#feel like i should clarify that I in fact wear knee braces and am not fraudulently sexualizing the disabled community

[disabled-dean]

Dean wears knee braces head-cannon expanded: they're the kind of compression sleeves that are worn under his clothes so no one usually sees them- until he's like doing laundry or whatever one day and Cas walks in on him and immeadiately gets a nosebleed and has to pretend that angel radio just short circuited to save face

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 70: Making Long-Distance Calls

Tfw you haven’t heard from your kid in a while and part of you is really worried and the other part of you wants to kill him yourself to save your enemies the trouble… and then that mf just says he ‘forgot’.

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“Okay, so do you two see each other?” Lance asks.

“I see a Balmeran.” Thace cocks his head curiously. “Quite different from the race that I am familiar with- Ulaz! Get out! Patient confidentiality!” There’s a snicker in the background, followed by a door opening and closing.

“Excellent!” Lance chirps, typing in another code, waiting for it to pick up. “Tavo, are you there?”

“I am here. Hello, your Majesties. Crown Prince Lancel, I've heard the kings are quite bitter that they have not heard from you.”

“Oh, fuck.” The prince pales, then brushes it off. “I need to call them anyway. They can scold me for spending too much time in the sun or not wearing socks.”

Keith glances at his mate, noting his darker complexion, the little brown spots creeping from underneath his skin. An Altean, blessed by Daibazaal’s sun. It’s perfect. He’s perfect.

Keith really needs to reboot his brain.

“So what are we here for, then?” Tavo asks, pulling his chair closer to his desk.

“We’re planning on having a kit,” Keith says, cutting right to the chase. He’s already done too many of these calls this quintant.

“I see. How soon do you expect to conceive?” Tavo accesses his desktop, fingers sliding over the glass table.

“I go into season in a few quintants- Shut up, Thace.” The medic scowls, shaking his head in silent disapproval.  “I will hopefully conceive sometime in the following movement.”

“Understood. What are your concerns?” The Altean medic casts his dark eyes around the group.

“Nutrition, complications at any point during pregnancy, and predicting needs of the kit once born,” Thace clarifies. “Your majesties, we can carry this conversation without you.”

“You can,” Lance agrees. “But you won’t.” Keith smiles, delighted by his mate’s enthusiasm. “All we want, for today, is to make considerations regarding how we help Keith -and the baby- stay healthy. Starting with nutrition.”

“Right. Excellent.” Thace pulls up several holographic panels. “In your particular case, your Majesty, nutrition is definitely where we need to begin. Your metabolism is extremely fast for a Galra.”

“Is it?” Hunk asks. “Alteans have high metabolisms, but I’ve just been making as much as Keith will eat.”

“Your average Galra consumes roughly one sixth the amount of calories that Kei- Prince Yorak requires to maintain his current condition. That amount in turn does not account for growth spurts, season, pregnancy, or any increase in muscle mass. Basically, anything more than the normal amount of physical output creates strain upon his body that our species is not naturally equipped to deal with.

We’re meant to go for a long time on nothing. Prince Yorak goes for a short time, and only on a great deal.”

“Basically, how do you keep me and a fetus alive and healthy without stuffing me like one of those weird birds you people always eat,” Keith clarifies. “I’ll be stuffed enough.”

“Damn right you will,” Lance snickers. Keith promptly whacks him with the back of his hand with a scolding, while Thace chokes on a laugh and Tavo shakes his head in disappointment.

“Well, my wife is going into labor any dobosh now, so let’s get to work on some meal ideas and then I’m gonna duck out.” Hunk grins. “Your Majesties must come visit once he’s born.”

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Keith promises. “Let’s get to work!”

“Okay! So for the sake of this discussion… Let’s divide nutrient sources into three categories: proteins, fats, and carbs. Carbs should further be divided into starches and cellulose. During pregnancy, you may require more fruits and vegetables as Alteans are primarily vegetarian, so we’ll need to ensure a balanced diet both for you and a your hybrid fetus-”

It takes two vargas to come up with some kind of meal plan, which will probably change a million times anyway, but at least it gives them something to work with -and gives the princes headaches, but whatever-. It’s worth it, and Lance knows it will relieve some of Keith’s anxiety.

“Well, if we’re done, I’d better head out. Rosie is being an absolute monster today, so-”

“Just one thing.” All eyes fall to Keith. “We’re keeping this quiet. There are too many risks to say anything until we’re sure there’s a chance of having a viable fetus. Basically, all of this is a secret until I say otherwise.”

“Understood.” Hunk bows his heads. “We look forward to seeing you home, your Majesties. Farewell.”

“Farewell,” the princes chorus.

“On to complications, then.” Thace decides. “Complications include embryotic miscarriage, fetal miscarriage, stillbirth, birth defects, underdevelopment, excessive bleeding, parasitic placental syndrome-”

“I’m sorry. What did you just say?” Lance leans forward, visibly horrified. Tavo lifts an eyebrow. Apparently, the Altean royal physician hasn’t heard of this either.

“Parasitic placental syndrome. It’s a condition in Galra where the placenta takes an excessive amount of nutrients from the bearer, resulting in malnourishment, miscarriage, premature stillbirth, and extreme malnourishment. Basically, the placenta starves the bearer until they eventually cannot support the fetus.

“In Prince Yorak’s case-”

“It could be fatal,” Keith finishes. “Which brings us to a touchy subject: If it comes down to it, do you save me, or the kit? The answer is me.”

