#hate isn’t even a word AM can use to describe the visceral emotions he feels around them

[nefariouslydinkle]

ihnmaims art, trying figure out styles 😭😭😭

feat @egg-on-a-legg s design of AM

and oc doodles ( am gets the ick from Charlie )

[chainofclovers]

This Way Up season 2 thoughts and feelings

We finished watching the second season of This Way Up last night (watched it in two sittings over Friday and Saturday) and I liked it a lot more than I thought I would though the season did feel uneven at times. The story also made me feel incredibly, incredibly sad, and my brain is so cluttered with thoughts that I'm not sure I'll be able to actually make sense of the show if I don't just go on and share my impressions, as scattered, self-indulgent, and based on the limited memory of a single viewing as they are.

Where was I when I was watching this season of television?

Physically, I was on the couch with my wife, repeatedly remembering and forgetting that the Olympics were happening. And so, interspersed with this deep dive into the mental health and personal and professional challenges of London-based Irish sisters Áine and Shona, I experienced some archery, skateboarding (those bros honestly seem tooooo cool to even want to come to something as embarrassingly earnest as the Olympics, but good for them!), and men's gymnastics.

Mentally, I was contemplating some significant professional (and, yes, personal in their way) life events that are neither here nor there for tumblr dot com. I was also considering the season two premiere of Ted Lasso and my fannish relationship to that show. For it is true--the person I was while watching season 1 of This Way Up is not the same person who watched season 2 this weekend, because in the meantime a 45-year old white man from Kansas (and every person he knows) managed to become my primary media preoccupation, and I am surprisingly chill about how not chill I am about this anxiety-ridden ray of sunshine/football coach (both footballs). But as we all know, being chill does not mean feeling chill. That make sense?

Anyway. This Way Up. It's about to become a mess of spoilers and feelings in here, so venture behind the cut if you dare!

For Obvious Queer Reasons I was extremely curious to find out what happens between Shona and Charlotte and Shona and Vish. As such, while it was uncomfortable to watch, I think my favorite scene in the whole season is when Shona and Vish have video chat sex and Shona has this intrusive memory of sleeping with Charlotte that feels like the ONLY moment in the entire season that she isn't performing or editing herself in some way.

My other favorite moment is when Charlotte talks about how upsetting it is to feel like a "lesson learned" chapter in Shona's autobiography.

I cannot believe I'm about to type these words, but I think the writing on this show might actually put too much trust in viewers to pick up on things. I know, this never happens! This is my dream! Why am I typing this? But hear me out. I think there are a lot of interesting parallels in terms of whether Shona and Vish (established, engaged, committed) and Áine and Richard (new, taboo [but is it really that crazy that she ends up dating the dad of someone she tutors?], exploratory) are truly able to listen to each other and accept each other's needs. It's about honesty or lack thereof, and it's also about what's really happening inside someone's mind. It's such an incredible moment when Richard tells Áine he likes that she's always so "up" and she has this private moment where you can see this heartbreak in her eyes because of course we know that she really struggles with her mental health and with depression. And I like that the show has both Bradley and Charlotte in the position of being on the overlapping outside of those relationships, offering their own wisdom from a place of really, really caring about Áine and Shona. But I just wanted MORE of that. This episodes are so short, and I needed there to be more of a tight story about those parallels, more of a sense that we'd hurtle towards some kind of revelation by episode 6.

I realize this is a thing about UK shows, but these seasons are just too short. The episodes are like 24 minutes long and there are only six of them and I felt that while you could create an effective season of TV with those constraints, this season jumped between scenes too frequently. I wanted to live in the scenes for longer. I didn't want to feel like I was watching the editing and decisions about what to show happen before my eyes.

If season 3 happens, my second biggest dream is that Bradley and Áine can have a conversation following up from the observation that it would be nice to be with someone they're just comfortable with (spoken while they're slumped on the couch together having one of the warmest conversations two characters share all season). My biggest dream is that Shona and Charlotte can have a respectful conversation about how Shona defines her sexuality. I want Shona to be safe explaining if she'd want to use the term bisexual or queer or pan or even lesbian or some combination of those terms. Not because the labels are the most useful thing, but because in this case it would be incredibly useful for her to force herself to choose some words, not in the context of feeling Vish-related pressure. To be brave enough to describe herself, and to be safe enough to know that Charlotte isn't going to make some snide comment about men. It's totally fair that Charlotte is so hurt, but she needs to be able to listen, too.

I do think this season does an incredible job capturing Shona's intense ambivalence about herself, and how she is SCRAMBLING to deflect from that by focusing on her sister, work, family, wedding-planning, the hen do, basically anything but dealing with her own little brain and heart. I mean, when COVID starts to arrive in their lives, it feels like she really wants Vish's asthmatic uncle to be the golden ticket they need to call off the wedding.

I have mixed feelings about how frequently Áine references the feeling of being an actor or the feeling of experiencing things as someone might in a movie or show or the feeling that someone else is treating her as an actor or character rather than as a real person. I think it's an interesting thing to write about, but upon first watch I struggled to figure out if it was a commentary on the other parts of the story or an additional thread Aisling Bea wanted to weave into an already incredibly short season of TV.

It was very jarring to have a COVID plot. The only mainstream media I've seen so far with a COVID plot is--LOL (to quote Áine, who says LOL so many times this season)--the final scene of the Saved By the Bell remake. Again I say LOL!!! I didn't hate it or love it, necessarily, I just thought it felt strange because we're still in the pandemic and everything is strange.

Everything with Tom was so, so, so painful. I don't know if I can even get into it. I just felt visceral devastation and was hurtled into strong memories about people in my own life who died prematurely. (Suicide but not only suicide.) The way the last scene ended felt like--immediate tears just pulled from my eyes without me even realizing what was happening. And God, the way Tom-in-the-flashback calls her a "soppy cunt" (I think?) and we realize Áine used those exact words to jokingly refer to Richard's previous girlfriend who was a human rights lawyer? GOD.

While Áine and Shona don't really engage with each other in the same way my sister and I do, my sister and I are also really, really close and I'm the older sister and watching this show always gives me a lot of emotions about siblings. This is actually part of why the rapid scene cuts and feeling that they both were leaving so much unarticulated stressed me out. Áine nails it at the end when Shona has finally told her about Charlotte and she says Shona needs to tell her more, but I wanted to SEE that conversation happen. I wanted to FEEL Áine's reaction, because Áine's reaction matters more than Vish's or their mother's or anyone else's. It was frustrating!

I dunno, y'all. I really love this show. I think it is exactly what it wants to be. I could not tell you today if I will ever rewatch it even though I (think I) still consider it a favorite. I honor and respect the fundamental messiness and pain and hilarity of this show. What a wild experience.

[afinepricklypear]

**Update: The works mentioned in this post have since been taken down. The “message” was removed by AO3 because it was a violation of their TOS and it seems the author chose to remove their “opinions” piece.**

Despite the ongoing world crisis, I hope everyone is doing great as the year comes to a close and prepping for a safe holiday season.

I don’t really post here a lot, but I just wanted to talk about a problem that exists in every fandom and has recently come up for me in the BSD fandom. This problem is typically referred to as: toxic behavior, however, I sort of hate that term because it’s an umbrella term that encapsulates a wide array of behaviors that is purposefully vague so as to imply everything can be toxic, which means the definition changes depending upon the person, and ends up getting thrown around to describe any behavior that a person dislikes. That said, most people can agree that the term ‘toxic behavior’ includes “shipper wars” and harassing people because of their “ship”.

Yesterday, a user on AO3 going by the penname E_C_arts posted a message titled “deer Soukoku fans” and giving it the not-innocuous summary “please we’re begging you, please stop”. Clicking through leads to a rather prime example of this particular flavor of toxic fandom behavior, guised as an attempt to defend those who were allegedly victims of this self-same behavior, also a lovely example of emotional manipulation.

Although what’s currently posted (and what I managed to screen shot below) may not seem terrible on first glance, if not a little cringey, and can be easy to agree with (don’t bully people that write for a ship you dislike), this was not their original message and has been edited since being posted and, and only after receiving the number of comments it did and which they’re now noting as “proving their point” – a point which they erased, thus manipulating perceptions. I wish I had gotten a screenshot of the original, but if you scroll through the comments, you can find some people that quoted it.

This person most definitely did open their “message” to Soukoku fans by literally telling them to “stop writing” for it. They claimed there was some unspecified AU (or maybe multiple unspecified AUs) that had been overwritten for, that it was overused, and not original. They went on to talk about how the abundance of soukoku content was turning off new fans to the series (don’t even know how that logics…) and bullying people from creating content for other ships, basing these irrational sentiments off some false claim that removing everything with the soukoku ship from the fandom would only leave behind a sad, inacccurate (and oddly specific) 305 posts.

Evidence of their now deleted perspective can be further seen in another post they made to AO3 a couple days before this ugly rant. Titled simply “My unpopular BSD opinions”, they didn’t manage to garner much attention and went mostly ignored because, well, it’s your opinions about the show and that’s whatever. Of course, when you click into it, the very first “opinion” shared, is that they hate Dazai x Chuuya. Okay, that’s an opinion everyone is entitled to, and that’s fine. You don’t like the popular ship, that’s…not exactly an unpopular opinion, there’s quite a number of people that don’t ship soukoku. No problem. Until, they go on to elaborate.

Despite the title of this piece being ‘their opinions’, they state as ‘fact’ that its confirmed that this is “not a thing”, so ‘please stop shipping them it doesn’t work, it’s way too overused for it to be “funny” anymore’ (I’m a little confused about this wording, because Shipping is Serious Business™, so…not sure there are too many soukoku shippers doing it because they think it’s hilarious or whatnot, in fact, most soukoku fics are tagged ‘angst’, which we all know, angst is very ‘haha, lol’…but whatevs). They then include the same sentiment they expanded on in their Dear John to soukoku fans and subsequently deleted: “Please stop, there are too many au’s with almost the exact same plot Chuuya and Dazai being together, its really difficult to find any non-Dazai x Chuuya au’s”.

On the surface, once again, there are some “truths” to this sentiment. DaiChuu is a popular ship and there is a disproportionate amount of soukoku ship fics on the fandom comparative to other ships (soukoku comes in at a whopping 10,000+ currently, with the next popular ship Aku/Atsushi sitting at a decidedly less 2500+). It’s really not that difficult to find non-DazaixChuuya fics, if you know how to use filters on AO3, but there are going to be less to read from when you filter it down, and depending on your ship, you may find yourself in a fic desert, and I can certainly understand why someone young and lacking in rational thought processes might want to blame the popular ship for this predicament.

The problem with this logic, and it permeates every fandom, not just BSD, is that the shippers sharing and loving their ship are not to blame for your lack of ship content. You just don’t have a popular ship. If all the people who love soukoku stopped creating content for it, as this person is ‘begging’ them to do, that’s not going to increase the amount of content for your ships, because the reason that content isn’t being created is because there aren’t enough shippers for it. So, the only way this person’s logic works, is if what this person is actually saying, isn’t that they want these people to stop creating content for the BSD fandom, they just want them to jump ship, stop creating content for soukoku and start creating content for their ships.

Any creator/fan is going to have a visceral reaction to that: who the fuck are you to tell me what to create? And for free, no less!

This moves us more towards a clearer definition of what is toxic fandom behavior. In short, its telling anyone how they should interact with or interpret their favorite content. I mean, even Word of God does not have this power. That’s because every single fan in a fandom is an individual human being. They are possessed of their own autonomy, and as a creator I know, that once you put something out into the world and give it over to others, you have little control over how people consume and feel about your work. You can tell them your intention, but that’s not going to sway them to interpret it that way, and that’s…just the way it works.

