating bo burnham and his insightful work as existing to demonstrate the negative effects entertaining can have, and because this insight is useful or thought-provoking to audiences, he is almost demanded to keep entertaining and creating. in response to this demand, his work becomes more meta and his messages become clearer, and the more obvious his messages, the more people he reaches. this increases audience demands and traps entertainers in a cycle fraught with internal conflict.

during bojack’s second season, bojack’s date asks him, ‘come on, do that bojack thing where you make a big deal and everyone laughs, but at the same time we relate, because you're saying the things polite society won't.’ this moment exemplifies how aspects of his genuine personality have now become a part of his persona and this is demanded of him in genuine and serious situations, undermining the validity of his emotional reactions. he immediately makes a rude comment to the waitress at the restaurant they’re in and satisfies his date by performing that character he has set himself out to be. some circles of the fan base have argued that bojack is written as a depiction of somebody with borderline personality disorder, offering a psychoanalytical lens through which to view this notion of performance. a defining symptom of borderline personality disorder is a fluctuating sense of self; having grown up on camera, being demanded to perform to others as young as six years old, bojack’s sense of self will have been primarily dictated by the need to act.  whether this acting is for the sake of comedy, or as a representation of masking his mental illness, when they need to act is taken away bojack entirely loses his sense of self and relapses into his addictions: ‘i felt like a xerox of a xerox of a person.’ burnham’s depictions of depression run along a similar vein; in his new special he poses the idea that his comedy no longer serves the same personal purpose it once did for him. he questions ‘shit should I be joking at a time like this?’ and satirises the idea that arts have enough value to change or impact the current global issues that we are facing. burnham’s ‘possible ending song’ to his latest special, he asks ‘does anybody want to joke when no-one’s laughing in the background? so this is how it is.’ implicit in this question is the idea that when the audience is taken away and there is nobody to perform his pain to, he is left with his pain. instead of being able to turn his musings and thoughts into a product to sell to the public, he is forced to just think about them in isolation and actually face them, an abrupt and distressing experience.

the value of performance and art is questioned by both bojack and burnham, particularly during the later years of their respective content. burnham’s infamous song, art is dead, appears to be a direct response to the question ‘what is the worth of art?’ he posits that performing is the result of a need for attention (‘my drug’s attention, i am an addict, but i get paid to indulge in my habit’) and repeatedly jokes throughout his career that the entertainment industry receives more respect that it deserves (‘i’m the same as you, im still doing a job or a service, i’m just massively overpaid’). his revelations regarding the inherent desire for attention that runs through all entertainers is frequently satirised in bojack horseman. bojack is comically, hyperbolically attention hungry and self-obsessed, and the show has a running gag in which he uses phrases along the lines of ‘hello, why is nobody paying attention to me, the famous movie star, instead of these other boring people.’ his constant attempts to direct the focus of others towards himself result in bojack feeling like ‘everybody loves you, but nobody likes you.’ his peers buy into his act and adore the comical, exaggerated, laughable aspects of his character, but find very little room to respond to him on a genuinely personal level because of this. interestingly, bojack appears to enjoy catering to his audience and the instant gratification it produces, whereas bo burnham becomes increasingly candid about his mixed feeling towards his audience. ‘i wanna please you, but i wanna stay true to myself, i wanna give you the night out that you deserve, but i wanna say what i think and not care what you think about it.’ he admits to catering to what audiences want from him, but resents both the audience and himself in the process as it reveals to himself which parts of his character are solely for the sake of people watching him.

within bojack horseman, this concept is applicable not only to the protagonist, but to the various forms of performer demonstrated in the plot. towards the show’s end, sarah lynn asks ‘what does being authentic have to do with anything?’ to which herb kazzaz responds, ‘when i finally stopped hiding behind a facade i could be at peace.’ this highlights the fact that because entertainers are demanded to continue the facade, they do not receive the opportunity to find ‘peace.’ this sentiment is scattered throughout the show, through a musical motif, the song ‘don’t stop dancing.’ the song stems from a life lesson bojack imparted to sarah lynn at a young age, and becomes more frequently used as the show progresses and bojack’s situation worsens.

sarah lynn is also used to explore the value of entertainers; in the show’s penultimate episode, she directly compares her work as a pop icon to the charity work of herb, arguing that if she suffered in order to produce her work. it has to mean something. she lists the struggles she faced when on tour: ‘i gave my whole life...my manager leaked my nudes to get more tour dates added, my mom pointed out every carb i ate, it was hell. but it gave millions of fans a show they will never forget and that has to mean something.’ implicit in this notion is the idea that entertainment is the epitome of self-sacrifice. there is a surplus of mentally ill individuals within the industry, largely due to the nature of the industry itself, but some may argue that the cultural grip the industry has, and the vast amounts of respect and money it generates annually, gives the suffering of these prolific individuals meaning.

the juxtaposing responses entertainers feel towards their audiences manifest as two forms of desperation: the desperation to be an individual who is held accountable, and the desperation to be loved and validated. we see both bojack and bo depict how they oscillate between  ‘this is all a lie’ and ‘my affection for my audience is genuine’, or between ‘do not become infatuated with me im a character’ and ‘please fucking love my character i do not know how to be loved on a personal level.’ bojack explicitly asks diane to write a slam piece on him and ‘hold him accountable’, similar to bo’s song ‘problematic’ in which the hook includes the phrase ‘isn’t anybody gonna hold me accountable?’ for his insensitive jokes as a late teenager. their self-awareness is what enables their self-evaluative qualities, but self-awareness is its own issue. bojack grapples with a narcissistic view of his own recognition of his behaviour before settling on a more nuanced, albeit depressing take. originally he makes the assumption that in recognising the negative aspects of himself, he is superior to those who behave similarly: ‘but i know im a piece of shit. that makes me better than all the pieces of shit that don’t know theyre pieces of shit.’ eventually, during his time at rehab he is forced to reconcile with the fact that self awareness does not, to put it bluntly, make you the superior asshole, it just makes you the more miserable one. the show does, however, make a point to recognise how the entertainment industry protects ‘pieces of shit’, prioritising their productive value over how much they deserve to be held accountable, demonstrated using characters like hank hippopoalus. the show itself obviously stems from the entertainment industry, as it is a form of media produced by netflix, one of the most popular streaming platforms available. bojack horseman and bo burnham represent the small corner of the industry that is reflective enough to showcase the damage it inflicts. this is powerful in terms of education and awareness, and urges audiences to question their own motives and versions of performance, but the reflection alone is not powerful enough to help the artists in question. burnham’s candid conversations surrounding his mental health continue to reveal a plethora of issues somewhat caused or sustained by the nature of his career. within bojack horseman, bojack is only able to stop hurting other characters when those characters construct a situation that forces him to face consequence, his introspection alone is not enough. while bojack ends on a message of hope, suggesting to the audience that reverting back to the status quo is not the only acceptable way for events to end, it leaves stinging lessons and social commentary with the audience regarding the unnatural and damaging narrative that performers live through. on a similar but markedly different note, bo burnham’s work and personal progression is playing out in real time, and not in a way that is as raw and genuine as it appears. each bit is planned, even the most vulnerable moments that appear unplanned and painful. his latest special is not entirely devoid of hope, but does translate to audiences as a somewhat exaggerated look around the era of social media and the development of performance, using himself as an example.