“You’re sure?” Tavo asks.

“Yes. It’s selfish to die for one life, when I have the potential to carry many more.” Keith looks to Lance for his opinion, if the Altean wants to give one. Lance just kisses his cheek.

“Up to you, beloved. But I’d like to have you as a part of my family if at all possible.”

Keith smiles at his mate, brushes a bit of starlight hair away from his face. “Me too.”

“You guys are so cute,” Thace sighs. “Also, total dorks.”

Tavo frowns. “Your Majesties, is this man some kind of prince, to speak so informally to you?”

“No, that’s just Thace. He has no respect for authority unless Daibazaal is in crisis mode.” Keith rolls his eyes, even as his lips curl with the edge of a small smile.

“Bitch, I have five kits. I am the authority.”

“FIVE?” Tavo chokes. “Five children???”

“Oh, yeah.” Thace smirks, clearly enjoying messing with the Altean medic. “Granted three of them are triplets, but… I think that just makes it more impressive.”

Tavo turns to the princes. “Your Majesties, surely this… degenerate is not the only reproductive authority on Daibazaal.”

“No, but he is the best. And my species is suspected to have at least four kits within the span of a decaphoeb, and encourage to have between six and eight. Some have even more.” Keith smiles. “Thace is the best in his field, and he has an intimate understanding of my growth disorder. There is no one I’d trust more with my life during such a critical time. And…

“I’ve not spent much time with you, Tavo, but I know your reputation well, and trust me when I say that you both have a great deal to learn from each other. I can see you two doing amazing things together.” The smile turns to an imperious stare. “Regardless, I expect you both to work together and be nice to each other. If I hear otherwise, I’ll kick your asses.”

The two medical professionals grumble their assent, Thace insulted and Tavo wary but abashed.

“Right,” Keith sighs. “Now, back to our discussion… There’s not really a whole lot to be done about any of those things.”

“Yes, but you should understand the symptoms,” Thace explains. “Bleeding, cramping, contractions, gastrointestinal distress, pain in the lower abdomen, fatigue, rapidly increasing fatigue, etc., etc. I’ll send along some resources on general self care and rearing that you both should read as.”

“Naturally.” Lance grins, puts his arm around Keith's shoulders. “We’re learning together. Right, beloved?”

“Absolutely.” Keith smiles. “Thanks for your time, guys. Thace, we’ll see you quite soon. Tavo, I imagine we’ll see you in a few movements.”

“Indeed you will, your Majesties. You’ll need to receive a health check upon your return from Daibazaal anyway before you are exposed to anyone on Altea. Our planet has far more stringent protocols for entry than Daibazaal does.”

“Understood. We’ll see you then.” Lance waves as the Altean signs off. It’s just them and Thace.

“I’ll come by your den when you return. I want to give you a once-over before your season. Which is extremely close, by the way. I recommend you return here by tomorrow night.” Thace looks Keith up and down. “You seem relatively relaxed, so I doubt it’ll be tonight.”

Keith nods, agreeing with his medic. He feels relaxed, now that his problem with Lance has been resolved. But before long, he’ll get restless, and generally uncomfortable, and he knows it. But he also knows he has Lance, and Lance will help him keep comfortable and safe. Everything will be fine.

As they say their goodbyes to Thace, however, he braces himself for an entirely different kind of conversation.

“So.” Coran sips his tea. The aging Altean’s sitting sideways on the loveseat in their quarters, legs thrown over his husband’s lap. It’s been a habit of theirs almost as long as they’ve been together. “What excuse will they give?”

“Hm…” Alfor pretends to think, massaging Coran’s knee, moving in circles to help ease the pain. Old injuries are the worst, especially when you get old yourself. “Probably ‘We were busy’ or ‘We just forgot’.” The king sighs. “I didn’t expect them to call, to be honest.Our boy’s grown up.”

“He’s been grown up for a while now, dearest.”

“A person’s not grown until they act grown. But I suspect Lancel has been grown for a while now, and just didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Probably.”

A long pause of silence-

“I’m going to call them.” Alfor gently removes his husband’s legs from his lap, reaches for his datapad.

“Darling, don’t you think-”

“I should let them be? No, I do not. They are on Daibazaal, a planet crawling with enemies-”

“Dear…”

“... Crawling with people who are not fond of my family, including and perhaps especially our son and heir?” Alfor types in Lance’s comms code.

“Better.” The red-haired man smiles at his husband, appreciative of his efforts.

“Father! Believe it or not, we were just about to call you!”

“Hello, son!” Coran smiles at the happy face before him. He’s missed his child. Alfor has too, though he hasn’t said it. “Good to see you’re both still alive!”

Alfor, for once, chooses the softer approach. “You look well. Both of you.”

They do indeed. Keith seems a little taller now, his frame a bit more robust. Lance’s skin has darkened, freckles creeping over his nose.

“We’re doing quite well here,” Keith agrees. “I’ve touched base with several contacts from within the Compound and surrounding villages. Lance has established himself as a respectable mate and warrior, thanks to his excellent conduct and impressive displays of mettel.”

Coran raises an eyebrow. “So… You’re as well-behaved as we would expect you to be, and you’ve also managed to get into some trouble. Sound about right?”

“Pretty much,” Lance admits, slightly sheepish. “I am every bit the model guest, and I also squared off against a kronil and saved a dying wolf cub with alchemy. Y’know, normal stuff.”