Now, the elephant in the room needs to be addressed. It’s easy for me to be ‘offended’ by this person’s post and not see their complaints because I am a soukoku fan. I’m also the target of this person’s rant, and one of those people this person is attempting to emotionally manipulate into writing for other ships in the fandom for which I have no preference. But I am capable of seeing the other side of this argument.

First, because I do have other fandoms in which I am part, and for which I have a rare-pair ship. For example, I am a Gundam Wing fan and a 2x5 (Duo/WuFei) shipper. I’ve posted two 2x5 fics on fanfiction.net. While 2x5 is not the rarest of rarepairs in the Gundam Wing fandom, it is significantly eclipsed (as are almost *all* ships in the fandom) by the 1x2 (Heero/Duo) ship. Do I hate 1x2 shippers for my lack of 2x5 content? No. I just appreciate what I’ve got all the more, and I’ll create content for it when I feel compelled, and I sure the fuck won’t implore 1x2 shippers to stop writing for their fave and write more for mine because I want more 2x5 – that’s sheer entitlement, right there, pure and simple. I also ship 3xD (Trowa/Dorothy) in Gundam Wing, which *is* the rarest of rarepairs – I think there’s only, like, two stories in existence that features this pair on the entirety of the internet. I’m also a RavenxMurphy (Murven) shipper in The 100 fandom and I do not hate Bellarke fans because…those people are scary and have canceled the show’s creator for not delivering on Bellarke, and in BSD, I ship Atsushi/Lucy (yes, I said it, they’re cute af and I hope Asagiri delivers on that ship). I also low-key ship Yosano/Ranpo (sorry, Ranpo/Poe shippers, I understand the appeal, I just think him and Yosano is sooo cute, please don’t kill me…), and I also ship Yosano with Kunikida – all of which are some of the rarest in the BSD fandom.

Second, because I have seen and called out shipping harassment in the BSD fandom, so I am well aware that this kind of thing exists – as it exists literally everywhere and in every flavor. Against soukoku shippers from antis and by soukoku shippers against shippers putting Dazai or Chuuya with any other characters and by soukoku shippers against other soukoku shippers that are, uh, “doing it wrong”. None of these is appropriate. You’re not fighting fire with fire if you’re an anti-attacking the popular ship, you’re just creating a bigger fire and burning the entire fandom down. You’re not defending your ship if you are a soukoku fan attacking non-soukoku fans, you’re just punching down by attacking a less popular ship. And top/bottom arguments aren’t just toxic, they’re also deeply entrenched in fetishization of same sex pairings through a forced heteronormative lens and is, kind of, sort of, actually homophobic in its basis (yes, I said it. It’s ignorant and homophobic and trying to argue with ‘personality/physical traits’ as evidence of who serves what position in the bedroom can be emotionally and mentally damaging to members of the LGBTQ community. Claiming that Chuuya should be bottom because he’s shorter/smaller, or that Dazai has ‘bottom energy’ because he’s more flamboyant and ‘feminine’ is straight up discrimination – a shorter guy can definitely be top, and a manly man can be bottom, it’s not a behavior based on perceived gendered traits, it is just a fucking preferred sexual position, and no, you are not ‘fixing it’ by purposely using positions for these characters that eschews the stereotypes either. Trying to justify positioning by personality/physical traits at all, in any way, shape, or form is just not okay – if it’s your preference, it’s your preference, no justification needed, just recognize that it is *your* preference and arguing what’s ‘right/wrong’ positioning is just plain wrong).

But this brings us to a different issue: bad actors and blaming a whole community for a ‘few rotten apples’. I could easily lump this one person in with everyone that does not ship soukoku and deem them all toxic, aggressive, entitled, bullies attempting to harass soukoku shippers off the platform. Or I could see them for what they are, individuals with individual motivations and drives and morals that also happen to share the same shipping preferences. Is it true to say that there are no soukoku fans that engage in the behaviors described by E_C_arts? No, there are definitely those that do, as there are antis that engage in that same behavior against soukoku fans. But this person also asserts that soukoku fans turning ‘every BSD post about soukoku’ is also a toxic behavior. To which I refer you back to one. This is how they engage with and interpret the work. Don’t yuck on someone else’s yum. People want to gush about how cute they thought soukoku were in an official art, or that they felt there was some hidden (or not so hidden) interaction between them that validates their ship, or their inspired to create soukoku content based on it, so what (for the record, it irks me too when people go ‘see it’s canon and Bones totally ships it’, because it’s unlikely, given BSDs genre, that any romantic relationship will be confirmed, soukoku notwithstanding). It is not, in fact, toxic to gush over it. Let them have their fun with it, let them enjoy their ship. Now, if you go and make a comment about liking the art for other reasons and they reply to you about “…but also soukoku”, then still, that’s not toxic, that’s just them enjoying the content the way that they enjoy it, so let them enjoy it, and you opened yourself to engagement without any qualifiers for the type of engagement you were soliciting, you can’t then backtrack and go ‘but I’m not a soukoku shipper, they should’ve been able to read my mind and known that, it’s totally toxic of them to share their personal reasons for loving the show in response to my sharing my love for the show’. But if you comment about another ship, and they reply to you “…ew, gross! It’s 100% soukoku” then yes, that’s toxic. A lot of people fail to make this distinction, that they are, maybe, merely being triggered and not actually harassed, by feeling like their ship isn’t being validated because they see another ship all over the place and everyone they engage with ships it.

It’s also toxic, to take an experience with one person and hold every soukoku shipper in existence responsible for that one person’s inappropriate behavior. The truth is, that bad actors amongst soukoku fans are not unique, not to the ship and not to the fandom and not even to fandom culture in general. Every group in existence everywhere has bad actors in it that, while the group disavows their behavior, they continue to be held accountable for those individuals and judged by them. For current events, look at how the BLM movement has been blamed for bad actors (many of whom were not actually BLM activists) that took advantage of the protests and started riots and chaos. A small percentage of people were involved in these behaviors, but the entire movement, despite speaking out against rioting, continues to take the blame for it. For me, that’s the root of toxicity. We need to start holding individuals accountable and stop blaming people who have no control over those individuals, because they share a few similar beliefs or interests. That’s throwing the baby out with the bathwater. But the shippers as a whole are not to blame for the actions of a few, and the reason that it feels that there are so many more soukoku fans that do this is because of volume, there are so many more soukoku fans. It’s basic math. If two percent of fans are these toxic kinds of shippers, then there’s going to be so many more of them in a larger population than a smaller one.

I try to call out toxic behavior, no matter if it’s my ship being lambasted or one of my fellow shippers doing the lambasting, whenever I see it, but the trouble is, I don’t typically go into fan content that isn’t for my ship and, thus, I don’t see it. The same goes for the vast majority of soukoku fans out there. We’re here for soukoku content, we’re seeking out soukoku content, and avoiding what isn’t soukoku content. But here is my offer to all of those who are outside of my ship. I like to argue. If someone is harassing you for having a non-soukoku ship, call me, let me know, I will argue with them for you. I will explain to them in no uncertain terms, and in many unpleasant ways, that they do not represent the soukoku shipping community and they are an embarrassment to us. Content for any and all ships is welcomed and encouraged within the fandom. Write, draw, contribute, be a part of the fandom and express yourself, please. If you are a soukoku shipper (or even if you’re not), and someone is harassing you about your top/bottom preference, call me, let me know, I will argue with them for you. I will explain to them why their justifications for which character should be top or bottom in a same sex pairing is grossly misrepresentative and exploitative of the LGBTQ community and rather disgusting. Do not assume that because we seem to remain silent on these types of harassment that it’s because we are in agreement with them, it is only because we haven’t seen them – why would we, we’re not going in those spaces that weren’t created for us. Ask the community for help, don’t attack the rest of us for the poor actions of a few that we were not even aware of. Let us help you in policing them, rather than assuming we don’t care. We are just too busy staying in our lanes, but if you need us, we are here. Majority of us want a clean, friendly, welcoming community for creators of all types as much as you do.

All of this aside, there are spaces and places for these debates and AO3 is not it. Posting this kind of message is actually a violation of AO3 TOS, constituting as harassment, which is defined on the AO3 TOS as “…any behavior that produces a generally hostile environment for its target…”( https://archiveofourown.org/tos#IV.G.). This general behavior also falls into the realm of another kind of toxic fandom behavior: hijacking a platform/tag for your own purposes that is a direct contradiction to its express usage (otherwise, known as trolling). AO3 is for posting fan-made content that contributes to a deeper understanding and expansion upon the original work. Using AO3 to attack people who are using AO3 for exactly what it is designed to be used for is an abuse of the platform. It’s not okay and invites similar content that will ultimately interfere with the original purpose of the platform. AO3 is for fan content, not for your own personal rants about other people in the community, please keep it that way

I do also want to note, that this person choosing to edit their post after receiving the justified ire from fans (notably soukoku and non-soukoku fans alike upset by the audacity of this person, who, as far as can be told, has never themselves contributed fanfiction to the community, to tell people what they can and cannot write) for their original comments, is a form of manipulative abuse called ‘gaslighting’. They are now claiming to be a victim that “never said to stop writing”, despite that having been the literal words they used in the opening of their original post. They are now pointing at these comments as “proof” of their point that soukoku fans are aggressive bullies that attack without cause when there was definitely cause from the original comments. This person clearly has bigger issues than just lacking shipper content for their personal preferences on the BSD fandom.

To all of those who are afraid to share content for your ship because you think you’ll be harassed, as evidenced by this person’s claims, that is simply not true. While there might be one or two people that say something, we all get them no matter if you have a popular ship or a rarepair ship, haters are gonna hate – I’ve gotten my share of hateful comments towards my ships too, but there are many more people that share your ship and are interested in your content, in fact, some of them are starved for it. While having a rarepair might mean you’ll garner less interactions with your content, you have a better opportunity to form a deeper bond with the people that do interact, and they may be more appreciative, because what you’re delivering to them is so much harder to come by. The existence of one ship does not affect your ship’s popularity, and if it simply went away, that doesn’t mean that your ship would receive more attention – in fact, it might mean the show itself would receive less attention.

Create and let others create and use platforms for their appropriate purposes, and most importantly, when it comes to addressing toxic behavior in a fandom, look to yourself first. Are you placing the blame where it belongs? Are you addressing the root cause of the problem or swinging blindly and attacking innocent bystanders in the process? Will what you say actually help the problem? Or will it contribute to the issue, and maybe even create an issue that didn’t exist before?

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: Your blog isn’t what I expected for someone who champions conservative values because it is very rich in celebrating culture and strikes a very humane pose. I learn a great deal from your clever and playful posts. Now and again your feminism reveals itself and so I wonder what kind of feminist are you, if at all? It’s a little confusing for a self professing conservative blog.  

I must thank you for your kind words about my blog and your praise is undeserved but I do appreciate that you enjoy aspects of high culture that you may not have come across.

My conservatism is not political or ideological per se and - I get this a lot - not taken from the rather inflammatory American discourse of left and right that is currently playing itself out in America. For example my distaste for the likes of Trump is well known and I have not been shy in poking fun at him here on my blog. Partly because he’s not a real conservative in my eyes but a .... < insert as many expletives as you want here > ....but mainly he has no character. My point is my conservatism isn’t defined by what goes on across from the pond.