the absurdist humour that often acts as a vehicle for poignant statements or emotionally provocative questions is very specific to each media creator. bob-waksberg’s use of puns, tongue twisters and entirely ridiculous circumstances served to simultaneously characterise his points as an expected part of the show’s style of humour, similar to bojack’s emotional instability, but also to make them appear gut-punching in comparison to the humour. burnham’s work is similar in that poignant but blunt statements are often sandwiched between absurd and exaggerated jokes, making them stand out via contrast but not giving the audience too much time to dwell upon them as they are said. performance art is second nature to entertainers, and is presented a an issue that is infiltrating the general population via social media rather than solely affecting the ‘elites’. bojack horseman and bo burnham present the duality of artists simultaneously attempting to level the playing field and increase their chances of survival in the industry, and encourage audiences to know that everyone is bluffing and you’ll never have the right cards anyway.

i.k.b

[more-than-a-princess]

In the time she'd known her, Sonia had never seen Shinobu so defeated. Tall and proud and with a chill in her demeanor, absolutely, save for the rare times Sonia could remember her red gaze softening for a brief moment. But never defeated: she supposed it was the effect of being a former Remnant, now imprisoned on an island in the middle of nowhere while the rest of the world debated about what to do with her and her former classmates. They had no say in it all, that much Sonia was aware of: that was why Masaru had taken it upon himself to seek out the Princess of Novoselic. He was a brother desperate to save his sister, and would use any tactic and person he could to do so.

And so Sonia too sighed: every day was a reminder that the person she once knew, the person who loved kaiju movies and maintaining a small but well-loved personal library, was gone. "I have the feeling, when I am around Togami-san, that whether the Tragedy had happened or not, he would have found his way into political influence anyway. Before it all happened, corporations were already influencing politics far more than free and fair elections," She paused, chuckling dryly. "But that is probably a moot point coming from me, my nation being an absolute monarchy. I just want a chance to help build a better world for everyone, where not only a small, wealthy faction of people benefit from laws and practices."

The thought seemingly had tired them out, and Sonia turned her head as Shinobu fell back against the sand. With a deep breath, she held her tongue at the sight of them: there was the defeat again, with a level of comfort she felt they'd only trusted Anzu with back then. Nothing less than composed, neatly ironed and buttoned or clad in her kyudo uniform. Sonia understood it: no matter how much either girl could criticize and resent their place in their respective families, they still maintained the image desired of them.

But even on her back, Sonia thought, with a hand over her face, Shinobu would burn like this. She wondered what it would be like to lay beside her, to shield her from the sun and rain and hatred and demands for her corpse. Thoughts that were washed away with the waves that lapped at the shore nearby.

"I used to think that, after giving my life to my family and country, that I at least deserved real love and happiness with someone," She began, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her forearms atop them. "But now I think that is not assured for anyone, no matter what the sacrifice. So all I can hope for is to try and create a more just, better world than the one we had."

She raised an eyebrow at Shinobu's admission: another addition to the list of ways Shinobu Yaguchi had changed. Sonia doubted she would've buckled to illness, particularly the mental sort, as a teenager. "You needn't apologize for how you feel," She assured her. "But I will speak to the Future Foundation regarding access to your cabin. In the meantime though, it might do us both good to get out of the sun for a bit!"

She nodded, determined, before kicking her legs out in front of her and scrambling to her feet. Mustering a smile, she reached down for Shinobu's uninjured hand with one of her own. "If you plan to help me convince your comrades, allow me to assist as well. I cannot take you on my ship without causing a commotion, but I doubt anyone would complain too much if I was in dire need of a cold drink at the hotel and asked for you to accompany me. Shall we?" She wiggled her fingers some, beckoning Shinobu to take her hand and pull her up, up out of the hot sand, the oppressive midday sun, and the dark depths of her mind.

The former archer looked down at her hand, covered now by Sonia's handkerchief, the blood slowing from her thumb by the moment. There was something wrong with her, with her brain. Had they always been so unstable, or had the Neo World Program shaken her head back and forth with enough force to cause her madness to overflow its cup, and knock it over entirely? Sonia had guaranteed her life - that she would not meet her end back in the nation of her birth, and though it might just have been the natural politicking of a princess, it certainly seemed spoken with a degree of firm conviction that lend believability.

Yet, still, they couldn't help but believe it. Whether a justified fear or a paranoid byproduct of her addled mind, Shinobu could only see the trip back home in a singular light. Every request, every concession, it had all spawned from that unwavering understanding that her life would soon be at an end. It made it easier to keep from gazing out into the sea and imaging herself beneath its waves, or stealing a knife and following the vertical line of her chest, so that she might at least take out the evil inside her rather than die unclean. If she were to live, what even remained for her?

"I see." There was no point confronting her, and Shinobu simply sunk into the sand, exhausted. There was a bird flying over the water, lurching down just to skim off the water's edge, and escape with a fish in grasp. Was it mocking her, with its freedom? With its carelessness? With the ease with which it could catch a fish even on a quiet day? Some recessed part of her wanted to tear it to pieces and feast on its innards, and perhaps this too set her apart from her peers. Their mind was so uniquely shattered that who could say if all traces of the Remnant of Despair had truly been eradicated? Wasn't that an argument, then, for allowing her to die?

"If someone like Togami is to have a hand in Japan's future political system, then I can only extend another of many apologies to the Japanese people for my actions." Namely, in not killing him before he had any chance for power. Another point of separation. The likes of Murasame or Shikiba, even Matsuda, treated death as a faraway thing. To Shinobu, it was familiar, even uncomfortably warmly so. She had no further desire to hurt anyone, and the thought of doing so brought bile up her throat, but it was impossible to separate herself from the beast she'd been.