“A kronil. Really?” Alfor leans back. “Well now, that is impressive.” Especially given his boy’s struggles with combat and alchemy. Alfor smiles, proud of his son, delighted with the giddy pride on his son’s face.

“Now.” Alfor settles back next to Coran, throwing an arm over the back of the loveseat. “I was calling to guilt you for dropping off the edge of the star system. Why were you calling?”

The couple exchanges a glance. “We’re not… entirely sure. We’ve found something, and it could be nothing at all, or something very serious,” Lance explains.

Alfor frowns. It must be serious if Lance wants to tell him about it. There’s really only one thing he knows more about that his son: violence. “I see… What have you found?”

Keith explains the various falsified ship inspection records, where the shipments came from, and what it might mean. Alfor listens, nods. It’s a serious matter, and the boys are taking it very seriously. Both of them.

“So let me see if I understand this correctly,” he says when they’ve finished. “These ships with extra cargo bypassed inspection somehow, and come from planets that help supply the Galra with food, medicine, and raw materials?”

“Yes.” Keith leans forward, brushing a lock of loose hair over his shoulder. “These shipments could be one of two things: smugglers, looking to make a profit by supplying the Galra on Daibazaal with resources not typically available to them in large quantities, or they’re supplying a militia that may be looking to overthrow the Imperial family and name a champion, and/ or invade Altea.

“Neither of our peoples want this,” Keith stresses, staring earnestly at the king. “My people want peace. They have already chosen Lotor as their Champion upon his father’s death or retirement.”

“What exactly does it mean for him to be the Champion?” Alfor asks, unfamiliar with the term.

“Well, you know how there’s the Kral Zera?” Keith asks. Alfor nods. “Even though anyone can participate, the people can petition to choose a Champion, at which point most challengers would back down and allow the Champion to light the flame unhindered.”

“So Lotor is… the Successor Elect?” Alfor clarifies.

“Yes. He argues for strengthening and uniting the empire, instead of continuing to expand. This means more resources available to the commonwealth both here and abroad, as well as better foreign relations with conquered planets and external societies.”

“I see… Some would take issue with this?”

Keith nods. “Some are bitter that my uncle agreed to this alliance. They feel as though they have been cheated. Your people are comparatively few, but formidable. They are one of the reasons that same sex coupling is currently illegal. They don’t produce kits, and so would be considered traitors. Others are simply angered that the atrocities they were ordered to commit came to nothing, that their sacrifices and losses did not lead to victory.”

“So you believe these shipments are supplies being moved by rebels staging a coup?”

“We believe…” Keith rolls his lips between his teeth, tugs on the ends of some of his hair. “We should be prepared for every eventuality. Please understand,” he whispers. “I want so badly for this to never be our problem, but I love my people, just as surely as you love yours. I would do anything for them.”

Alfor sighs through his nose, nods. “I will begin working on plans should Daibazaal face a threat from within. In that case, we would need to split our assets between defence and military assistance, followed by relief efforts. When you return, we can look at them together.”

“Speaking of which, when do you intend to return? Some time this decaphoeb, perhaps?” Coran asks, still a little miffed that his son hasn’t kept in touch.

“Three movements. Keith’s about to go into season, and Thace wants us to stay two movements to keep an eye on him. Just in case of any complications.”

Lance lies so smoothly, Alfor almost doesn’t see the excited glint in his son’s eyes. He chooses not to mention it. He’ll let their life together be as private as they like. Nothing else ever is for a royal couple. Instead, he smiles.

“You’re both doing wonderfully. Keep up the good work, and we’ll see you in a few movements.”

Lance bows his head. “Thank you, Father. Dad.”

Coran waves away his thanks. “Just come home, lads. That’s all we ask. We love you.”

“We will,” Lance affirms. His father signs off without another word, only a fond smile -a small miracle in and of itself-, and Lance throws himself back against the tree with a loud huff.

“I agree,” Keith murmurs, settling against him with a yawn.

Lance puts an arm around him immediately. “Is this normal sleepiness, or season-related sleepiness?”

“Not sure, but we’re just gonna go with it, okay?”

Lance smiles, brushing a thumb across Keith’s cheekbone. The Galra sighs, settling in to sleep. “Sometimes I think the only reason you’re keeping me is to have something to lay on.”

“Hmph. Bed’s never poked me with it’s dick-” Lance gasps, playfully scandalized. “-so that’s definitely not it. I keep you because you're cute.”

“I have never felt so betrayed in my entire life,” Lance teases.

“Shut up and cuddle with me,” Keith grumbles, wrapping his tail around Lance’s waist as he curls up against his chest. Lance chuckles, wraps him up in his arms. “Alfor still sucks. Just so we’re clear.”

“I know. Thanks for behaving.”

“Of course I behaved. He’s your father and you love him.”

“Yeah… I think he loves me, too.” The fact that Lance barely seems to believe it breaks Keith’s heart a little.

“Of course he does. And so do I.”

“I love you too.” Lance kisses his forehead. “Get some sleep.”

“No need to tell me twice.” Keith yawns, settling in to sleep through the warmth of the afternoon.