Rather my conservatism is rooted in deeply British intellectual traditions and draw in inspiration from Edmund Burke, Michael Oakeshott, Roger Scruton, and other British thinkers as well as cultural writers like Coleridge, Wordsworth, and Waugh. So it’s a state of mind or a state of being rather than a rigid ideological set of beliefs.

Of course there is a lot of overlap of shared values and perspectives between the conservatism found elsewhere and what it is has historically been in English history. But my conservative beliefs are not tied to a political party for example. I wash my hands of politicians of all stripes if you must know. I won’t get into that right now but I hope to come back and and address it in a later post.

As for my feminism that is indeed an interesting question. It’s a very loaded and combustible word especially in these volatile times where vitriol and victimhood demonisation rather than civility and honest discussion so often flavour our social discourse on present day culture and politics.

I would be fine to describe myself as an old school feminist if I am allowing myself to be labelled that is. And in that case there is no incompatibility between being that sort of small ‘f’ feminist and someone who holds a conservative temperament. They are mutually compatible.

To understand what I mean let me give you a potted history of feminism. It’s very broad brush and I know I am over simplifying the rich history of each wave of feminism so I’m making this caveat here.

Broadly speaking the feminist movement is usually broken up into three “waves.” The first wave in the late 19th and early 20th centuries pushed for political equality. The second wave, in the 1960s and 1970s, pushed for legal and professional equality. And the third wave, in the past couple decades but especially now, has pushed for social equality as well as social and racial justice. It is the first wave and bits of the second wave that I broadly identify my feminism with.

Why is that?

Again broadly speaking, in the first wave and overlapping with the second wave legal and political equality are clearly defined and measurable, but in the third wave (the current wave) social equality and social justice is murky and complicated.

Indeed the current feminist movement - which now also includes race and trans issues in a big way - is not a protest against unjust laws or sexist institutions as much as it is the protest against people’s unconscious beliefs as well as centuries-worth of cultural norms and heritage that have been biased in some ways against women but also crucially have served women reasonably well in unwritten ways.

Of course women still get screwed over in myriad ways. It’s just that whereas before it was an open and accepted part of society, today nearly all - as they see it - is non-obvious and even unconscious. So we have moved from policing legalised equality opporttunities to policing thought.

I understand the resentment - some of it sincere - against the perceived unjustness of women’s lot in life. But this third wave of feminism is fuelled in raw emotion, dollops of self-victimhood, and selfish avoidance of personal responsibility. Indeed it bloats itself by latching onto every social and racial outrage of the moment.

It becomes incredibly difficult to actually define ‘equality’ not in terms of the goals of the first wave of feminists or even the second because we can objectively measure legal, civil and political goals e.g. It’s easy to measure whether boys and girls are receiving the same funding in schools. It’s easy to see whether a man and woman are being paid appropriately for the same work. But how does one measure equality in terms of social justice? If people have a visceral dislike of Ms X over Mr Y is it because she’s a woman or only because she’s a shitty human being in person?

The problem is that feminism is more than a philosophy or a group of beliefs. It is, now, also a political movement, a social identity, as well as a set of institutions. In other words, it’s become tribal identity politics thanks to the abstract ideological currents of cultural Marxism.

Once a philosophy goes tribal, its beliefs no longer exist to serve some moral principle, but rather they exist to serve the promotion of the group - with all their unconscious biases and preferences for people who pass our ‘purity test’ of what true believers should be i.e. like us, built in.

So we end up in this crazy situation where tribal feminism laid out a specific set of paranoid beliefs  - that everywhere you look there is constant oppression from the patriarchy, that masculinity is inherently violent, and that the only differences between men and women are figments of our cultural imagination, not based on biology or science.

Anyone who contradicted or questioned these beliefs soon found themselves kicked out of the tribe. They became one of the oppressors. And the people who pushed these beliefs to their furthest conclusions — that penises were a cultural construction of oppression, that school mascots encourage rape and sexual violence, and that marriage is state sanctioned rape or as is now the current fad that biological sex is not a scientific fact or not recognising preferred pronouns is a form of hate speech etc— were rewarded with greater status within the tribe.

Often those shouting the loudest have been white middle class educated liberals who try to outcompete each other within the tribe with such virtue signalling. Since the expansion of higher education in the 1980s in Britain (and the US too I think), a lot of these misguided young people have been doing useless university degrees - gender studies, performing arts, communication studies, ethnic studies etc - that have no application in the real world of work. I listen to CEOs and other hiring executives and they are shocked at how uneducated graduate students are and how such graduates lack even the basic skills in logic and critical problem solving. And they seem so fragile to criticism.

In a rapidly changing global economy, a society if it wants to progress and prosper is in need of  valuing skills, languages, technical knowledge, and general competence (i.e critical thinking) but all too often what our current society has instead are middle class young men and women with a useless piece of toilet paper that passes for a university degree, a mountain of monetary debt, and no job prospects. No wonder they feel it’s someone else’s fault they can’t get on to that first rung of the ladder of life and decide instead that pulling down statues is more cathartic and vague calls to end ‘institutional systemic racism’. Oh I digress....sorry.

My real issue with the current wave of feminists is that they have an attitude problem.

Previous generations of feminists sacrificed a great deal in getting women the right to vote, to go to university, to have an equal education, for protection from domestic violence, and workplace discrimination, and equal pay, and fair divorce laws. All these are good things and none actually undermine the natural order of things such as marriage or family. It is these women I truly admire and I am inspired by in my own life because of their grit and relentless drive and not curl up into a ball of self pity and victimhood.

More importantly they did so NOT at the expense of men. Indeed they sought not to replace men but to seek parity in legal ways to ensure equality of opportunity (not outcomes). This is often forgotten but is important to stress.

Certainly for the first wave of feminists they did not hate men but rather celebrated them. Pioneers such as Amelia Earhart - to give a personal example close to my heart as a former military aviator myself - admired men a great deal. Othern women like another heroine of mine, Gettrude Bell, the first woman to get a First Class honours History degree at Oxford and renowned archaeologist and Middle East trraveller and power breaker never lost her admiration for her male peers.

I love men too as a general observation. I admire many that I am blessed to know in my life. I admire them not because they are necessarily men but primarily because of their character. It’s their character makes me want to emulate them by making me determined and disciplined to achieve my own life goals through grit and effort.

Character for me is how I judge anyone. It matters not to me your colour, creed or sexual orientation. But what matters is your actions.

I find it surreal that we have gone from a world where Christian driven Martin Luther King envisaged a world where a person would be judged from the content of their character and not the colour of their skin (or gender) to one where it’s been reversed 360 degrees. Now we are expected to judge people by the colour of their skin, their gender and sexual orientation. So what one appears on the outside is more important than what’s on the inside. It’s errant nonsense and a betrayal of the sacrifices of those who fought for equality for all by past generations.

Moreover as a Christian, such notions are unbiblical. The bible doesn’t recognise race - despite what slave owners down the ages have believed - nor gender - despite what the narrow minded men in pulpits have spewed out down the centuries - but it does recognise the fact of original sin in the human condition. We are all fallen, we are all broken, and we are all in need of grace.

Even if one isn’t religious inclined there is something else to consider.

For past generations the stakes were so big. By contrast this present generation’s stakes seem petty and small. Indeed the current generation’s struggle comes down to fighting for safe spaces, trigger warnings and micro aggressions. In other words, it’s just about the protection of feelings. No wonder our generation is seen as the snowflake generation.

A lot of this nonsense can be put down to the intellectually fraudulent teachings of critical theory and post colonial studies in the liberal arts departments on university campuses and how such ideas have and continue to seep into the mainstream conversation with such concepts as ‘white privilege’, ‘white fragility’, ‘whites lives don’t matter’, ‘abolish whiteness’ ‘rape culture’ etc which feels satisfying as intellectual masturbation but has no resonance in the real world where people get on with the daily struggle of making something of their lives.

But yet its critical mass is unsustainable because the ideas inherent within it are intellectually unstable and will eventually implode in on itself - witness the current war between feminists (dismissed uncharitably as terfs) who define women by their biological sex and want to protect their sexual identity from those who for example are championing trans rights as sexuality defined primarily as a social construct. So you have third wave feminists taking completely different stances on the same issues. For instance there’s the sex positive feminists and there’s also anti-porn, sex negative feminists. How can the same thing either be empowering or demeaning? There are so many third wave feminists taking completely different stances on the same exact topics that it’s difficult to even place what they want anymore.The rallying cries of third wave feminism have largely been issues that show only one side of the story and leave out a lot of pertinent details.

But the totality of the damage done to the cultural fabric of society is already there to see. Already now we are in this Orwellian scenario where one has to police feelings so that these feminists don’t feel marginalised or oppressed in some undefinable way. This is what current Western culture has been reduced to. I find it ironic in this current politically charged times, that conservatives have become the defenders of liberalism, or at least the defence of the principle of free speech.

To me the Third Wave feminism battle cry seems to be: Once more but with feelings.

With all due respect, fuck feelings. Grow up.

I always ask the same question to friends who are caught up in this current madness be they BLM activists or third wave feminists (yes, I do have friends in these circles because I don’t define my friends by their beliefs but by their character): compared to what?

We live in a systemic racist society! Compared to what?

We live in a patriarchal society where women are subjugated daily! Compared to what?

We live in an authoritarian state! Compared to what?

We live in a corrupt society of privileged elites! Compared to what?

Third-wave? Not so much. By vast majorities, women today are spurning the label of “feminist” - it’s become an antagonising, miserable, culturally Marxian code word for a far-left movement that seeks to confine women into boxes of ‘wokeness’.

For sure, Western societies and culture have its faults - and we should always be aware of that and make meaningful reforms towards that end. Western societies are not perfect but compared to other societies - China? Russia? Saudi Arabia? - in the world today are we really that bad?

Where is this utopian society that you speak of? Has there ever been one in recorded history? As H.L. Mencken memorably put it, “An idealist is one who, on noticing that a rose smells better than a cabbage, concludes that it makes a better soup.“

I prefer to live in a broken world that is rather than one imagined. When we are rooted in reality and empirical experience can we actually stop wasting time on ‘hurt feelings’ and grievances construed through abstract ideological constructs and get on with making our society better bit by bit so that we can then hand over for our children and grandchildren to inherit a better world, not a perfect one.

Thanks for your question.

[wings-of-a-storm]

Scenes that stood out as a wtFock newbie

The use of music in the scene where Robbe is trying to get very intimate with Noor just blew me away. It shocked me, it made me sit up, and it made my jaw drop with the utter geniusness of it. I’m talking about using a David Bowie song in a love scene between Robbe and Noor.

Wow wtFock, you really went there.

6. LIFE ON MARS

Backing up one step, what happens in this scene is so hard to watch in general. Robbe hoping to make love to Noor was his choice but it is so hard to watch the attempt unfold while knowing the greater outcome of Robbe’s story and the inevitability of his experimenting. It’s hard to see him having to learn all this the hard way; to see him trying so hard to be someone he thinks he has to be (and after using that slur against Sander…). WtFock seemed to really want to confront us with the physical side of Robbe’s struggle and I think they did it really well.

But then these eikels just had to pull out the David Bowie card.

They actually used a David Bowie song in a love scene between Noor and Robbe. In fact, they did more than just that -- they actually had Robbe choose to play a Bowie song while trying to make love to Noor. Like, it seems like he really was playing it because the song started so muffled when they were outside his bedroom and then became clear as soon as he opened the door to reveal the romantic ambience he had set up for Noor. Bowie seemed to be part of that ambience. (And it still works if it was just in his head.)

Guys, this is a Pandora’s box of layering and I am here for it!