If she was condemned for her actions regardless, perhaps she should have been more particular in them. Surely there were people alive who would have served the world better in death than so many she'd killed. "But as for whether it would be of benefit, it's hard to say." With a weak sigh, she collapsed onto her back, her left hand shielding her from the sun, casting in silhouette the jagged cuts and burns around her ring finger. "I think the knowledge that someone consigned themselves to a less happy life on our behalf would only depress most of them, truthfully, though it's hardly anything for us to decide."

That lingering piece of evil lodged in her brain, that thought that came easiest, quickest, before being quashed back down by shame and rationality, made its point easily enough. If people were going to accept misery, then they should have simply rolled over and allowed Despair to win. Fighting so hard for Hope was meaningless if this was all they did with it - half-measures and limp concessions. There was no fairness in that line of thinking, but neither was it untrue, in her estimation. Had not they all sacrificed enough, those who stood on the right side of history, those who had clawed the world back from its edge?

"I regret, Nevermind-san, that I'm a poor conversation partner at the moment. I'm not well, today, I think." Mentally, at least. "Future Foundation won't allow me to return to my cabin early, but I may as well continue to be derelict in my duty for the day." A bird's taunt or no, the fish were staying from the shoreline. "I'm afraid you'll find me a scrambled, inconsistent speaker." She wasn't asking Sonia to leave - as if even she could - but simply suggesting to the woman that her efforts were better spent elsewhere, more than likely.

"As for my classmates... I don't speak often with them, given the shape of my evenings, but when I do, I'll... see if I cannot convince them to be a bit more forthcoming with you about their situations." Some may have been lost causes, but surely there were others who could benefit from Sonia's presence. "Matsuda's work is inconsistent, but I imagine some of the others will be woken up soon, as well." They shrugged, a weak gesture made even weaker by their position, prone, in the sand. "You'll hear about it, I'm sure, but if I have any involvement, I'll try to refer anyone to you who might be willing to talk to you. Perhaps it will help."

[delimeful]

you cant go back (3)

warnings: panic, miscommunication, trafficking, non-consensual drug use, suicidal thoughts, food, mentions of torture, cliffhanger, these tags make it sound worse than it is tbh  

-

When Virgil first opened his eyes, jerked out of sleep by sharp instinctual alarm, he’d thought for a moment that he was still dreaming.

It was the same face, after all, even with how frighteningly close it was, even with a vastly different expression painted across it. He’d been confused, almost relieved-- had they gotten away after all?-- and then he’d realized just what the Deathworlder had in their arms.

He’d lunged and come up short, forced to watch as the Human kept their arms locked around Patch even as the creature made unhappy little noises he’d never heard from it before. 

It was so small compared to the Human, easily tucked under an arm and managed regardless of protests. Did they have no respect for the deadly grace of the other creatures on this planet?

They’d circled him from a distance, ignoring his warning twitches and outright hisses as thoroughly as they ignored Patch, and all he could do was watch, locked in place, hoping that Human prey drive wasn’t as high as all the rumors said.

And then the Human had left, taking Patch with them, and Virgil had been left to watch their fading heat signature and pray to Seryl that whatever the Human did would be quick. For both of them.

It wasn’t that easy, of course. The Human wanted something from him, badly.

He thought he had a fair idea of what-- or rather, who-- it was.

After all, he’d seen a near-perfect mirror of them, sitting bound and muzzled in their transfer ship’s holding cell where a Human absolutely shouldn’t be. Leond and her Second had been unnaturally gleeful for rotations before Virgil finally found out about the ‘successful pickup’, namely through stumbling across it by doing the routine security and safety checks that he didn’t trust the rest of these idiots to do themselves.

They’d cut him off before he could get to a comm to tell Janus, cornered him in the tight cell block hall, and offered him a deal: his silence for a cut of the immense earnings they would make from renting out a Human to any and all fighting rings.

He remembered the way the Human’s gaze had flickered between him and the others curiously as he argued, the way they’d struggled to bare their teeth derisively at Leond, even through the bars of their muzzle and the haze of whatever they’d been drugged with. It was one of the last things he’d seen before he’d ‘made a fuss’ big enough that his own crew had tranq’d him and ditched him on-planet to die.

“You’re right,” Leond had said, face smooth in the way that meant smug satisfaction for her species. “We haven’t fulfilled our half of the exchange, have we? We took an alien from that planet, so it’s only fair that we leave one behind.”

His limbs had been defensively raised since the beginning of the argument, but Virgil had fought side by side with these people before. They knew how to guard his blind spots, which meant that they knew his blind spots.

The Human had tried to speak through the muzzle, just before he’d heard the discharge sound of a tranq gun too close to dodge. He thought it might have been an attempted warning.

It hadn’t changed anything. He’d been the only one on that ship who’d opposed the Human’s abduction, and as a reward, he was going to be slowly interrogated to death by one of their clutchmates. The level of cruel irony was like something from one of Jan’s stupid operas.

Virgil felt another shudder of exhaustion. Stars, he hoped Janus would get out of there once he realized what they’d brought back. His best friend knew better than to fuck with Humans, and the crew clearly wasn’t going to listen to any interplanetary ethics lectures, so the best thing he could do was skip town. Better to rebuild than fall with the nest.

He hadn’t slept after the Human had left, flipping to his heat sensor vision and watching all night for their return, unable to relax after one of the most unpleasant awakenings of his life. And if it meant he didn’t dream about what could have happened to Patches, all the better.

The next day had come, and the Human returned, wielding that dull stick and asking more angry questions that Virgil couldn’t understand, let alone respond to.

The thing was, given enough time and exposure, he actually would be able to understand the specifics of what was wanted from him.

Like most long-term interstellar travelers, he had a Lator implant, and the more the Human talked at him, the more linguistic patterns and trends would be picked up and catalogued, making it much easier for him to put the pieces together.

Unfortunately, time wasn’t something he had an excess of.

Janus would have figured out at least the basics by now; in addition to being better with words, he’d gotten a more recent, effective upgrade to the implant’s software. Virgil had turned the offer down for himself, knowing that they needed to save money where they could, and figuring that he didn’t really need it. His job was to defend Janus. His First could handle the talking part of their missions on his own with ease, the chatterbox that he was.

It had seemed obvious at the time. A lot of good that logic was doing him now.