[whumpfish]

Traumatic Haircut for @badthingshappenbingo with a side of Shaky Hands for @whumptober2019 (no.1)

Avedis is an OC of mine. An offhand comment while smarting off to Ma’am comes back to bite her... or more accurately, to cut

---

Slowly, careful of her newly reassembled joints, Avedis pulled the last two remaining pins from the chignon at the back of her neck. The braid tumbled out of places, unrolling in a lumpy, misshapen line across her shoulder and off to the side. She pulled the tie from the end, and began disassembling it inches at a time, combing out the smaller knots with her fingers. As she unded the last of it, she shook her head slightly, let her hair fall like a curtain over the fresh bruises and electrical burns that covered her torso.

Her crew was still out there. The blockade wouldn’t last forever, and when Legion reinforcements arrived to break through it they would eventually send ground forces to seize Lawton, and the governor’s complex the warden’s estate was part of.  She had to be ready to be found, had to find some cover before curling up in a corner to sleep. Her hair, nearly to her waist, was a familiar shield, long enough to cover the most potentially distressing souvenirs so far…

The door banged open, and a too-bright light poured in. Avedis groaned, burying her face in one arm, retreating behind the curtain of her hair. Whoever it was, it was too early. Even if the next voice she heard was Maruh’s, hell, even if it was Sasha’s, she’d--

“Bright copper penny, was it?”

Not Maruh’s voice. Not Sasha’s, either. Ma’am’s.

“If you’re angry about being a dull iron pipe, I’ll let you be steel,” she said to the warden’s wife, her own voice still mostly a groan. “I suppose it’s only fair we get you up to code.”

“You will stand up.”

“I should hope so,” Avedis replied. She didn’t move. “I shall expedite your request as soon as it’s feasible. I’ll get my best man on it--”

“Now.”

“As the cause of my present difficulty, it doesn’t strike me that you’ve much room to complain about my pace at anything!” Avedis retorted, pushing herself up with an effort.

Two hands to the floor. Press. Add a knee. Grab the wall. Pull. Push. Pray.

She struggled to her feet, and was still leaning heavily against a wall once she’d made it there. “I’m on my feet. Now what?”

A lump of cloth hit her and she barely caught it before it fell. “You will put that on.”

Avedis’s lips curved upward in a bleak smirk. “Why? Afraid someone would mistake us for consenting adults?”

“Everyone here knows a convict’s body when they see one,” Ma’am snapped. “You’ll wear it because I told you to.”

Avedis leaned back against the wall and shook the garment out. It was a simple shift that would stop above the knee once on.

“Well, this suggests nothing to me.”

“Nor am I obligated to give you suggestions for your itinerary. You will put it on. No blood on the outside, or you may expect the usual penalty.”

Avedis carefully dropped the shift over her head. “Has Papa come home or something?”

There was no response except for the click-and-ratchet of handcuffs being opened. A cold bolt of terror ran up her spine, and she held up one hand, backing up one step along the wall. “No!”

Ma’am looked dangerously interested, and Avedis scoffed, quickly playing down her reaction.

“If this is just prisoner transport, I’ll walk. I know there’s nowhere to go.”

A gloating smile crossed Ma’am’s face. It galled Avedis that she was obliged to hide her peculiarity regarding wrist restraints in apparent surrender, but it was better than the alternative.

“Nowhere to go but Upstairs,” Ma’am clarified tauntingly. “Straight upstairs, Katherine 857. No shuffling, no dawdling--”

“No humming, no whistling,” Avedis mocked. “We are not a squeeze-box. Yes, yes, it’s all coming back now.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Katherine 857.”

Avedis kept up the brisk pace demanded, but still took note of everything around her. Strained to hear every snippet of conversation between anyone in a uniform as she was bustled through a hallway and into a staff elevator. Any nervousness or increase in the number of guards would be a sure sign of the blockade breaking. It was early to expect given the forces Varennes already had in place, but she was alert to the possibility, and more hopeful for it than she was entirely prepared to admit. But there were no signs yet; no promising chatter, no change in the guard staff.

Ma’am opened the door to the room at the end of the fourth floor hall that the Lucky Few knew simply as “Upstairs.” She stepped back, and a rifle barrel between Avedis’s shoulder blades prompted her to enter the room. 

“You will be seated,” Ma’am ordered, following her in. She dismissed the guard and closed the door, locking it.

Avedis hated the part of her that flinched at the sound. Hated the clench of her stomach and the spike in her heart rate. She sat down almost forcefully in the room’s only chair, determined to defy her fear if not Ma’am herself.

“Good girl.” Ma’am placed her ankles in the cuffs behind the front legs of the chair, then straightened and opened the velvet handbag. She pulled out a pair of shears.

Avedis hid the sudden surge of old terror she felt in a contemptuous snort. “I hope you’ve at least reviewed your knowledge of anatomy,” she said. “It’s not that I’m calling you ignorant, I just want to be certain you know how far down the femoral artery is on an adult. I know you’re used to torturing childr--”

The taunt was cut off as Ma’am seized a fistful of her hair, jerking her head back. “You’ve always thought you were clever, haven’t you? Hm? Better? Brighter? Pride--that’s your vice. Mongrels don’t deserve pride, as my misguided husband has never understood. Fortunately for us all, I know just how to relieve you of yours.”

“Odd, that’s what I planned to say to you when I leave.”

Ma’am laughed. “You’re not leaving.”

Avedis opened her mouth to tell her exactly how wrong that was, exactly who was the misguided one and whose pride was raging out of control at the moment, but all the words evaporated with the sound that came next.

Snip.