Layer 1: The incongruity

Obviously we (and Robbe) associate all things Bowie with Sander. As such, it is very jarring to hear a Sander reference in a scene that very much shouldn’t involve Sander -- when Robbe is trying to be intimate with his girlfriend for the first time.

It is such a personal moment for Robbe and Noor as a couple; something that is just between the two of them. But what Life On Mars does is force Sander into the room with them (and into our minds). And my goodness, what an effect that has.

I just love that feeling of disorientation it creates. It makes the moment feels so wrong, so incongruous, like the world is upside down. It screams ‘It should be Sander here with Robbe right now.’ And of course that sense of wrongness is probably what Robbe is fighting through/pushing through/struggling with in this moment as well. And we get to feel that struggle from one piece of music. Not just from its melody or the lyrics, but the actual artist is used against us too. How genius is that!

Layer 2: Bowie is comfort and courage

How curious for Robbe to have cut Sander so thoroughly out of his life and yet consciously set up a Bowie song to croon in the background amongst the candles. (And again, it works if it’s just in his head too.)

I think one of the reasons why he did this is because he himself was wooed by Bowie. It’s what he is familiar with; a page out of Sander’s romance playbook. He can now use those moves on Noor (because he has no idea what else to do).

And I think another possible reason for his choosing to play Bowie is for courage. Robbe is obviously really nervous right now and it seems possible that he is trying to get courage from Bowie’s music because Bowie is Sander and Sander is bold and brave and cool and unflappable. I think Robbe looks up to Sander and those qualities he possesses, and Bowie’s music is how he can channel them. (But that thought just makes me want to cry a little bit so I’ll stop right there.)

But I think there is a much bigger reason behind Robbe’s choice to woo Noor with Bowie…

Layer 3: The cycle of substitution

Music is a powerful thing; it connects to memories and emotions. For Robbe, Bowie’s music is so tangled up in Sander -- it would be so hard to separate the two at this point. Listening to Bowie would bring up all the echoes of the happiness and excitement and tingles that he felt with Sander. So why on earth would Robbe listen to Bowie if he was trying to forget about Sander and focus on Noor?

Well, for one thing, listening to Bowie might help Robbe get in the mood; it might help him channel those electric Sander Tingles so that he can then transfer them to Noor. After all, if he could feel those types of things with Sander, surely he can also feel them for his girlfriend with a bit of inspiration and coaxing. Then Robbe will be back to being ‘normal’ again. (Because liking Sander is wrong but liking Noor is right.)

In other words, Robbe may be using his Sander Tingles as a placeholder or a starting point for the ones he is trying to grow for Noor. But that is just a form of substitution wrapped up in ‘good’ intentions.

What the undercurrent of this scene really feels like is a continuation of Call Your Girlfriend/the zombie party, where Robbe used Noor as a substitute to kiss Sander by proxy. Everything in this new scene just screams of Robbe missing Sander and wanting him there instead. The Bowie ambience feels like a gift Robbe has prepared for Sander, not for Noor. But Sander isn’t there…

What everything comes down to -- and what is painfully evident -- is that if Robbe was really determined to cut Sander from his life, he would have cut out Bowie’s music too. He’d have to. Listening to it would be like wearing Sander’s sweater.

If Robbe was serious about getting over Sander, he certainly wouldn’t try and make love to his girlfriend while listening to Sander’s favourite music -- that is just going to make him think of Sander while he kisses Noor. It’s the opposite of trying to erase Sander. It just screams that Robbe doesn’t actually want to get over Sander; that he’s fighting his own decision; that he can’t let go; that he really wants to be doing this with Sander. It’s just such a messy cycle of substitution and so very sad.

And it really makes my head hurt.

But anyway. There is one last thing I loved about the use of music in this scene, and for once it has nothing to do with Bowie:

The music distortion

I just have to acknowledge the fantastic use of music distortion at the end of this scene. You know, the moment Robbe reaches Noor’s lower region and the smooth playback of Life On Mars starts distorting and echoing in Robbe’s ears like he’s slipping underwater.

It was such a clever and effective use of sound effects to replicate the effects of Robbe’s anxiety on his senses and concentration. It works too well though -- it always sets my heart racing and triggers my own anxiety like I am about to freefall without warning. Oh and it BREAKS MY GODDAMN HEART. Willem gets the bloody Oscar because I can’t watch his face in that moment. I just can’t. It’s like he is losing a part of himself to do what he is doing that he will never get back. I can’t describe it, it’s just so awful.

And that brings me to a subpoint that made my list:

6.5: THE FRAMING OF ROBBE AND NOOR IN THE AFTERMATH

The aftermath scene blew me away as well (though I suppose it wasn’t hard to do considering I was already in tiny pieces!)

The framing of Noor holding Robbe from behind to comfort him is so visceral. The contrast of Noor’s warm love with Robbe’s cold fear and resignation is such a mix of beautiful and heartbreaking.

Noor is the embodiment of love as she holds Robbe. Her explanation is so gentle; her tone so soft and soothing. Noor is so empathetic, so patient, so kind, so mature… And that is exactly what amplifies the sense of tragedy. It’s tragic that ordinarily her gentleness and patience might have been enough to help; it might have given a devastated boy an incredibly important lifeline after being unable to perform in the pressure of the moment. But in this situation, it isn’t enough -- it won’t ever be enough. And it’s so hard watching Noor’s exemplary handling of the situation while knowing that.

Robbe seemed to register that particular tragedy too, even though he seems primarily devastated over the finality of what his inability to perform means for him.

His face is just so awful. That resignation and fear as his worst fears are confirmed -- that even after being reassured by his best friend, the advice wasn’t enough to help the situation. What is instinctual for Robbe’s friends isn’t so for him. He tried to do all he could and it still wasn’t enough. There is very little left that he can do.

The close up framing of Robbe’s face in this moment makes it all the more confronting for the viewers because there is no where else to look but at his face. You have no other choice but to feel that fear and devastation; to be trapped in it with Robbe. It’s a set of brutally effective framing.

So well done to wtFock for using so many of my goddamn senses to ruin me in these two scenes -- from the sound of Bowie, to the visuals of distress, to touch (because damn right I felt tightness in my chest and an erratic heart beat!). Thank you but I hate it… :)

[xianglingslesbian]

oh I'll give u a character alright: Izuki, Kiyoshi, Riko and Aomine <333 technically that's four, but what goes around comes around (I'll keep this circle of love goin forever buddy)

VICCCC ily my man <33 thank u!!! aight putting this under a cut bc it got long

Izuki

Why I like them: izuki’s just overall so amazing! he inspires me to give my best in the stuff i do, and although it sounds a bit silly i try to be a person that he’d be proud of. his puns are hilarious and well-thought-out (as a person who loves words and word jokes, i’m naturally drawn to him lol). they’re also a way to take the heat off the team, he’s so hardworking and never views obstacles as obstacles, rather as hills he must climb to find newer skies. he’s also rather clever and employs his brains to great effect when his body fails him! izuki embodies the meaning of ‘eagle’ in the truest sense - waiting to strike when the time is right and not failing when it is.

Why I don’t: *sweats* can’t really think of a reason i don’t like izuki, at all??? i guess he can overwork himself a lot and tends to keep his true emotions hidden which could lead to misunderstandings between friends (although this is totally headcanon territory lol)... i also didn’t like the ableist comment he passed on hayama (“i’m just glad you weren’t smarter than me”). but i think he can (and will!) grow from that kind of stuff, he is that kind of person so yeah no particular reason for me to dislike him at all

Favorite episode (scene if movie): how dare you make me pick s3 e8 izuki vs kasamatsu, hands down. i know its like cliche or whatever but that moment just told me so much about izuki as a character? he’s willing to do what it takes to win, he’s adaptable and dependable and he doesn’t let shit get him down ever. it’s gorgeous

Favorite season/movie: s3, he got some fantastic moments in there!! although i will say i loved the spotlighting he got in s1 in the seihō match

Favorite line: “Fear isn't a bad thing. There are some things that can only be done by cowards.” this is first of all such a nice thing to say. ‘fear is not bad’ is just... so fucking wise? keep in mind that this boy is 17, i’ve met 30 year olds who are less mature. secondly it feels like izu’s speaking from experience?? like he has a lot to be scared of, i’m sure. particularly of falling behind and being a burden to his teammates. but it’s that ‘cowardice’ that drives him to practice so so hard. that visceral terror of weighing on seirin is what pushes izuki beyond his limits - which is why here he can empathise with furi’s fear, and knows how best to employ it.

Favorite outfit: look i hate last game w/ a passion but that lil tie/shirt/hoodie thing he had going? that was literally so cute. izuki in general has a p great fashion sense but his last game outfit takes the cake <3

OTP: hyuuizu oh my god i could talk for years about them but since this post is gonna be very long i’ll refrain. just. they are perfect they are fucking perfect

Brotp: kiyoizu!! kiyoshi is izuki’s biggest enabler and i love that for him <3

Head Canon: izuki can be very very passive aggressive when he’s angry at someone/sad and gets cold and withdrawn. it’s not fun to experience but tbh if you upset him you probably deserve it

Unpopular opinion: izuki should’ve been naturally better in canon. it’s not fair to shaft him and give the ‘trier’ thing off to himuro. that being said i am p happy with who he is as a person

A wish: i want to know how izuki felt after middle school! izuki’s and riko’s backstory focuses so much on hyuuga its dumb >:( he also would’ve been demoralised but he didn’t quit bball and i would like to know his thought process!

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: i. uh. i guess izu quitting basketball. because i genuinely cannot see that happening. it brings him so much joy, he should never stop cold turkey. i can imagine old man izuki hobbling about a court giving little kids pointers and making them laugh T-T

5 words to best describe them: “big brain caffeine-powered clown baby” 

My nickname for them: babyzuki/izu/shunshun

Kiyoshi

Why I like them: lots of reasons! kiyoshi is an admirable person. he’s strong, yet friendly and gentle, and he loves his team above all else, which i just find beautiful. i find his manipulative side also pretty cool, bc it shows off how multifaceted he is.

Why I don’t: this is more of a fandom reason but i really dislike how kiyoshi is always said to have had the greatest impact in hyuuga’s story. he badgered and manipulated hyuuga, and while some may argue hyuuga needed that push, it only worked bc hyuuga had had time to think about shit. he’d also been given space by riko and izuki (two integral parts of his life whom the fandom looooves to sideline for uwu kiyo//hyuu). 

Favorite episode (scene if movie): yousen match (can’t pick the episodes)! i loved the backstory we got for kiyo vs mura and i loved how kiyoshi was willing to smile and play but also refused to lose. he truly stole the show despite kagami being the one to finally take down murasakibara, it was gorgeous <3

Favorite season/movie: s2 for sure. kiyoshi wasn’t allowed to shine much after yousen imo - all the focus was on hyuuga kagami and kuroko, and to a lesser extent izuki. not complaining, but yeah

Favorite line: “Let’s go have some fun.” i know it’s kinda cliche but i do love how kiyoshi’s always thinking about playing a good game and enjoying basketball. he wants to play because he loves it and as someone who loves a sport as much as kiyoshi loves b-ball, that love is so poignant and tender

Favorite outfit: practice clothes! kiyoshi looks great in pink <3

OTP: kiyohana. hateshipping amirite ;)

Brotp: kiyohyuu! i love them as friends so so much <3

Head Canon: kiyoshi is half-iranian on his mother’s side and is muslim. i won’t say too much because i am not muslim myself, i need to do more research into this but i’ve had this headcanon for quite a while now!