The Human said something at him, flashing his bone-white teeth as he spoke. Humans didn’t have guard plates over their mouths at all, and so every time this one turned to him, he felt as though they were either acting sickeningly overfamiliar or that they might lunge forward and try to bite him at any moment. He’d carefully kept his own plates locked, not willing to expose any teeth and have it mistaken for a challenge.

The Human was waiting expectantly. Virgil took a deep breath and replied, the same as he had every time he could, though he doubted Humans had access to translator implants.

“I am not here to harm anyone. I was abandoned here against my will. I can’t understand what you’re saying,” he recited in Guard-tongue, keeping the sentences brief and repetitive for easy translation pattern recognition.

The Human wasn’t extending him the same courtesy, his own sentences long-winded and full of unfamiliar concepts that kept tripping up the Lator programming. References, probably.

There was one Human word that he’d figured out fairly early on: Brother.

Clutchmate, family, the lookalike that was probably long gone by now.

He was almost glad that he couldn’t speak coherently. As it was, he didn’t have to be the one to break the news.

Almost, because the Human was stubbornly finding new and creative ways to freak him the hell out with each visit.

First, they’d figured out fairly quickly that he was slowly starving.

Virgil had flooded his plates right to pitch on their first meeting, and hadn’t been calm enough to stop the defensive reaction since, which had quickly drained what little hydration stores he’d had left. Between the drying out of his plates and the fact that he’d gotten too worked up and blacked out for a moment during an interrogation, his fading health wasn’t exactly subtle.

He’d panicked, because any enemy knowing his weakness was generally pretty fucking bad, let alone an enemy with personal motive and ability to twist that weakness like a knife in the spine.

The Human had verbally freaked out (a regular occurrence) and vanished for a while, before returning to the barn with an entire array of items (not a regular occurrence). They’d set the items out on flat fiber ‘plates’ and then slid them into range with that stupid stick.

Virgil had stabbed a few of them on principle before realizing that this was food, aided by the Human rolling his eyes pointedly-- a derisive gesture, he’d gathered-- and eating something from a plate of their own.

At that point, Virgil had been willing to risk poison. The way he saw it, he either died, or he ate something, and either way it meant stopping the slow, aching pain eating away at the pit of his stomach.

He’d even been willing to tolerate the Human staring at him, since apparently they didn’t have the manners to not watch a stranger eat. Or that wasn’t a thing on this planet. It didn’t really matter.

After a significant amount of time spent using his auxiliary limbs to delicately maneuver Human produce and meats into inspection range, he settled for what smelled the least concerning, avoiding any that smelled or looked too bright to be safe.

(The scrunched-up look the Human had given him after he’d crunched an egg in his throat had been hard to interpret, though.)

Anything he could safely ingest, he’d eaten. After the Human left, he’d even attempted the indignity of trying to lift the bowl of water in range with wobbly limbs, though he’d almost immediately spilled the majority of it all over himself. It didn’t matter, he could pull any and all hydration from what he’d eaten, though he didn’t dare get used to it.

This wasn’t his first time above the nest, and he hadn’t fooled himself into believing that this shocking show of generosity would last. The Human had only done it to make sure that their hostage wouldn’t keel over.

Starvation and dehydration were more-than-effective methods of hands-off torture, after all, and the Human really only needed to give him enough to keep him alive.

The impending mistreatment shouldn’t have shaken him as much as it did. He had the advantage of the Human’s ignorance on how much Chelcerae ate, and his own resilience, developed from years of scraping by on the barest of rations. He was lucky, really, to be one of the species with a water-storing organ.

Still, he spent the night wondering if it was worth it to keep fighting. There was no escape, so wouldn’t it be better to go out on his own terms, before anything truly horrendous could happen to him?

Probably. The real question was: would he have the fortitude to turn down food all the way to a slow and painful death-via-starvation?

He wasn’t sure, and he continued to be resentful of the fact that he even had to make such a choice all the way up until the next day, when the Human walked in with a plate covered in everything he’d eaten yesterday and slid it over to him, simple as anything.

“What?” the Human snapped after a moment of Virgil watching them for any indication of what to do, and he’d hurriedly flickered his heat sensor eyes in hopes of placating any offense. The Human had grumbled indistinctly, but didn’t attempt to remove the plate or even threaten to do so.

The next day was the same. Though the Human continued to try and interrogate and occasionally intimidate him, the food and drink was provided without stipulation or hesitation. It was… strange.

Virgil refused to read into it. Perhaps Humans just had meals so frequently that skipping a single day would be as barbaric as weeks of starvation for Chelcerae. Maybe once the Human had enough of his noncompliance, they were going to feast on his flesh and didn’t want a stringy meal. It was impossible to know.

The generous feeding schedule was nothing, though, compared to some of the other questionable tendencies the Human had.

They traversed the grounds in and around the barn with little wariness, apparently quite confident in their ability to defend themself on the Deathworld they’d grown up on. They brushed insects and plant matter alike off their person with little care for poisons or bites.

Their body language seemed to consist of every threat display in the wayfarer guidebook, and worse, only a quarter of these threat displays seemed intentional. Virgil was constantly tense, attempting to figure out which were intended to cow him, and how to keep his own body language from worsening the damage. Any signal of terrified compliance, even the obvious tremor of his auxiliary limbs, only seemed to prompt wariness and confusion from the Human.

They’d found his helmet and immediately put it on, which had made his fuzz prickle with hope for a moment, before remembering that the reserve battery of the headset was well and truly dead. No emergency translators for the Human, and no upturns in luck for Virgil.

Maybe it was better. Even if the Human could talk to him, he would seem just as guilty for their brother’s disappearance in their eyes. It wasn’t even an accusation he could reasonably defend against; if things had gone differently, if he’d made smarter choices, maybe he could have gotten the captured Human free.

Janus would have managed it. He’d always been a quicker mind than Virgil.

It’d been three days since the Human had found him, and Virgil had barely managed to parse a handful of imperatives and nouns from someone who was basically just yelling the same things at him over and over.

“You can’t ---- the ---- ---------, you ----- --------! I ---- what I ---- and --- ----- to it!” the Human yelled, essentially proving his point. Virgil resisted the urge to let his chin drop down to his collar in exhausted resignation.

It was difficult to focus past the old pains from the fight with Leond, and the new pains from being strapped upright for days on end. Even if he could bring himself to pay closer attention, it wouldn’t make it easier to parse words he had no context for. Lator technology worked best when both parties were exchanging words, or at the very least, when there was more than one native speaker prattling on at you!