Ma’am’s hand extended in front of her and dropped a handful of her hair onto the floor. Indignation, shock and terror welled up in her. She wanted it to be anger instead, wanted to grow cold and quiet and deadly, and inform Ma’am that such a move could cost a person their life where she was from, caution her to choose her next move carefully. At the very least she wanted to twist around and slap the woman. But she was so frozen with shock that it was hard to even draw breath. She managed a struggling gasp as Ma’am seized another handful and pulled.

Snip.

At her sides, Avedis’s hands curled into fists, fingers digging into her palms. Ma’am once again extended her arm past Avedis’s shoulder, dropping another bundle of orange-gold hair to the floor. With a snarl, Avedis reached up suddenly, wildly, not sure what she would do if her fingers found Ma’am’s throat but frantically eager to find out.

A familiar sensation followed, albeit in an unfamiliar place: the twin sharp points of scissors, pressing into the back of her neck. “What was that you were asking about anatomy? I feel my knowledge is quite satisfactory… shall we test what I know of the spine?”

Avedis froze.

Ma’am chuckled. “I thought not. You will lower your hands.”

Hands shaking as much with rage and humiliation as with terror, Avedis complied. The point of the scissors left her neck.

Snip.

There was nothing for her outside the trembling of her fists spreading up her arms. No tears, no pain to trigger the mantra of you’re not hurting me that she had so long fallen back on. In fact, that was the entire problem. Ma’am wasn’t hurting her. She was hurting the people who found her, her brothers and sis...ters in arms. The Legion. Her comrades, her crew. (She knew where she was in time. Of course she did. Fort-eight hours wasn’t enough time to fully regress; that was absurd.)

Maruh, who’d come up in the Legion with her, who admired her and took every injury to her personally. Brace, the soul of empathy, an officer of fine feelings who she wouldn’t be surprised to see shed tears over such a devastating indignity. The rank and file of her crew, who relied on her, needed her strong after facing their own captivity. Avedis knew that she had a high threshold of pain, knew she could tolerate more than most. What was done to her was a secondary concern. What truly bothered her was how others reacted to her injuries.

Sasha had often criticized what he called her “antiquated ideas about morale�� while stitching her up, but she hadn’t learned them in the Legion. The Legion commander she’d first served under had certainly reinforced them, but it was being one of the eldest in this childhood hell that had taught her that the lowest took courage from those above them, that any visible injury to those in command was also an injury to the collective spirit. She and her older stepsister had always hidden the worst of what was done to them in a curtain of undone hair in their rooms at the end of the day.

Ma'am jerked her head back again, and again the short metallic whisper of the shears sounded more centimetres from her right ear, cutting away her last line of defense. Cutting away her inherent power of reassurance, inspiration and authorities. Cutting away her ability to fulfill one of the simplest and most essential responsibilities as a commander.

Ma’am was wrong. Avedis would leave Upstairs with her pride intact. It hadn’t been destroyed, or even damaged much. It would take more, much more than this to put that in jeopardy.

Ma’am had taken something worse.

[michele-with-one-ele-blog]

An Open Letter to and for Whoever May Need It

To whomever it may concern:

 It has come to my attention that many people seem to share in the misguided belief that I am responsible for their feelings about me. And, the fact is: I am not. I am happy with the person I am trying to grow into, and the foundation from which I am becoming that person. You don’t like me? You view my compassion as a weakness? That attitude reflects your values, not mine. I am not being sensitive when I express frustration at a “joke” which masks an unsolicited judgement of my character. Especially when that reaction is then dismissed by a comment like, “lighten up, it was just a joke, you’re so oversensitive.” I only point out the shock and pain I felt about your microaggressive gesture to express a displeasure in how you are speaking with me and to establish a boundary. In my mind, this is a response of someone who respects you enough to try and maintain the relationship. If you think I am oversensitive for doing this, then that seems to be your problem, right? If you are noticing tensions, then maybe I am not the one who must change. In fact, I am inviting you to take a step back and listen to the permissions I am granting you in regard speaking with me (in a manner I deem appropriate). From there we can continue having a wholesome time while knowing that our communications and mutual respect have strengthened, instead of furthering the dissolution of the relationship.

Let us also agree to stop masking judgements that are made on someone’s character or what are deemed to be character flaws, in what you perceive as jokes. Furthermore, let’s stop blaming the target of the joke for being upset. If you are pointing something out that can be easily identified as a problem you seem to have, those feelings are not mine to hold on to, nor are they my feelings to take into consideration. Not to say that I do not value the opinions of people with whom I share deeply intimate friendships, or from those whom I would seek advice from… when I inquire about such opinions.

And, I’m very over being reminded about how I am perceived as “too sensitive” because of this [through your tones, your actions, straight dismissing me, blatantly saying so, etc.]. I get it, I'm sensitive. However just because you think I am “too” sensitive, does not mean I am. Also, I did not ask what you think of my reaction, I asked that you adjust the way in which you speak to me. I do not have to crawl into the metaphorical box you think I need to in order to accommodate the level of “sensitive” you, or anyone else, deems appropriate.

If you are aware, and that is how you feel, then that really is your problem. You can make some adjustments or walk away. Because, it will not be me who compensates for your affect. I will not compromise my self-esteem or self-respect for the comfort of anyone else because they feel that they have the right to dismiss my needs. And so, since we are all so aware of how I am, then I think it is fair to assume that you can stand to speak with me and joke with me in the ways I have clearly tried to express that I would like and find suitable. You could actually listen when I stand up for myself instead of going, "oh my god, I was just kidding, it was just a joke".