Unpopular opinion: he should be bullied more for the fact that his canon power is having yaoi hands

A wish: kiyo finds something he loves as much as b-ball. he can’t canonically play at this level again, so if he found another sport/competition/anything, it’d be amazing

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: he should never become demoralised. kiyoshi at heart is a dreamer, so let him dream, let him look towards tomorrow with a smile always

5 words to best describe them: “useless dreamy dumbass cheerleader clown”

My nickname for them: kiyoyo, bc my feelings about him have yo-yoed a lot lmao

Riko

Why I like them: im a lesbian, next. /j i love her because she’s so tenacious and driven. yet she’s also kind and gentle, and never loses her humanity. she cares, and she cares hard. she’s so fucking smart too like... coaching a hs basketball team at 17 against players of NBA calibre and making them win? i could never. seirin without riko is nothing.

Why I don’t: i dont like the constant slapstick of her beating up her boys. also, i dislike how the narrative forces her to act ‘feminine’ and then has the boys think of it as nothing. like first of all if someone like her offered me a kiss i would so take 100, and secondly... why is a girl’s worth so tied to her femininity? it’s awful

Favorite episode (scene if movie): her sending in furi vs kaijō, early in s3. it was an exceedingly smart move that could have only come from her knowing her players’ strengths and weaknesses intimately, and being a brilliant coach. just amazing <3

Favorite season/movie: all of them! riko has some amazing moments each season, so i can’t really pick

Favorite line: “Humans grow. Don't act like you understand when you don't even realize that!” here, riko knows and knows well that she is in her element. momoi might have the data, but riko understands adaptability and knows how to predict stuff. in that way, one can draw parallels between takao vs izuki and momoi vs riko: takao and momoi are recon experts, whereas riko and izuki are strategists. momoi uses raw data; riko manipulates the data to her advantage

Favorite outfit: idk if this is exactly an outfit but her glasses are so cute oh my gosh. (i’d kill to see her in a leather jacket tho)

OTP: rikomomo!!! i’m 100% sure that momoi’s fixation w/riko’s boobs is just... repressed lesbian sentiments. also sports girlfriends gimme

Brotp: hyuuizuriko. i hc that hyuuizu were tgt since elementary school and riko joined them in middle school so... childhood friends feels!

Head Canon: riko knows how to shoot a gun. her father owns one so it makes sense

Unpopular opinion: riko does not need to have bigger boobs in fanart. please stop sexualising a 17 year old girl

A wish: white suit riko please

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: her ever leaving behind sports in any way shape or form. it’s her thing. in the same vein, she should never have to change herself or become more traditionally feminine to be ‘appealing’

5 words to best describe them: perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect

My nickname for them: ai/riri

Aomine

Why I like them: aomine is just a pure, hurting young man that deserves help. he’s passionate, and his fire died down out of no fault of his own. that fire’s reignition through kagami is one of my favorite scenes <3

Why I don’t: he’s perverted as hell and i dislike that. it plays into the ‘brutish dark-skinned pervert’ stereotype which is yikes. also i thought we were done with pervs in anime

Favorite episode (scene if movie): s2 seirin v touou when kagami enters the zone!! aomine’s finally happy and it’s so amazing to watch <3

Favorite season/movie: s2, he finally got happiness and peace of mind

Favorite line: “You’re the best!” there’s just so much of pure joy in this line. he’s so so beside himself that he finally has someone he won’t destroy. kagami sees aomine the person, and that person is so happy, it’s beautiful

Favorite outfit: the leather jacket from the finale lmaooo he looked so cute

OTP: AOKAGA BABY i could write an essay tbh

Brotp: aomomo!! theyre such good friends and bi/lesbian solidarity too!

Head Canon: aomine cannot dance. he has stepped on kagami’s feet multiple times. he has also attempted to twerk when drunk. kuroko recorded the whole thing and uses it as blackmail in case the puppy eyes and “but aomine-kun you didn’t fist bump me back” don’t work

Unpopular opinion: more a fandom thing, but you all need to stop making aomine the aggressive/possessive top/‘seme’. it’s racist as fuck

A wish: aomine goes pro. it’ll be amazing for him, a huge challenge and kagami will be there too so its a win-win ;)

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: he quits again/b-ball loses its allure. aomine at heart is someone who needs passion to drive him so i just want that passion to always burn bright within him

5 words to best describe them: “bastard baby needs a hug”

My nickname for them: dai-chan, momoi rubbed off on me

[psychomoxxie]

Don’t Say You Love Me (Falling For A Psycho Girl)

So if you read the last post, you know i’m just dragging myself by the teeth and unkempt nails out of the dumpster fire that is my so-called “heart”;

I.e., yet another relationship bit the dust. The first one in 4 years. It was new, but i fell hard, because he was different and not an abusive fuck, was super-sweet, and had the brain-cooties too (not like mine, but still), so i could relate to him on a deeper level than most. But turns out, he’s already into someone else, if his FaceBook memes are any indication (which they almost certainly are), which makes me feel incredibly stupid and naive that i didn’t see it coming. He was probably talking to this girl romantically before things ended with us. Which puts things in a whole new light.

 That light being — i am, and i reiterate, incredibly stupid and naive.

 Which brings me to the next bit.

The very next day after things imploded in my face with this guy, a friend – a male friend – talked to me for three hours on the phone to cheer me up, make me feel better about my stupid little heart; and after we hung up, he messages me to confess to me that he’s in love with me.

 Here’s the thing. It’s not that I don’t “love” this guy friend. In as much as I can feel love for him or anybody else. That sort of thing is reserved for a very small pool of people, and I’m not very good at it. Ask anyone who knows me, and they’ll tell you. I will disappear off the face of the earth for weeks at a time, and expect you to be ok with that. I have a hard time being emotionally available for most people.

 My capacity for being In Love with a capital “L” is severely limited, and probably not defined in the way most people think of the word. I’ve experienced real, actual, true Being In Love probably twice in my life. Where it hit me hard, and i was both viscerally and emotionally affected by it, and wanted to put that person’s needs before my own and all that sort of thing, where i felt that gut-wrenching emotion when it ended for whatever reason. Where i felt emotions that had to do with THEM, and not just ME. Not just the selfishness of “romantic love”, which mostly has to do with how that person makes you feel, and less to do with the actual person. But when I did feel it, I felt it all the way. And crawling out of it is certainly no easy feat. In fact, I still love my first True Love — but he died many years ago, so there’s not much I can do about that.

 I’ve certainly developed feelings, even felt love for a couple people I’ve dated — which evolved into true friendships, which I consider to be a type of love that’s different from being In Love, though still very worthy and much more likely to occur in a person’s life multiple times. Those instances of love are the people that i still speak to, despite whatever pain it cost to get us here, because we still actually had a real connection after the romantic bit ended. (The guy in the photo being one of those).

 Of course, the question is, was it genuine Love ™ i felt for the Guy I Fell For if it wasn’t actually reciprocated? If he’s already moved on to someone else, then clearly it was one-sided on my part since i still have feelings, and he clearly does not.

I don’t know. The thing is, I can’t transfer my feelings from one person to the other so quickly. Or at all. Because for me, I rarely feel them to begin with.

 Oh, in the past i’ve felt serious infatuation. When i was younger and unmedicated, i was capable of obsessive infatuation. Of course that ended when that person’s flaws came to the light, or they disappointed me. I see this one’s flaws quite clearly and still have the feelings. I hate it, but there it is. Maybe that’s the problem. For him, it was just infatuation.

 Part of the problem of being a Psycho bitch — like, literally, I have ASPD (Anti-Social Personality Disorder, my secondary diagnosis, and it’s not severe, but it’s significant enough to be problematic. This is the first time I’ve talked about it, because the stigma surrounding it is so fucked up) — is that it’s not easy for me to connect with other people. Not in any genuine way. It’s considered to be, in my and many cases, the result of certain childhood experiences. It’s a fairly common reason for this fairly uncommon disorder. A protection that the brain constructs as a result of physical and psychological trauma. I recognize it, and i try to work on it. It’s not easy.

 Here’s where the Mental Illness Education Bit comes in, folks. Because yeah, we’re doing that now. ASPD is a relatively new diagnosis – or rather, TERM for a diagnosis (in general, and also for Yours Truly), and it’s often interchanged with Sociopathy, which is often interchanged with Psychopathy. It’s not a Mental Illness, per se, but a Personality Disorder. Which might be wrong, for me, since it’s co-morbid with Schizoaffective Disorder which has some symptoms in common, and they gave me my ASPD diagnosis several years ago for what they thought previously was Bipolar – which is fairly obviously not my problem. I don’t have mood swings, per se, but i do have impulsivity, and lack of empathy, and other things that jive with the ASPD diagnosis. Apparently, my being slightly Sociopathic makes more sense. Honestly, i sometimes think they just liked slapping the label on a woman because it’s so rare.

 On the other hand, it does kind of fit, if i’m going to be honest. I’m very good at the whole social mask thing. And i don’t feel things normally – haven’t ever, really.

 I’ve never murdered anyone (yet), but i will certainly admit to having a lack of conscience or empathy where many things are concerned. Or, perhaps just a lack of emotion in general. My psychiatrists say it’s due to severe PTSD and trauma. As is true for many people with the disorder, as i mentioned.

The misapprehension people have, however, is that people with the disorder NEVER connect, or are incapable of it. This isn’t true. When we do connect, it’s definitely genuine and deep. We just don’t do it with many people at all. Mainly this is because we’re basically self-centered and pretty selfish. And not very “nice”. We have to work at it. We aren’t “empaths” or any of that new age crap. We don’t connect with the outside world very easily, or well. We can be manipulative. And in some cases, fairly narcissistic. Definitely overly-logical when being emotionally sympathetic is clearly called for.

 But every once in a while, i really connect with somebody. And when that happens, it’s really not easy to let go. But when i finally decide it’s time that i do, it’s like that person never existed. It’s very black and white. Again, a protective thing my brain does, i suppose.

 And God knows what I did to fuck things up with The Guy I Fell For, because that’s just it — i will do things out of my inability to be empathetic sometimes. Or patient. People will tell me that I’m sweet and kind, but really I admire those qualities in others, and try very hard to emulate them. I think I have those qualities in me sometimes, but I have to work at them. The very few people I do love bring them out in me. But even so, I fuck it up. Often. I didn’t have anything to model it after growing up, you see. So my version of compassion and normal love and affection looks rather like Helen Keller’s version of trying to describe the color blue, I rather suspect, sometimes.

 But, i digress.

So, this friend – we’ll call him The Limey (because oddly enough, he’s also living way the fuck in another country) confesses his love for me, and i realize off the bat that my emotional response is all wrong. The wheels in my head are turning in all the wrong directions. It’s a welcome distraction, and an ego boost, and i latch onto it like a drowning woman for about a day. In some ways, he’s a perfect match for me. We’re good friends. He’s single, a talented musician, whipsmart, witty, kind of an asshole in all the right ways; he’s willing to come right out and tell me how he feels. He’s incredibly attractive, and sexy as Hell. He wants me to leave the damn country with him, for fuck’s sake. All the things i so desperately want. And, yes, i do like him, a lot.

 But do i Love ™ him? No. Which comes into stark relief when he pisses me off by being a jerk to one of my friends – someone i do love (not romantically, but definitely love) and my first reaction is FUCK this Limey. I don’t even give him the benefit of the doubt.

 My emotions are so shut down at this point that i can’t even conceive of giving the Limey a chance. Him, or anyone else for that matter. Because i’m done. I’m done connecting with people for a good while. I have the very few people in my little Universe of Discourse, and that’s all i need.