The Human inhaled to continue and then froze, prompting Virgil to slink his shoulders up slightly, something that had worked to show his non-aggression once or twice before. The Human wasn’t focused on him, though, whirling around to face the barn doors with their body rigid.

Because he’d never been good at uncertainty, Virgil flicked his heat-sensor eyes open just as another Human-sized mass reached the doors, moving in a predator’s stalk.

Well, he thought as the door creaked open, I’m screwed.

[skinfeeler]

@zoobus, in response to https://zoobus.tumblr.com/post/681887592276475904/what-no-she-is-not-her-tags-were-dripping-wit https://zoobus.tumblr.com/post/681887592276475904/what-no-she-is-not-her-tags-were-dripping-with

My response is going to have to take some time to take its stride before my point becomes very clear, due to the amount of obfuscation that takes place in this discourse, centered around the neologism ‘transandrophobia’, so bear with me— imagine, for a moment, that you have just heard the term ‘taking the red pill’ for the first time and are about to find out about a new internet rabbit hole, because that’s what this is. I ask for your patience and willingness to look at all the context that I am providing throughout various links in this post.

But first of all, the ‘no’ is in response to “transmasc opinions on jkr are extremely valuable, actually,” in a number of senses.

In the purely enumerable sense, most ‘transmasc opinions’ (here taken as ‘opinions held by transmascs’) on jkr are that trans men are the ‘real victims’ or even the primary victims’. i disagree, because while obviously there are deeply negative ramifications for transmasc people with regards to various aspects of life which need to be spoken about, such speech is not ‘extremely valuable’ at least in the sense that they are hardly the unique recipients of this, nor are they worse. While this feels like useless nitpicking, ‘extremely’ is by its nature a comparative term, and I have seen increasing amounts of concerning rhetoric implying that medical gatekeeping and reproductive rights are exclusively or primarily issues that affect transmasc people, which is plainly untrue. Most ‘transmasc opinions’ I have seen on JKR are actually intolerable and actively seek to obfuscate the role of trans women in ms. Rowling’s ideological project see for example this one which was shared widely in this sphere: see https://transjon.tumblr.com/post/659722056205762560/the-fact-that-i-am-constantly-exposed-to-insane

The real ‘no’ here though, is at a number of implications inherent to the assertion that only really make sense in the larger sense of this discourse, which more often than not comprises “women shouldn’t speak over men” and “simply because trans men do not universally and uncomplicatedly have access to what one might call ‘male privilege’ — a term in the vernacular of incredibly few trans women I know because of ‘privilege’ frameworks being largely useless — they have no way to wield gendered power over (trans) women at all,” as an exercise of shooting against an easy target when the power that trans men wield (contextually or generally) over other groups, especially trans women, can be articulated in a number of other ways. If you have been following the issue in question, you will see a lot of framing of trans men as meaningfully and actively under siege by trans women who rather than resenting notions of ‘sex-based discrimination’ (which trans women are naturally implied to not be party to) or seeking larger rather than superficial analyses of certain far-right threats simply seek to shut trans men down. The insinuation here is that ‘transmasc opinions’ have been completely abased, unjustly so, and by trans women, and OP is very much obviously and clearly part of the sphere that asserts this much, which becomes obvious when you take it into the larger context of discussions that take place that this one is part of. But more on that later.

When trans women are angry at other groups of trans people who ‘are not the primary targets of transmisogyny‘ (it is basically impossible to phrase this in a way that fully describes reality accurately, but bear with me) should ‘stop blaming other trans people for transmisogyny transphobia’, obfuscating the issue. At the same time, when trans women (and people like them) take issue with trans men, it is ‘transandrophobia’, suddenly now a real and coherent phenomenon, like transmisogyny, or misogynoir. Here we are seeing the same, where immediately the slightest and briefest disagreement immediately has my askbox being filled with vile things from people sent my way by a trans man who is convinced that he is always and immediately the victim and that it’s not worth double checking if the ‘terf’ is actually a ‘trans woman’ (not that he cares), and now I ‘have’ to respond.

Before I move on to my conclusion, meditate on the following:

https://transjon.tumblr.com/post/670778964066844672/i-know-if-i-wanted-to-prove-that-i-was-not where the problem becomes trans women being camab and being camab being associated with oppression of women females.

https://skinfeeler.tumblr.com/post/655788045473316864/transmasc-threatens-women-with-violence-news-at where a mature response to the common tfem issue with the face of nonbinarity very often excluding them is given.

https://transmisogyny-explained.tumblr.com/post/680374340743757824 from which the way that transandrophobia is employed and how this framing can often be harmful is given.

To finalise.

“No,” in the sense that I refuse to engage with an assertion that demands that it be taken in good faith, when all the signs that I shouldn’t are present. “No,” when trans women are called terves or radfem-adjacent for insisting that trans men, too, can hold a certain kind of power over them. “No,” when the insistence on the fact that trans men are downtrodden and their opinions completely erased has caused the genesis of an entire discourse to articulate a supposed specific hatred of trans men that women can and are real and powerful party to, because OP has very clearly and obviously shown that they are part of this phenomenon.

Israel does have a right to defend itself, but it’s not under ‘attack’. It’s okay to be white, but nobody is saying in a real and powerful sense that it isn’t. Trans men’s opinions are valuable, in the sense that everyone’s is, but they don’t get to invoke that obvious truth to keep erasing the ways in which trans women’s are not valued, even when they are directly interested in simply dismissing every articulation of our own experiences as not just pseudointellectualism, but bigotry.

A petulant “no” suffices to all of these theses, because the very insistence that people should give a serious answer is nothing more than a tactic to exhaust the people who this is all actually about, and to mislead people who aren’t wizened to what is going on, in the same sense that there are tons of posts that say “women deserve their own spaces” that really mean “males should stay out of women’s bathrooms.” I know that it doesn’t fit the particular way you like to do discussion, and the next time you reblog something that I find deeply objectionable, if you want me to, I’ll just go another reblog down the chain or whatever instead of doing my thing where I attempt to get blocked by as many people as possible with worldviews deeply inimical to my well-being.

Bonus addenda for those who are interested in more aspects of this discourse and finding out its context and what it’s really about:

https://skinfeeler.tumblr.com/post/672922160623452160/skinfeeler-the-word-for-transphobia-affecting

https://transmisogyny-explained.tumblr.com/post/675478015413796864/this-is-actually-a-pretty-interesting-talking

https://transmisogyny-explained.tumblr.com/post/675360992689029120

[jaskierswolf]

An Ocean Away

Geraskier soulmate AU - A gift for my own darling soulmate @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde.