Firstly, we tend to lose the moments that strengthen our connection to make those jokes come across as playful and in-jest, instead of as direct jabs. If you do not tell me how valuable you think I am, what do I have to use as a reference to compare to when you make a "joke" which is almost always pointedly at my expense. And secondly, how am I supposed to know that it was a joke? What cues have you offered me other than laughing at what you said? Have you ever considered the significance of adding, "haha, gotcha! Sorry for the interruption, continue.." or, “Just kidding, I think (insert a neutralizing statement)” like, “Well, it’s not like you ever have time to catch a breath, with how much you talk! Haha, just kidding, you always have something interesting to add”. How hard is that if you want to preserve the relationship?

Because, otherwise, if there were no friendly tones or gestures to make me feel included in the joke, how am I supposed to pick up on the fact that it was not just someone picking on me, or having a laugh at my expense?  If you want to make certain that others understand that you are joking, here are some things to consider: tone, smiles, shoulder nudges, inclusive language/gestures or language which expresses the fact that you do not believe “the jokes” to be true.

You and you alone are responsible for how you treat others. Personally, my relationship with myself is much more important to me than my relationship with anyone else, so I express myself as a means of preserving our relationship and to strengthen “us”. I react to defend myself and my boundaries, sure, but your reaction to that tells me everything I need to know about your perception of me.

I, for one, am tired of being expected to conform to the expectations and judgements of others as if being louder or being brash and quick enough to think so and say it out loud means that the opinion is right. Holding the attitude that being that “brutally honest friend,” without having a modicum of self-reflection as just your coolest dominant personality trait, doesn’t actually make you honest… sometimes it just means that you are unfiltered or feel no shame in being callous or sharing your uninhibited opinions. Sometimes, your friends laugh because what you say based of off knee-jerk reaction is just so ridiculous, that they would never dream of responding in such a way. I know this because I used to be the unfiltered “I can’t believe the shit you say,” friend. And, I liked the attention… until I realized that I hurt people, very genuinely, because I said things that I didn’t really mean, but felt in the moment.

Now, I am constantly being told, as if it is anyone’s place to say so without being asked, that I am too nice. Just because you think I am too nice, and you say so with confidence and a matter-of-fact tone, does not make your assessment any more valuable or true. Because, nice is something about my personality that I adore. If I have ever been too nice, and I were confronted about it, I will never be sorry for how many times I turned someone’s day around or made things better for others. I have had classmates from my past hug/message me and thank me for showing them compassion despite how much they bullied me. I showed them kindness in the face of adversity and showed them another path in the wake of their pain. If I gave up on helping others or being kind regardless of how I was treated, then cruelty and “hurt people, hurt people” would take me over. So, I refuse to let being jaded win. I take breaks, and try my best to maintain balance, sometimes, but I refuse to let being rude back in the name of faux-assertiveness, win. My strength comes from my willingness to show people how they deserve to be treated, because that is how I deserve to be treated. I stand up when it matters most to myself, but I am not a slave to reaction. I ponder, I consider, and I meticulously cultivate my interpersonal relationships, even if they only last for a moment. See, I know how it feels to be the victim of genuine cruelty, and it really sucks. No matter how often I tell myself that, logically, their actions were reflections of them, not me, it does not change the hurt I felt/feel for being the target of senseless bullying. All I think is that I am sorry that you struggle to pull kindness out of yourself when you do not like something. It is beautiful, you really should try it, you will feel so much less angry in time.

Most importantly, I think I am awesome. And, it is absolutely because I'm sensitive. It is because my brain works strangely. It's because I am too nice, and hobby hop and plant vegetables that I don't know how to harvest, and I do things for people who don't always appreciate it. It is because I have themed fish tanks, and name my animals after foods and characters that I like. It is because I am nice to servers and strangers while in a neck brace and in immense pain with a scarred face, despite the weird looks.

I know that there is so much left for me to learn. I bring people flowers and fruit from my garden, even if they have hurt me in the past. I listen to the strife of marginalized and oppressed people, because I care, and I get it to at least enough of a degree to offer allyship. So, yes, I do feel offended when you say something racist. I will not budge on. I am selfless. I am funny. I am smart. I matter; my "too many feelings" matter. And, to clarify, I am good at taking a joke, when: it's appropriate, it isn't the only way in which I am spoken to and it's not said with a slight tone of "I'm genuinely criticizing something I deem is a character flaw" with a “haha” meant to serve as lighthearted punctuation. The language of others does not dictate who I am or my worth.

Make fun of the fact that I simply must stand on the rug in my living room before I pass it while wearing just socks; poke fun at my ridiculous stack of books that I have yet to read because I'm so busy trying to save the world and myself in my own way; make fun of how I turned broccoli into a flower and literally put it in a vase for my father to give to my mother. There are so many silly things that could be made hilarious if only you focused on them, instead. I am comedic in so many ways that are not linked to your judgements. Again, we need stop pretending that judgements of others are "jokes”. For myself, your dismissal of my reaction is not going to change me, especially if it is by pointing out the fact that you feel like it is my fault it was not funny since I'm just a weenie. This theme is similar to comedians making jokes about outdated stereotypes. Get better material, and be more creative, dude; it is old and times have changed. I am working on me and doing a fine job. I do not need any more help identifying my flaws. Trust me, I know, and I got this.