 Clearly, the point here is that i’m damaged, but i’ve always been. I don’t think it means i need “help”, and i certainly am not asking for sympathy. I’m perfectly aware that i am fucked up. In fact, on one level, i’m happy to know that i’m still capable of falling for someone, as misguided as it may have been, and as hurt as i am from the way it all ended. It shows me that i do, in fact, still have a soul. That i’m capable of actually feeling something real, as opposed to my usual screwing around with abusive men — which is not love, but some weird head game i put myself through out of some need to torture myself.

 Soooo, this post digressed wildly.

 The point IS, i was flattered and moved by this friend’s declaration of love for about 48 hours before he pulled some crap that made me want to beat him over the head with a tire iron, and then i responded in my usual unsympathetic and offhand fashion because that is my default.

I’m fairly convinced at this point that i should just avoid romance altogether. I’m obviously bad at it, i pick the absolute wrong person nearly every single time, and then wonder why i’m miserable. Then i spend the next 3-4 years perfectly happy all by myself, which is just long enough to forget how miserable relationships make me. Rinse, repeat.

 Plus there’s that whole thing where i have to explain that i’ve got the Brain Cooties…or Brain Worms (thanks, Jay, for that new term), which is never a fun conversation; like, “No, dear, i’m not going to knife you in your sleep, and no, i don’t hear voices telling me to roast your spleen with a nice Chianti. At least, not usually. NO, BABE. THAT WAS A JOKE…”

 I just…i can’t.

 If i end up like one of those old ladies with her cats living with her female roommate in the boondocks collecting furballs and molding them into puppets and selling them on Etsy, then so be it. Right now, it seems like the sane choice.

 *photo of me and The Samurai – dear friend and fellow artist

[theexistentiallyqueer]

Sorry to bother, but where do autistic and adhd brains overlap? Because both are neurodivergent (and beautiful, I agree) But how can I find out which behaviour belongs more to me being autistic (got diagnosed this year) and which is adhd? (No Matter What Deadline, after several years in hostile environment (failed university, then call center work) I panic. Hard.) How do I disentangle adhd and autism to find out what strategies to use to function better?

Please don’t feel like you’re being a bother, because you’re not! Honestly the fact that someone is coming to me to ask ADHD questions makes me teary-eyed, because I’ve fought so hard to learn to function with ADHD that people Asking Me Things like I’m a trusted expert just makes my heart grow three sizes, the opposite of the Grinch.

I’m probably not the best person to ask about how ADHD and autism overlap specifically, especially if you’re taking this from an autistic POV. And I’m also not a behavioral expert, which is a very strong preface. But I can (and am very happy to) talk a bit about my experiences with ADHD and how I’ve learned to make things work for my brain.

I’m going to put this under a cut, if that’s okay with you, anon. It got kind of long and I don’t want to overrun anyone’s dash. And you can always, always ask me ADHD questions, and I’ll try my best to answer.

My ADHD tends to manifest specifically in the following ways:

Extreme hyperfixation that has its own varying degrees (e.g., I’m really into Fire Emblem: Three Houses, but I have so lack of interest in Byleth/Claude that my lack of interest feels like an actual void)

An inability to process feelings regarding things other people care strongly about that I don’t. If we’re using the same fandom example: I could rant forever about how Byleth/Edelgard gives me ALL THE FEELS, but if I friend I care about started to talk about Byleth/Claude, I would immediately lose all interest in the conversation and struggle to react in a way that doesn’t present me as a selfish monster who doesn’t care about the person I’m talking to.

I tend to monopolize conversation if I’m given the opportunity because I LOVE getting the chance to talk about my hyperfixations. If someone cuts me off when I’m really into a topic, I get incredibly irritated and have to try to restrain from myself from acting petty in response. The number of times I have smiled my mouth is a knife and said, “ANYWAY, as I WAS SAYING…” is beyond count.

I don’t recognize or remember people until I have something meaningful to associate them with. I also don’t tend to notice things that don’t clock themselves as Important in my brain. I usually describe this as “background furniture.” Even PEOPLE become background furniture. A girl I work with mentioned a person on her team had quit, and I’d literally walked by that person’s desk earlier that day and didn’t notice it was empty, because that person and the entire space they occupied was background scenery.

If something affects or touches me personally, it hits me Very Personally. I had a complete fucking breakdown watching the video of Philando Castille’s shooting, because I heard his daughter crying while she watched him getting shot and went down onto a spiral of personal loss over my own father to gun violence and started to immediately correlate the two. Separating ADHD brainness from my  whiteness is complex and hard and (said sarcastically) so, so much fun.

The direct inverse of that are things like: I’m talking to my mom, who’s telling me about a high school friend of hers just got into a horrific vehicle accident and is in the ICU. My mom then goes on to give me regular status updates on this woman I don’t know. I get out of work, and she talks about this woman’s surgery. I get out of work, and she talks about this woman’s family’s attempt to find an adequate rehab center. They find a rehab center, and my mom shows me how her friend decorated her daughter’s room. My mom shows me a video of the girl working with a physical therapist, who gets her to push herself upright with a walker and take her tentative steps. “Awesome!” my brain thinks. “Great!” my brain thinks. All of it spans over several days, weeks, months. I have nothing to do with this constant influx of information. I don’t know how my brain should file it. I don’t know this woman who was injured. I feel for her in theory because no one should ever have to go through that even though so many people do, but I haven’t ACTIVELY PRETEND like I personally am invested in the situation or else my mother gives me Concerned Eyes because I seem to be In A Bad Mood Today.

When it comes to organization, I tend to lean towards hyper-organization rather than hypo-organization. By which I mean I over-organize to combat the fact that ADHD often results in disorganization, and disorganization results in chaos, and chaos gives me COMPLETE PANIC ATTACKS. At work at one point, I had my emails auto-tagging every incoming email based on the email type, on top of tagging for my clients. Every label had a different color, and it all made sense to me, because I’d made it. When my team had cover my stuff on a day I was out, my inbox was such a horror show that it left them feeling drained and distressed.

Let’s talk about socialization! I have a rocky relationship with my childhood best friend. When I discovered social justice in college, I started picking fights with everyone over everything Problematique. The first major fight I had with my best friend at the time was because she felt I was over-aggressive towards a mutual male friend of ours. She was probably right, because I know the kind of bullying behavior I later developed. I thought I learned from it. After the 2016 election, I messaged her on FB, thinking I had a sympathetic ear, to say that seeing her mother post constant messages of support for Trump and sharing stuff dismissing Trump’s sexual assault allegations was particularly hurtful considering I’d told my friend that my mom had been sexually assaulted.. I’m not going to share what she said, but she wasn’t in the wrong. We didn’t talk for several months after that.

Speaking of her! When she started dating the guy she’s now married to, at one point I asked her if they’d had sex yet. I asked it because I thought it was a thing you were Supposed To Talk About as friends, and also because I was, in a way, morbidly curious, because I’m grey-ace and queer. She confirmed that they had, but I still felt so icky and uncomfortable about that for so long afterwards. It was only after I started to understand that I’m not cis and not allo that I really understood why: I was forcing myself to perform what I thought female friendship was based on how it’s portrayed in media, and it’s only once I began to understand that I’m on the ace spectrum and that I’m nonbinary that I really started to understand how forced mainstream conversations of attraction are.

I’m loud! I’m loud! I’m loud! I’m loud all the time! I live with my mom and I socialize with my mom and when we’re in public spaces and I’m talking about something that interests me, she always, always, always feels like she has to shush me. What makes it ironic? If there are other people being loud around me, I can’t function. I can’t process the noise. It’s EVEN WORSE if they’re speaking in another language, because if it’s English I can process the words at least, but if it’s another language, it’s just pure, inescapable sound that I know has meaning but can’t intuit, and if I can’t understand something, that’s as bad as dying.

From what I’ve read about autism, here are ways I THINK my ADHD traits overlap with autistic traits:

I can’t read facial expressions. I think I have a better concept of emotional nuance in facial expressions than someone who’s strictly autistic, but I’ll still panic when I see a smile that isn’t bland enough. RDS (rejection-sensitive dysphoria) will kick in. They hate me, they hate me, they hate me, is the track my brain will play on repeat until I’ve drunk myself into oblivion. Whenever someone smiles, I mistrust it immediately.

Eye contact is incredibly fucking frustrating. I understand that it’s expected, but it’s SO UNCOMFORTABLE. Why do we need to stare into each other’s eyes to understand one another? How can you people write whole treatises on the sanctity of locking gazes and finding an instant intellectual bond without realizing that eye contact that’s not called for is personally invasive?

I can’t understand flirting vs not flirting to the point that I’m absolutely paranoid someone is flirting with me, at which point I usually become hostile if I think they ARE, because DON’T FLIRT WITH ME. TALK to me!

I hate, hate, hate unsolicited physical contact. If I’m in a state of over-expression, I hate it even more. I’m not physically withdrawn, because I love hugs, and cuddles, and human touch. But when I’ve spent the entire day listening to other people talk and I have to walk into a room where people continue to talk, if someone touches me, it’s fucking No-Oh-One.

Someone is interested in a thing I’m interested in. We’ll use Persona 5 as the concept, because this honestly happened recently. I talk with the guy whose desk is across from mine about Persona 5 all the time. He’s also excited about Royal. I started going into my Sophia theory that I’ve really only lobbied at @softspokensansa. I could see, I could viscerally see, the interest drain from his expression. BUT I HAVE AN IDEA SO I WILL TALK ABOUT IT ANYWAY, and then afterwards I felt incredibly resentful that I was being filtered through a cookie-cutter drain.

It’s painful–it’s really painful!–to try to talk about my spiritual ideas with other people. I have a side blog I just started and am preppy myself to share, and I’m absofuckinglutely TERRIFIED everyone is going to write me off without looking at what I have to say. IT’S THE RSD AGAIN! Nothing I ever said has actually mattered before, so why should it now?

I feel, constantly, like I’m halfway between a point of reality and a point of something. What that something is is indefinable, but regardless of it, I exist.

I’d like to direct you to two very positive youtubers I know; I meant to do this earlier, but now feels right in terms of how I’ve written: How To ADHD and Amethyst Schaber.I credit both of them in helping me find a safe place with ADHD before diagnosis. There are stories other than yours that matter.

I wish you the best, anon! If you think you’re autistic and ADHD: given the comorbidity between the two, you probably are! And ADHD is just as beautiful, complicated, and misunderstood as autism is.

If anyone reading this can speak to living as both autistic and ADHD, please respond so I can lift your voice. And to my anon: you’re beautiful completely. I hope my story has helped you in its anyway, and I hope that you find yourself at a place of peace. It’s a struggle to get there, but it’s worth it, every step of the way.

[gboxventspace]

I feel volatile. Not sure how else to describe it. These last couple days I’ve barely gotten out of bed, my heart pounding for no reason, anxiety at the edges of my thoughts just as strong as the exhaustion. I want to sleep more, but I don’t. I want to be alone but not in a bad way? I feel like I’ve found a sort of liminal space here, curled up in bed on my phone, the fan going so I don’t hear anything else in the house. Time keeps creeping forward but it doesn’t matter.

I should be applying for jobs. I should be calling about bills. I should be sorting my stuff, still packed in boxes. I should be up and dressed and at least talking to my family. But I’m not, and I can’t make myself do it. I don’t want to leave this floaty unreality, even if I spend it all on the precipice of falling into an anxiety attack. I’m on the edge of a hot pot, I crawled my way up the side and now I’m sitting on the ridge, feet dangling over the fire. I feel the heat coming up, it’s uncomfortable, but better than if I made a move forward. Backwards would be back into the hot pot too, not as bad as the fire but still burning and dark and trapping. I’m on an edge, the idea of safety, as far from the fire as I can be without committing and seeing how long I can dangle here before I face reality one way or another.