Words: 3.8k

CW:  Big mutual pining, long distance friendships, and a lot of swearing, fucking the ocean is not advised...

Read on AO3

___________

Jaskier stared at his phone and sighed loudly. Geralt was still asleep and really Jaskier should be working but he missed him. How that was even possible he wasn’t sure, they’d never even met. Geralt was all the way across the other side of the fucking ocean. Jaskier hated it. The soul bond had snapped into place on Jaskier’s birthday. He’d waited up until midnight, shaking with excitement. He’d known there was a chance his soulmate was younger than him but he didn’t care, his soulmate would be worth the wait.

Luckily for him, Geralt was a couple of years older. 

Unluckily for him, Geralt also lived in America. 

He sighed again and thumped his head against his desk, earning a withered glare from his boss across the room. God, he really needed to get out of his job. He was an artist, a musician! He shouldn’t be stuck in an office inputting data. 

‘Geralt….’  He called out mentally, hoping to reach his soulmate in his dreams but it was no use. Geralt was down for the count and probably wouldn’t wake up for several hours. 

Instead, Jaskier sighed loudly for the third time and remembered their first conversation with a fond smile. 

‘Helloooooo’ he called out, fidgeting with his bedsheets. ‘anybody there?’

‘What the fuck?’ a gruff response came and Jaskier could just about make out the image of some kind of restaurant if he focussed hard enough, but that wasn’t what had caught his attention.

‘You’re American?!’ he wanted to cry. He couldn’t afford to fly out to America, not unless he followed his sisters into the family business and regained access to the Bank of Dad. 

‘Fuck.’

Ah so his soulmate was a man of many words. He grinned a flopped back onto his bed. ‘I’m Jaskier, by the way, I’m from England.’

‘I’m at work, can this wait?’ his soulmate growled. 

Jaskier’s heart sank. ‘Right, yes, yes… of course. I umm… well I need to go to sleep. I’m bloody exhausted. Wake me up when you’re finished?’

‘Hmm.’

Geralt hadn’t managed to wake him up. Although he still maintained to this day that he’d yelled out as much as he could without actually yelling aloud, and Jaskier had slept through the whole damn thing. Geralt’s mind was pretty quiet. He didn’t often project his thoughts unless they were actively conversing. Jaskier on the other hand kept up a steady stream of thoughts, showing Geralt the pretty flowers that he saw on the way to work, or humming new songs just for his soulmate to hear, anything that he thought Geralt might find interesting. 

He pressed the home button on his phone again. Barely five minutes since the last time he’d checked. It wasn’t even time for lunch yet, let alone time for Geralt to wake up. He hoped they’d have time to video chat before Geralt had to go to work that evening but he was pretty sure that his soulmate was on an early shift. He groaned, and reluctantly started angrily jabbing at his keyboard. The endless stream of emails and shitty clients were not helping his mood. Why couldn’t Geralt be on a closing shift? At least then they’d be able to talk properly before Jaskier had to go to sleep. 

“Would you stop being so pathetic, Julian?” Valdo sneered from the desk opposite Jaskier’s. 

“You’re just angry because your soulmate hasn’t made contact yet,” Jaskier snapped back. 

They were both twenty-four and Valdo’s soulmate was either ignoring him or was still underage. Jaskier almost pitied the man; almost. 

“Just get on with your work, Julian and stop clock watching.”

Jaskier muttered a few rather inappropriate for work words under his breath and turned back to his computer. He managed to get one whole email dealt with before losing focus again. He shifted in his seat so he could sit cross-legged on the chair, and then tried again. After another few emails his feet started to tingle. 

“Oh bollocks,” he whined and jumped off the chair, hopping around the office. 

“For god’s sake, Julian!”

“My name… is Jaskier!” He snapped “and I’ve got bloody pins and needles!”

‘Jaskier?’ Geralt’s voice was bleary and slurred in his mind.

He squeaked and promptly fell on his arse, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from grinning madly. “Geralt’s awake!” he announced to the office. 

“Take your lunch early,” Tissaia sighed “God only knows you won’t get anything else done until you’ve spoken to Geralt.”

Jaskier beamed at his boss. Fuck he could kiss her. She was so understanding and wonderful and… 

And he still hadn’t responded to Geralt!

‘Geralt, darling, hello!’ he trilled happily in his mind, spinning his chair around so he was sitting backwards. 

‘Are you ok?’ Geralt hummed ‘Felt angry.’

Jaskier squeaked, unable to contain the swell of love in his chest. God damn it he just wanted to hug Geralt. It wasn’t fair. Priscilla and Essi had only lived two towns away from each other. Triss had grown up with Yennefer, and yet Jaskier was stuck with a soulmate on the other side of the fucking planet. 

‘Fuck the ocean,’ he grumbled

He heard Geralt’s laughter, echoed with a phantom feeling of mirth that wasn’t his own. ‘Fuck the ocean’ he agreed. 

‘I’m moving to America, I’m going to invent portals and I am never letting you go,’  Jaskier sighed. 

Geralt hummed again. He was tired, Jaskier could feel it. ‘Go back to sleep, darling.’

‘When’s your lunch break over?’

‘I have half hour.’

‘I’ll wait.’

Jaskier smiled dopily at his phone. There was a picture of Geralt and his horse, Roach, on the lock screen. He unlocked it quickly to check his clock app. He knew the timezone difference by heart at this point but he still needed to check. It was a habit that he had yet to break. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

Jaskier felt like crying. He just wanted to hold his soulmate. He wanted to know whether that love was platonic or romantic or what? He just… he knew he would love Geralt with every fibre of his being, and would be happy no matter what. That’s how soulmates worked after all. They were your match, and not everyone’s match was romantic. 

Oh but how he yearned.  He was pathetic. 

‘I miss you.’

‘I miss you too’ Geralt hummed and Jaskier felt an ache through the bond that wasn’t his. He smiled sadly. He wasn’t the only one being pathetic. 

They fell silent, Jaskier gazing longingly at his lock screen, trying desperately not to fall apart in the middle of his office. Maybe he should go for a walk. Maybe he should just quit his job and move to America. His soulmate was American so he wouldn’t have to worry about visas as long as he could prove Geralt was his. He just…. 

“Fuck,” he groaned and buried his head in his arms. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes and there was a lump caught in his throat. “Sorry, Tissaia. I’m, I’m, well, I’m going for a walk.”