To those who do not seem to understand the “big deal”. I know it, whatever ‘it’ was, did not seem like a something worth giving a second thought… to you. But, to me and others, it was significant. I interpreted that action as a representation of what I mean to you. (And, if there was an audience, others feel it, too; through realizing the attitudes or adopting them.) I deserve to be spoken to and heard. Not silenced. Not disregarded. Not undervalued. I matter. No matter how much my brain tries to tell me otherwise, no matter how other people's actions reflect negative attitudes towards me and no matter how ‘annoying’ you might find me or how much my values do not measure up to the expectation of others.

So, I am hereby denouncing, publicly, my responsibility for anyone’s feelings about me. I am too tired, and they, honestly, are not my feelings to live with. I try my best to be nice, and I try my best to be kind and caring and whatever else I believe I need and want to be for other people. And, myself. I do not need to fit myself in a box for the sake of your satisfaction or to protect your projected feelings/values. I am by no means a lesser person because I care, or I’m compassionate, or I talk too much, or I am annoying, or whatever else that you think is not valuable. I find it valuable, that is why it is a part of my personality. If not, it is something I am already aware of, and I’m probably already working on.  My brain does not need any more ammunition.

To those who may be realizing that you have spoken with someone in this manner, absolutely, an apology is necessary. But, know that an “it’s okay,” response does not always mean that they think you were in the right, sometimes it is a means of preservation or fitting into your prescribed box. This is an invitation to do better.

If you are often in the same position that I am, then I suggest responding to an “I’m sorry,” with some variation of this: “I appreciate your apology, and though your actions were not okay, I do forgive you. And now that I have gotten it all out, I think I can start to feel better. But, please keep my boundaries in mind regarding how you go about treating me. I appreciate the fact that you put in the work. So, thanks for listening.” It has worked for me so far. In summation, this is a reminder: I live with me at the end of the day. I will not be living with your thoughts, opinions, and assessments of me. You, and you alone, must live with those.

 Kind regards and assertively signed,

Michele Austin

[queen-scribbles]

The Basics

Have the distraction fic that reared its head and reminded me of a headcanon while I was trying to write BAMF Battle Couple Tavi/Aloth fic. :3 Set between The White March parts I and II, but there aren’t really any spoilers, I don’t think.

She approached him the first night they made camp free of the mountain’s chill. They’d gotten settled in; armor discarded, Sagani and Keya were working on dinner, a generally relaxed air lay over the lot of them. Aloth was studying one of the grimoires they’d picked up in the mountains, looking for any new spells he could learn, when Tavi walked up.

She set the point of the dagger she carried against the stump he was using as a table and gave the weapon a spin. “You know how to use blades, right, city slicker?”

Aloth looked up from his tome, not the least bit thrown(anymore) by her lack of preamble. He glanced from her to the rapier hilt still poking out from among his things. “No, I just carry one for show, to intimidate those who aren’t afraid of you or one of our other... fine companions.”

Rather than smirk and roll her eyes at his sarcasm, as he’d expected, Tavi plunked down cross-legged and met his gaze, her brown eyes dead serious. “No, Aloth, I’m... you do, right?”

“The basics, yes,” he replied, setting aside the grimoire to give her his full attention. “I tend to rely more on my spells.”

“I want you to have this.” Tavi pushed the dagger far enough into the stump it didn’t topple when she let go.

Aloth reached over and pulled it free. The hilt was still warm from her hand, the blade almost long enough to be considered a short sword. “Why?”

“It’s probably better than your rapier, and after the Forge, I... I wanna be sure you’re safe. Y’know, when I’m not there to protect you,” Tavi tried to joke, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“Ah.” So that’s what this was about. “Tavi, I’m fine. There was no lasting damage, I promise.”

“I know, I just...” She sighed, ran one hand through her hair. “I guess with how long I’ve spent  on the run, sometimes completely dependent on my blades to survive, I trust physical weapons more than anything for protection.”

Aloth bit back the first comment that came to mind, gaze flicking briefly to the scar poking over the open collar of her shirt. They did a right good job protecting you there. “I take your meaning,” he nodded instead.

“Good.” Tavi’s shoulders slumped a little in relief. A spark of mischief filtered back into her eyes. “Now, when you say you know the basics...”

“I can take care of myself,” he assured her, wary of that mischievous spark.

“Show me.” She pushed to her feet and started pulling her hair back in a ponytail.

“What?!” He almost dropped the dagger, voice rife with skepticism. Nether of them were wearing armor, Tavi’s shirt didn’t even have sleeves(a fact he’d been trying very hard to ignore, with limited success).

“Show me,” Tavi repeated, grinning as she brushed back tendrils of hair not long enough to reach the ponytail. “Set my mind at ease, Corfiser.”

There was just enough of a challenge in her voice Aloth could tell she wasn’t going to let this go. “You are aware most of the spells I know are just as dangerous in close quarters, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why bother with this?” he asked as he reluctantly got to his feet as well.

“Because.” Tavi shrugged and bent to pick up one of her sabres. “I want you to show me.”

He eyed her as she stood there, in the deceptively, dangerously relaxed posture he’d seen her take when talking to brigands, knaves, and various other ne’er-do-wells, and forced back a smile. It was easy to see how people might assume they could catch her off-guard. But he’d fought alongside her too long to take the bait.

“You know,” Aloth began, feeling the dagger’s enchantments hum as he tightened his grip. “If this is supposed to be me showing how well I can defend myself, wouldn’t the first move be yours?”