Why is it like this? Why am I like this? I do t want to be like this. I take my meds, I go to therapy. I try. Why does it feel like I’ve been wrung out like an old sponge? I’ve never been the energetic sort, but even the little bits of excitement are gone. I either feel empty or anxiety. Things that make me excited usually still make my heart race, but it feels closer to panic than anything good. I’m stuck in a place of transition, between jobs, between choices, between phases of life that I’m reluctant to leave. Time marches on but I don’t wNt to, I don’t want change, yet I do? I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I need. Why does my brain feel so foggy?

Does getting high at night make it worse? It seems to. The days after I have a high night are often like this, floaty and exhausted. I don’t know if I even like being high that much. Why do I keep doing it? I hate how I stuff my face anyway, why do I take drugs that make me donit even more? I don’t want to eat but I do. It takes away the guilt for a while. If I stop buying snacks I’ll stop binging on them, but then instead I’m laying there hungry, desperate, unable to think of anything but my hunger and my weight and if I want food or not and if I should just lay there and waste away. Hunger pangs send me into a spiral of self loathing and pride, but then so does being so full I’m in pain. Pain. Control? Part of me is glad I still bite my nails because it means that when I start scratching I can’t do much damage. I wish I could do more but I know I shouldn’t. My poor scalp. I don’t want to damage my hair but it’s a relief. If I want my arms, my keys are right there, right in reach.

Tactile. When I was high last night, I couldn’t get the word out of my head. I’ve been needing so much tactile stimulation lately. Eating is a form of it, the texture and taste of the food, chewing, swallowing. I’m constantly rolling around in my bed, touching and rubbing and stractching at whatever parts of me I can reach, needing that sensation. Why? What else could I do to appease this? I don’t want someone else to touch me, not really. I don’t need touch from someone else. I just need more. My room is blank and white, I haven’t gotten around to putting up my decorations yet, maybe that’s part of it? White sheets, white pillow, white walls. My painting is hanging up, a splash of color, and I can have other colors, but I don’t know if it’s enough. I need to fling paint around I think. Cover my walls, my skin, all of it in bright paints. I need markings, signs, something visible and tactile. But my room’s also the guest room, so I can’t decorate it without my mom’s permission. I get it. But I loathe it.

I don’t need to break boxes, not like last time. Weeks ago when I went into the garage and threw a fit, tearing and throwing and cutting and smashing boxes until I couldn’t feel my hands, my shoulder thrown out and my back strained, old nails ripped from the walls and cardboard all over the floor. This isn’t as violent as that. But it’s physical, it’s visceral, and I don’t know how to vent it out. Cheap paints, acrylics maybe, or tempura, slathered over everything, flung. Make beauty out of pain.

It’s why I have that henna, maybe I should do that. Too much patience though, waiting to chip it off. Sharpies? Nail polish? Mark my skin. I used to go to town on my skin in the shower, relishing in how pliable it was in the hot water, how bright red nail marks look against my stomach and chest in the bathroom light. Visible, tactile, real. For a while I kept a pair of safety scissors in the shower too. Was always too chicken to go deeper than surface level.

It’s funny. Once my dad found razor blades in my bathroom, open and sitting out. I genuinely have no idea how they got there or why, but he pulled me aside to ask about them, but wasn’t overly concerned. When I asked why, he said I “didn’t have the right marks for them”, so he knew I wasn’t cutting. Hah. Scratches are too temporary to make anyone think twice. Is that a blessing or a curse? I want them to be seen, to be acknowledged, to be pitied, but then I don’t want the follow up of being hounded. Or do I? Why am I feeling so starved for validation when I’m practically drowning it it anyway?

Why am I like this? Why am I like this? Why won’t it ever go away? Why can’t I have control over myself, my actions, my thoughts, my body? Where’d my control go? Did I ever have any? Do I even want it? Control sounds exhausting. More exhausting than this? Than wishing? Struggling? I want to drift, to drown. My arms ache from climbing out of my own mental pits of despair again and again and again, knowing it’ll never truly get better, I’ll never fully be done or heal. These pits will never go away, no matter how much I progress, how hard I fight and try. What’s the point? Claw my way out just to slip again? Why make a bed you’re just gonna sleep in again. Why shower when you’ll sweat again. Why eat when you’ll just gain weight and get hungry again. I’m wasting away, wasting time, wasting life I should feel blessed and priveledgef to have. Can’t I give it to someone else? Can I give allnof this to the people who need it more, deserve it more? Would cherish it, use the opportunities for good instead of wasting them like me? I have no right, no reason, nothing. I shouldn’t feel like this. I take a handful of pills every day, have for years, why don’t they work?

The scary thing is, they do. This is better than I am without them. Why is my baseline so abysmal? Is it not the right balance of chemicals yet, or does it not even matter? Will it always be like this? I get better just to fall again, always, and it’ll never stop, never go away. Life’s a fucking hydra and my sword’s dulling like chewed nails dragging on skin. I can’t even cry. Sitting here, typing this, all I feel is my heart pounding incessantly in my chest, my breaths coming short, never enough oxygen, never deep enough. Maybe I’d breathe better if I wasn’t fat. No, I know I would, doctors say I would. That one guy compared me to a truck, my sleep apnea being like a car engine trying to pull a truck, and it’d work fine if it was instead pulling the smaller body it was meant for. Am I meant to be smaller? I try and look at the bright side of my size, my strength and softness, but it falls short. I’m not that strong in the grand scheme of things, and my softness is negated by my sweat, being a space heater that can never turn off. What’s the point in being soft for hugs and shit if you’re also wet and disgusting? I shower, but within minutes of getting out I’m sweating again, no matter the temperature or what I do. Why would anyone want to hold me? Why would anyone want me? I want to be wanted. I want to be wantable. Why though? Why does it even matter? Do I want the attention itself, or just the knowledge that I could have it if I chose? Why can’t I be different? Why am I stuck being the weird one, the pitied one, the slow one, the “she’d be pretty if she lost weight”, the “you can’t have an eating disorder if you’re fat”, the “i dare you to ask the gross one out”. Am I gross? Inherently? No matter what I do, I repel people. I’m nice, I think. People like talking to me. But not getting close to me, because I cling, I become an unwanted burden every time. Should I try harder? Less? At all? Why? Why can’t I be satisfied, happy, accepting what I have without always craving more? Selfish. Gluttonous. Slothful.

What do I deserve? Is there such a thing? The universe doesn’t care. It’s beyond empathy, beyond emotions like ours. All we can do is tap into it, talk to it, ask for favors or little treats. Like pets. We’re pets to the universe, thinking we have free will and agency. Nothing matters. Nothing’s real. Is that a comfort or a cold slap in the face? I’m not special. I’m as unique as everyone else. The people in my immediate vicinity know me, some love me. Plenty would miss me. Does it matter? Why? When?

Why am I like this..?

9/5/19 4:42 pm

[fandomflail]

title: Recognition (6/8)

rating: M

summary: Soulmate trope AU. Set in a world where humans and elves coexist.

a/n: *screams at Tumblr* I queued this for Friday 10 pm but the queue at my post! Sorry for the delay, you guys. 

Past Chapters: (1)  (2)  (3)  (4)  (5) or AO3

RECOGNITION CHAPTER 6

Killian Aearinön had lived a life of strife, despite being Noble born. Of course, his older and wiser brother, William Beriothien, would often comment that said strife was a result of his own actions and self-recrimination. Liam, as Killian called him, wasn’t wrong.

“What was the instruction?” his brother asked, brow furrowed with worry.

Liam worried too much. Between his bride, Elsa Arendelle, and Liam’s own tendency for anxiety and worry, it was a wonder the two functioned at all. Unlike the humans, who suffered more from physical maladies than psychological ones, elves were far, far more susceptible to injuries of the brain.

If they weren’t dying of childbirth, Killian mused, they were running Nightlock into their blood for a quick death.

“Killian!”

Giving his brother his focus, Killian said, “For her own safety, I delivered the instruction as The Sukrasa said. Remain human to those who know her as human, reveal her as an elf to society, with the story that she was simply living in secret. No mention of halves.”

Liam strode closer, blue-grey eyes delivering a piercing gaze. “And she can be trusted?”

Killian felt his temper rise. “Of course she can!”

“You don’t actually know her, brother. A consummation does not a soulmate make,” he said, pacing the length of the mahogany table that stood as the centerpiece.

“I know enough to know she can be trusted. As can the other three.”

“You have no idea what sort of danger you’ll unleash if word gets out, I mean it, Killian. This is serious. For once, please take this seriously.”

“I know that! I’m not a youngling, Liam. Stop treating me like one.”

“Perhaps if you —“ his brother cut himself off, swallowing whatever insulting thing he had been about to say, and said instead, “I am glad you’re back to high society. Things have changed, and they have not. You’ve lived with humans for a total of what? 150 years now? You’ve adopted some of their…mannerisms, and not in a flattering way.”

“Yes, like when people annoy them, they tell them to bugger off.”

“Now that’s just rude.”

Killian flipped him an obscene human hand motion.

“You’ve been tight-lipped about this Emma. If she’s a lost child, her parents are sure to be looking for her.”

He nodded, drumming his fingers on the table. “I checked; there was no missing report of an elven girl matching her age or appearance.”

“Hmm. Come to think of it, that makes sense. If she’s a hybrid, they’d have wanted it kept hush. Plus, she’s Nysnian; it’s not like those elves have ever trusted us.”

“I don’t know if she even wants to find them. This whole thing has been overwhelming for her; she’s been using the ignore-it-until-it-goes-away strategy. With her heritage, with me.”

Killian was unsuccessful in keeping the bitterness out of his voice. He dropped his gaze to the little decorative windmill on the table, spinning its blades to distract himself.

“Well, she’s still coming later, isn’t she? That’s a start.”

“Only to the Embassy. I don’t want her meeting the serpent. Who knows what she’d say to her. Wait does she even know that I Recognized…”

“Stop calling her that. Of course she does. It’s just within the family, you’re safe.”

“That’s a relief, though who knows who she’s hissssssssed to.”

“Oh shut up. Just so you know, I’ll be there.”

“What???”

“Oh yes, you really think I’d miss meeting your soulmate? My little brother’s Recognized half?” Liam’s smirk was unbearable, his posture so casual he could only be faking it.

“You’re the worst elf in the history of elves, I hope you know.”

“Stop being dramatic. I invited Belle, to make Emma and her son feel comfortable. Belle is the human equivalent of a library, and she is Head of the B.E.A.S.T. I can truly think of no one else as perfect to fill in the blanks about our culture.”

“This was supposed to be a quiet tea,” Killian huffed.

Liam shook his head, no doubt judging Killian as a child, despite the fact that their age gap was a mere 10 years. A single petal difference in a forest bloom, but to hear Liam tell it, one would think Killian was an infant human, and Liam a wise old sage. It was maddening.

“Do you think this could work?” Liam asked after pouring himself a cup of fresh honey tea.

His perpetually concerned face was soft, curly blonde hair kept in place by the ice-inspired circlet he often wore to honor Elsa. Maddening though he may be, Liam was the best brother an elf could ask for. The look on his face mirrored the look he had when Killian had fallen out of a tree, breaking his bones in three places; as if this whole endeavor was the same sort of dangerous recklessness he’d exhibited as a youngling.

“I believe so. I chose to live as a human for Milah. I loved her. I always will. But Emma, Emma is different. This is different.”