He practically launched out of his chair towards the door. Not even bothering to grab his coat. He closed his eyes and reached out to Geralt, feeling a phantom embrace as Geralt reached back. It wasn’t as good as a real hug but no real hug could soothe the ache of having to live so far apart from his soulmate. 

‘Jask?’

Jaskier practically ran away from his office, down the road towards the woodland that surrounded the campus. His hands were pulling at his hair and he muttered nonsense under his breath. He counted every step that took him away from the building. He liked to imagine that every step brought him closer to Geralt but really he wasn’t entirely sure. 

‘I miss you,’ he hummed again. ‘It’s not fair.’

‘I know.’

‘We’ve never even met… six years Geralt! Fuck it, fuck this shit, fuck this job,’ he kicked at the ground. ‘I don’t even want to work in an office. It was supposed to be temporary.’

‘Then quit?’

Jaskier snorted. ‘I can’t afford it.’

His father’s face flitted in front of him. He could afford it if only he weren’t so bloody stubborn. He could work in his father’s company and he could go to America to see Geralt. Why couldn’t he just accept that? Why was he insisting on making his own way?

‘Jaskier, no. It’s not worth it,’ Geralt’s voice wrapped around him like a blanket. ‘Don’t compromise on your dreams for me.’

‘But I love you!’ he whined pitifully. 

‘I know and I love you too, but you’ll only resent me.’

Jaskier huffed and slid to the ground, his back resting against a tree. He rest his forehead on his knees and began to cry. Soulmates weren’t supposed to live apart for this long, it was too taxing on both parties but destiny had been cruel to them. He sobbed helplessly, his body shuddering as he dug his nails into the grass, tearing up chunks and throwing them away. 

It was only when he heard his phone ring that he managed sort of pull himself out of it. He wiped his eyes and peered at the phone. 

Geralt.

Of course it was, Geralt. His soulmate was video calling him. He swiped the screen to pick up and sniffed loudly. He didn’t need to sniff as loudly as he did, and he didn’t need to pout pathetically at the screen as he picked up… but he was sad and dramatic. He wanted extra sympathy points from Geralt. 

“Hi,” he whined, still pouting and widening his eyes slightly for added effect. Geralt’s room was dark, just a small light turned on just out of the camera. It was a shame because he couldn’t ogle the other man quite as much as he would normally like. 

Still, Geralt looked adorable. Stubble was starting to grow on his cheeks and his hair was a mess, falling in front of his eyes like rays of moonlight. “Hi.”

“I love you,” Jaskier whined as if he hadn’t already told Geralt that a hundred times today already. 

Geralt, the bastard, just laughed at him. “I know, love.”

“I know. I know… but… I love you?”

“I love you too,” Geralt sighed, wiping the sleep from his eyes. 

Jaskier still hadn’t managed to work out whether Geralt’s eyes were really that colour or whether it was just some trick of the light. In all the photos and video calls they looked golden, but Jaskier had never met anyone with golden eyes before. He hadn’t even realised it was possible. It was like something out of a fairy tale. Then again, he’d seen Eskel and Lambert, Geralt’s brothers, and they also had the same molten gold eyes. 

Between Yennefer and Geralt’s family, Jaskier felt very plain. He was attractive enough but in such a normal way, nothing compared to Geralt’s silvery hair that made him look like he’d been blessed by the spirits of winter, and his swirling amber eyes that blazed like the sun, and then Yennefer with her locks of raven hair and piercing violet eyes. 

He chewed anxiously on his bottom lip. God, why was he surrounded by such beautiful people. Brown hair, blue eyes and a dead end job. 

“Hey?” Geralt’s gruff voice pulled him from his thoughts. “You’re important to me.”

Jaskier smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck. He wasn’t entirely sure what emotions he’d been channeling through their bond but it was obviously enough for Geralt to be concerned. “I love you.”

Geralt tilted his head at the camera and smiled fondly, it was obscured by the darkness and the terrible quality of Geralt’s phone camera but it still managed to melt Jaskier’s heart. Stupid, dumb, soulmate. Why did he have to live in America?

“I have a plan?” Geralt said quietly, looking around his room and not meeting Jaskier’s eyes. 

“A plan?”

“The restaurant I work at has live music nights,” Geralt mumbled.

Jaskier frowned. He already knew that. Geralt had mentioned it before. Normally when he was complaining about the quality of the music. Jaskier adored him for that. He loved to judge other people’s music, and he rather smugly loved the way Geralt had only ever said nice things about his own songs. 

“Right?” he asked slowly, not quite understanding where Geralt was going with this.

“I spoke to Dad,” Geralt paused, licking his lips. Jaskier swallowed. It wasn’t fair. How could one man be so unreasonably attractive? He tucked at the sleeves of his jumper whilst he waited for Geralt to finish his thought. The cuffs had holes in and were fraying but it was soft and made the work day more bearable. If he gave a shit about his job he might wear nicer clothes but he’d rather be comfortable. 

“Vesemir?” Jaskier prompted gently. 

“He could help pay for the flights, a loan and we’ll have to pay him back,” Geralt mumbled, still not making any sense. “My apartment isn’t very big but you’re welcome to share until you find your own place? If you want your own place. I’m not making assumptions. I don’t expect you to share just because we’re soulmates but it would be cheaper and the restaurant wouldn’t be able to pay that much at first. You’d be playing music for a living though, and I know that’s what you really want to do,” Geralt cut himself of with a sharp sniff, letting out a low snarl. “Actually forget it, it’s a stupid idea.”

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s heart was racing. It almost sounded like Geralt was asking him to move to America? More than that, his own family was offering to help pay for the flights that neither of them could afford on their own. 

“I said forget it,” the phone snapped off and the screen went blank but Geralt was his soulmate and it wasn’t quite that easy to runaway. 

‘I don’t want to forget it,’ Jaskier told him, trying to push all the love he had for Geralt through the bond. ‘Are you asking me to move in with you, Geralt?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Geralt,’ he admonished gently. ‘I can’t quit my job on a maybe.’

‘Yes.’

Jaskier grinned. ‘I’ll resign after lunch.’

Jaskier had been tempted to just grab his bag and leave the office for good, but Tissaia had been good to him. She’d put up with his moping for the last three years and even allowed him flexible lunch breaks so he could talk to Geralt when he was awake. Not all bosses would be so forgiving. So he worked his notice. She hadn’t been surprised in the slightest when he announced his plans, if fact she seemed more surprised that it had taken so long to make the plans. He supposed most soulmates did move to be closer at the first available opportunity and he’d been pining over Geralt for six long years. 