She grinned. “Touche.” And just like that, she was moving forward, slowly, like a wild cat sizing up prey.

He moved as she did, keeping just out of reach. “Tavi, this is ridiculous-”

She lunged. It was an easy enough move to dodge. Which he did; a simple spin on one heel, using the dagger to ensure her sabre came nowhere near him. She made a couple more similar attacks and feints, which he sidestepped and ignored accordingly.

“I know you’re much better than this,” Aloth commented, running his fingers through his hair.

“I’m takin’ it easy on you,” Tavi retorted. “Case we have different definitions of the basics.”

“I see.” From the look on her face, he’d bet money that wasn’t the only reason.

Tavi stared at him for another minute, looking vaguely frustrated. Finally, she sighed as if in resignation, dug the point of her sabre into the ground, and approached him, loosening a short length of leather cord from around her wrist. “Hold still.” With quick--yet surprisingly gentle--movements, she pulled his hair up in a  ponytail as well. “It’s a distraction.”

“Tavi, I fight with my hair loose all the time,” Aloth felt obligated to point out. “I do fine.”

“I didn’t say it was a distraction for you,” she muttered, face red from more than exertion.

He couldn’t help a quiet, wry chuckle as he brushed the back of his hand against her arm. “That makes us even, then.”

Tavi grinned and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before stepping back to retrieve her sabre. “This mean you want me to stop takiin’ it easy on ya, city slicker?”

Aloth answered the teasing jibe with a smirk. “Not entirely, but you could try a little harder.”

“Alright, then.” Tavi grinned dangerously and shifted her grip on her sabre as she charged in again.

This time was definitely more of a challenge; two strikes in quick succession at different angles. He actually had to step back as he blocked them, well aware she was likely trying to back him up against one of the trees a few yards behind him.

“I have a question,” he said, sidestepping and feeling her blade nick the rolled-up cuff of his sleeve. “Are you simply interested in testing what swordsmanship I have, or do you want me to react as I typically would in such a situation?”

“Considerin’ I know the latter would mean me gettin’ a face full of fire spell right about now, let’s stick with swordsmanship,” Tavi said with a knowing smirk. “I know you can handle yourself with spells, anyway.”

And so back and forth they went, occasionally trading sarcastic comments along with strikes, until both of them were breathing hard and Tavi was grinning in satisfaction. She’d only managed to back him into a--figurative--corner once, neither of them had drawn blood, and Aloth had thoroughly proven he could handle himself, were he to wind up in a situation where his only recourse was a blade.

“Alright,” Tavi panted, dropping with a complete lack of grace to lay on the ground. “We’re good.”

Aloth smirked a little bit as he sat next to her. “Seen enough to convince you?”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded, grinning up at him. “I’m satisfied you know the basics.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want you worrying about me,” he said, faint note of teasing in his voice, as he fiddled with the rip she’d put in his sleeve.

“Never said that was gonna stop,” she shot back, still grinning. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked pointedly at his sleeve. “Want me to fix that for ya?”

Aloth raised an eyebrow. “You?”

“S’only fair,” Tavi shrugged. “I’m the one that did it.”

“No, I mean... you know how to sew?”

She stuck her tongue out at him for his skepticism. “I know the basics. Who’dya think mended my fuckin’ tent? Or hemmed this when I... unburdened it of its sleeves?” She plucked at the front of her (slightly sweaty)shirt. “I may not be gold standard for tailors or anything, but I can do a straight fuckin’ line.”

“I take your point,” Aloth said, bracing one elbow against his knee and resting his chin on his palm. “Not often I’m the one getting under your skin,” he commented, amused. “Usually the other way around.”

“I must be rubbin’ off on you,” Tavi said gleefully, sitting up and dusting dirt and dead grass from what remained of her ponytail as she mirrored his pose.

“Why couldn’t it have been the other way around?” he deadpanned, eyes twinkling as he flicked back loose wisps of hair.

“I’m wounded, Corfiser,” Tavi declared, hands clasped over her heart. “I thought you’d noticed how good of an influence you’ve been on me.”

Aloth raised an eyebrow again, blatant skepticism writ across his face.

“Every time I talk to an opponent first--’specially the really irritatin’ ones--rather’n just runnin’ ‘em through, is me showin’ restraint. Learned that from you, city slicker. And I leaned a buncha new curses from Iselmyr.” If she was honest, that last was tacked on just to watch him sputter. She scooched closer as she enjoyed that victory and tweaked the end of his ponytail. “You’re cute when you get all red in the face like that.”

Aloth glared at her, but it was (almost) completely lacking heat. “I’m glad we’ve both been of service to you.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, city slicker,” Tavi laughed. “You know I like you way better. I’m just teasin’.” She curled her fingers around the collar of his shirt and tugged him into a kiss. “It’s part of my charm. You’ve been travelin’ with me long enough, you should know basics like that by now.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Aloth said softly, nodding slightly before kissing her back.

“Course I am,” Tavi said cheerfully, shooting him a playful wink as she sat back. “Now, outta that shirt. So I can fix it for you,” she clarified, shaking her hair completely free of the mostly-destroyed ponytail.

Aloth sighed as he pulled his shirt over his head. That pause had been deliberate, he knew it. She was in a teasing mood, probably amplified by the adrenaline of their practice bout. Just another part of the basics, he thought wryly as he handed over the shirt and stood to dig a fresh one out of his pack. He couldn’t complain too much, though. After all, the basics were what made him fall in love with her.