Valdo had been his usual grumpy self, sneering that Jaskier hadn’t been able to cope with the job, but there was something in his eyes, a sadness that Jaskier hadn’t expected. They had known each other since university and their rivalry was almost an act these days, but he’d thought that Valdo would be pleased to see the back of him. 

His friends organised a wonderful goodbye party for him. Yennefer pulling out all the stops to make sure he had the best send off. If it weren’t for the pull of Geralt and his soulmate, he’d almost be tempted to stay. England had been his home since he was born and his life was there, his friends were there. 

But Geralt was not. 

And there was the promise of a career in music on the other side of the pond. It was too much to resist. So Jaskier packed up his flat. He pack a rucksack full of his favourite clothes and picked up his guitar. 

Then he drove to the airport, leaving England behind for good. The flight had been almost unbearable. It was long and cramped. He spent most of the time wittering to Geralt, not that his soulmate had responded much. The lucky bugger had been asleep whilst Jaskier tried desperately to block out the noise of screaming children. At one point he started singing a popular Disney tune to try and calm the children but it had only made them more excitable and he’d earned several disapproving glares from their parents. He’d been more than relieved when the plane started its final descent towards the airport.

And then the nerves kicked in. 

Six years of talking through their bond, text or video call… 

What if Geralt realised he didn’t like Jaskier once they met in person? 

Surely some soulmates didn’t get along. Not everyone could be that lucky… could they? 

He was currently waiting for his guitar case to come round the carousel and he was panicking. He should have packed more clothes. He should have brought more belongings. He should have, he should have, he should have. 

‘Jaskier!’ Geralt called and the effect was instantaneous. The tension melted from his shoulders and his fingers relaxed by his side. 

‘Sorry,’ he shot back ‘just nervous.’

He’d feel a lot calmer once he had his guitar strapped to his back and Geralt in his arms. He chewed anxiously as he followed the pieces of the luggage belt with his gaze. He’d always enjoyed watching the way they shifted around as they trailed like a conga line around the airport terminal. His eyes kept flickering to the entrance of the carousel where luggage was pushing through the large rubber drapes. 

“Come on,” he muttered, hopping from one foot to another.

The anxiety began to rise again with each new suitcase that wasn’t his guitar, but he could feel Geralt’s presence warm and constant in the back of his mind. It was stronger now. He’d not expected that. No one had told him that the bond would be stronger with less distance between them. They could already communicate perfectly well from across the world but now he could almost feel Geralt’s heartbeat in harmony with his own, he could feel each breath that Geralt took if he focussed on it. He could even smell the stale scent of coffee from the shop that Geralt was waiting in. 

It was almost too much, overwhelming. 

He could have had six more years of this if he hadn’t been a coward. 

He was so caught up in the new sensations of their soul bond that he almost missed his guitar case travelling along the belt. He squeaked and had to push passed a family that was blocking his way. “Sorry! I’m so sorry, umm, excuse me!”  he yanked the guitar from the belt and ran to the nearest bench. He unzipped the case quickly and inspected his precious instrument. 

There wasn’t even a scratch!

He laughed brightly and hugged the instrument to his chest. One thing down, one to go. Next stop… Geralt! 

He zipped up the case, flinging it onto his back along with his rucksack and then ran as fast as he could through the airport. It gained him a few strange looks but he was done. He’d had enough of waiting. He stumbled a few times as the case fell down his arm but he was persistent. He bustled through the last security check with nothing to declare and then he was free.

“Geralt!!” He yelled, scanning the sea of people for a shock of silver hair. 

He saw himself through Geralt’s eyes and turned on his heels until he spotted his soulmate gazing back at him with open arms. He was here. Geralt was here. He stopped frozen to the spot for a second whilst the world seemed to slow to a halt. 

Geralt.

In the flesh.

And he could hug him. 

“Oh fuck,” tears were already falling down his face, a waterfall of emotions. “Geralt.”

The only word he had left, echoing through the bond, and then he was running again. His bag and guitar case dropping to the floor just in front of Geralt as Jaskier leapt. His arms flung around Geralt’s neck and his legs wrapped around Geralt’s waist. Geralt’s hands supported his weight with ease as Jaskier buried his face in Geralt’s neck, one of Geralt’s hands threading into his hair. God, he even smelled divine. That just wasn’t fair. 

“I love you,” Geralt murmured in his ear. 

The first words he heard his soulmate say in person, and fuck. If he hadn’t already been crying then that would have pushed him over the edge. He was a complete mess but he’d never been happier. He was here, with Geralt. He sobbed into Geralt’s shoulder until his soulmate lowered him gently to the floor. His legs felt weak and Geralt had to keep his arm wrapped around Jaskier’s middle to stop him from falling to the floor. Fingers brushed his cheek, wiping away some of the tears. 

“Hey?”

Jaskier looked at Geralt through a sea of tears. “Hi,” he laughed weakly. “I love you.”

Geralt pressed his forehead against Jaskier’s “I love you too, fuck… I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I’m here,” Jaskier laughed. “Holy fuck, I’m actually here, and you’re here, and the world hasn’t fallen apart. Oh bloody hell, stop fucking crying, Jask!” he snapped, pulling away from Geralt just enough so he could wipe his face. He smiled sheepishly and gazed at his soulmate through his eyelashes. If it weren’t for the bloody ocean on his face, then he would have tried to be seductive, but that ship had long sailed. “Can… can I kiss you?” 

Geralt’s ridiculously gorgeous and actually golden eyes softened. He nodded, hand still cupping Jaskier’s cheek. Jaskier almost fainted on the spot. He hadn’t been expecting Geralt to agree but he was too weak not to ask. He couldn’t even close the gap to finally kiss his soulmate, too stunned that Geralt even wanted it. Luckily Geralt still had his wits about him. A rough calloused finger stroked Jaskier’s cheek and then they were kissing. 

It was magical. He felt everything, and more. Geralt’s lips on his, Geralt’s love in his heart and his own love weaving into the fabric of Geralt’s soul. It felt so strange, after all this time to actually be here. If the emotions weren’t quite so intense then he’d almost think he was dreaming. 

‘I love you’ one of them sighed happily as their lips moved together, breaths mingling, souls completely entangled. 

I love you, I miss you, I want you, I love you…. The thoughts never stopped as they clung to each other in the middle of a shitty airport terminal. 

It was the end of Jaskier’s life as he knew it, and the beginning of a new life with Geralt by his side.