“Killian…I’m sorry to suggest this but… do you suppose this thing with Emma is simply a matter of chemistry, rather than a matter of heart?”

There was an almost visceral need to defend his feelings, an anger so swift he could’ve wrung his hands around his brother’s neck. He fought the impulse, forcing himself to truly consider his brother’s question. After all, he had, in those early hours, had the same questions.

It felt like a betrayal to confess his heart, especially about the first few hours following his introduction with soulmate, but this was Liam. Who could he truly trust, if not him?

“I hated it, at first. She ran, twice that day. She made it clear that her actions were the effect of the Recognition, and not for any real desire to know me. She didn’t seem as affected as I did. I thought…I thought maybe I hallucinated it.”

“You checked with The Sukrasa,” Liam reminded him.

“I know. But a half-elf? That’s a myth and propaganda people like Her Highness, Snake Queen Consort, tell to fear-monger elves about the Bad Things That Happen When We Mix With Humans.”

“Killian,” Liam warned, tone infused with a world of warning. He ignored the rebuke about their step-mother.

“You know that’s what she thinks, even if she isn’t forthright about it. Anyway, it was highly possible that they had mixed her blood and Henry’s. Full or half elf, I thought I was going crazy, except it’s impossible to ignore that feeling.”

“What was it like?”

“I told you, remember, when you said we should just put the Trace on her and be done with it.”

“Actually, what you told me was, and I quote, I’m dying Liam, I’m dying. Hardly descriptive.”

Killian rolled his eyes, moving to swipe his brother’s mug for a sip.

“It’s a burning sensation, like the skin under your skin is on fire. You can’t scratch it. Your throat feels like you’ve been screaming for years, but no amount of water quenches it.”

Liam watched him with wide eyes. For the first time, Killian felt like he was being taken seriously. Figured.

“There’s a ringing in your ears, like you’ve stood next to a gong after it’s gone off. And the worst thing is… well, you can relieve yourself as much as you want, but it hurts. The humans have a term for it, though I’m not sure why they use the color blue to describe it. Nor do I think they understand what exactly, it means for one to have ‘Blue Balls’”.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

“Yes, well.”

“So you can be happy with her? And her human child?”

“It would be too easy to fall in love with Emma Swan, Liam. Just wait till you meet her.”

“Sure, can’t wait.”

Killian ignored the slight sarcasm. His brother was a damn worrier.

* * *

Emma eyed the silver pears, Asiménia, a delicacy of the Nobles. While she usually, genuinely, enjoyed elvish food, this was awful. She did her best to school her expression, but she knew she was kidding no one.

Henry, through sheer teenage obstinacy, was scarfing down his food as though he liked the taste. No doubt, she thought wryly, because Gracie seemed to be genuinely enjoying it.

Across from her, Killian’s ears twitched in effort to choke down his laughter.

“So Emma,” Prince Liam said, lips tilted upwards in a smug smile, “how do you like the food?”

“It’s…” she said, grappling for the right word and coming up short, “interesting. Different from the ones served during the ball.”

“Oh yes,” Prince Liam said, while Killian glared at his brother, “this is a family delicacy. We’ve never had a Nysnian elf who has ever taken to it.”

“Oh, oh my, are you Nysnian, Emma?” Belle pipped up excitedly from her seat next to Henry.

Henry and Belle seemed to get on like a house on fire, going through hundreds of years of world history in the span of the few hours they had talked.

“Yes?” she replied, unsure why this was an issue. Her gaze landed on Killian, suddenly feeling like maybe this was a thing about herself she should know.

“Oh. I see it now, you have that dent in your chin and everything,” Belle said, craning her head to study Emma.

She squirmed under everyone’s attention, bringing another spoonful of Asiménia to her mouth, only to instantly regret it.

Elsa, the quiet blonde next to Liam, laughed. She had barely spoken to any of them, so Emma was a little surprised to find such open emotion from the elf.

“Truth be told, Asiménia is truly an acquired taste, don’t feel bad, Emma,” Elsa said.

“And it apparently tastes like this berry in Nysno, Marjaga, which is poisonous. Maybe that’s just your genetics that makes you dislike it,” Belle said, the petite human a seemingly endless sprout of knowledge.

“Belle,” Gracie cut in, seated primly across Henry and in-between Killian and her father, “will you tutor me in history?”

Jefferson’s head snapped up to his daughter, who was ignoring him in favor of staring down Belle.

Belle lit up like a Yule lantern, eyes rounding wide as Henry interjected “Me too!” and then remembering his manners, added on softly, “Please.”

“Of course. Oh, it would be such an honor. I would love the opportunity to hear you recite poetry as you did earlier. And sing. You have such a gift for it.”

“Thank you,” Gracie said with a smile, preening under the praise.

* * *

It was decided that they would stay for dinner, so the party adjourned to the study to continue their discussions.

Killian looked to be completely taken by Gracie.

His eyes kept darting to Emma, and she wondered if he was musing the same thing as her. Had it taken? She was in no ways prepared to be a mother, not like this, but watching Killian interact with the blonde haired, green-eyed elf child made picturing a future too easy.

She wasn’t even sure if she wanted it. Having to deal with a situation like that would drive her into a panic. But until then, she figured she could allow herself to indulge in a little daydream.

Killian was seated on the lush carpet on the floor resting lightly by her knees, while Emma sat on the couch. She was tempted to run her fingers through his hair, but managed to stay the impulse. Next to him, Belle, Henry and Gracie made up the rest of the circle on the floor, while the other adults had left for something or other.

Despite her initial anxiety, and Prince Liam’s somewhat cool response to her, the day had been nice. In fact, seated where she was, Emma was feeling particularly content.

While Belle and Killian took turns to regale the children with tales of history and famous adventurous elves and humans, Emma found herself only half-listening.

The content wasn’t boring. On the contrary, she was learning a great deal about elves, but her full stomach and calm proximity to Killian made her rather sleepy.  They had her full attention, however, when Henry asked why elves who were hundreds of years old looked like humans of 30 years.

“We develop slowly, lad,” Killian said, gesturing with his hand for Belle to interject with the prolix answer they all knew she had.

“You see, elvish biochemistry is very different from ours. Hormones are created slowly, the mechanisms more complex, the telomeres longer, much longer than ours.”

It was clear she was losing Henry, who hadn’t quite reached that chapter in school, but Belle continued, “They age pretty fast as younglings, which is why Gracie and you seem to be growing up at the same rate, but once she hits about 30, everything slows down. It’s also why parent-child relationships don’t have the same dynamic as human ones.”

“Aye,” Killian said, rubbing his jaw, “that’s true. You see, you could technically have a child at 30, but because both you and your child have an average lifespan of 800 years, you’re pretty much peers. But say, you have a child when you’re 350, and well, that’s a more similar human parent-child dynamic.”

“What if you Recognize when one person is 300 and the other is 30?” Henry asked.

Emma felt her face flame. Adopted though he may be, he was just as blunt and sly as she was.

Both Belle and Killian flushed, clearly under no pretense as to why the question was asked. `

“I’ll leave this one to you,” Belle said, looking at Killian, while Gracie giggled.

“Uh… um… well. Recognition is different. It’s two souls meeting as one. You will learn from each other of course, but as long as you respect each other, like any other healthy relationship, there should be no problem.”

“Good answer,” Henry praised, making Killian blush red.

“Henry!” Emma hissed.

Suddenly, she was struck with a thought of what he’d just said.

“Oh my god,” Emma gasped, as the realization hit her.

All of them turned as one to look at her.

“What is it, Emma?”

Heart beating rapidly in horror, she asked, “How long do elves have periods for? Because I’m not going to lie, I was looking forward to menopause. Now you’re saying I have to go through this torture for hundreds of years?”

“Oh ewww, mum, come on!”

“It’s part of life, Henry, I told you that,” she told her son distractedly as her gaze remained on Killian.

“Yeah, but that’s for when I’m like older. I don’t need to know that now.”

“Don’t even talk to me about you getting old,” she warned. Henry shut his mouth abruptly, no doubt remembering her breakdown about her outliving him still fresh in his mind from the week before.

Killian looked flustered, so it was Gracie who answered.

“We’ve evolved not to need that, actually.”

“ELVES DON’T HAVE PERIODS?!” Emma shrieked indignantly.

“I mean, we do,” Gracie corrected, brow furrowing, “it’s just, it’s not the same. You bleed once every 3 to 5 years, until you hit about 250. Then the body sets itself into what is called Henig Amatúlië. It’s basic epigenetics. And Recognition can trigger it later on. Like an on and off switch.”

“What she said,” Killian mumbled.

With an eyebrow arched, Gracie asked, “How do you not know this, Your Highness?”

“Just Killian, lass. And I do. I mean, not in as much detail as you do, of course.”

“Okay, can we change the topic now, please?” Henry begged.

Emma met Gracie’s gaze, the young elf rolling her eyes as if to say, men, no matter the species, all the same. Belle laughed, clearly entertained, as she diverted the conversation into some random fact.

* * *

Emma excused herself to freshen up a little while before dinner, only to be followed by Killian just as she reached the day room for guests.

“You’ve made it hard for me to get you alone,” he said, closing the door with a soft click.

“I was doing no such thing.”

“You’re simultaneously an enigma and an open book, my love,” he said.

Killian had a habit of dropping saccharine endearments into their conversations, and she didn’t know how seriously to take him. While it was hard to stop the warmth that stirred in her belly every time he used one on her, she told herself that perhaps, it was simply how he spoke, and did it to everyone. So she ignored it.

“How so?” she challenged.

“Our messages have gotten a little brazen, wouldn’t you say? Yet here you stand before me, skittish as a doe. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re only brave to admit to your desire when you have a distance.”

“Wow, that’s reaching, don’t you think?”

“Hardly, Swan,” he scoffed, “I think it’s right on the mark. You’re scared of me, scared I’ll let you down.”

“Just what the hell have you been speaking about with my son?”

“I didn’t have to ask Henry any of this to know it, Emma. Give me some credit. I didn’t pry.”

“You think you know me so well then? What about you?”

“What about me?”

She paused, considering him. Somewhere during their conversation, they had moved closer. It was like a disease, a constant pull towards him whenever they occupied the same space. She wanted, when he was nearby.

And while he seemed to read her easily, she couldn’t quite figure him out. That in itself, was scary. He was unpredictable, an unknown entity that already had too much hold on her heart. An elf who understood her and had ingrained himself in her family. He was too much.

“I’d say you’re scared too. I just don’t know what about.”

He shrugged, slowly bringing his hands to grasp hers.

“Well, if we’re going to be scared anyway, doesn’t make sense to do it alone, yes?”

“Killian…”

“Why are you making this so hard, Emma?”

She bit her lip, eyes roving across his face as she considered how truthful to be. He was beautiful, that was easy to see, but throughout the weeks, he had proven to be everything she had ever looked for in a man. Elf. Man. Same thing.

Sure, there were inklings of a temper and jealousy that she could see there, and perhaps he was more reserved and secretive than she was, but he had shown himself to be kind, considerate, funny and above all, had taken a genuine interest in her life and Henry’s.

He had gotten lunch delivered to her when she had complained about having to work over her break hour due to Ashley’s mess up; had tutored Henry on math via hologram the day before an exam; made her smile by sharing articles and pictures of cute animals with silly captions throughout the day; in short, he had stuck around, with no pressure for more, as promised.

He kept promises. She hoped that was true. She wanted to believe that.

“How would this even work?”

“How do you mean?”

“You’re an elf prince. You live in a royal place in Irska.”

“Actually,” he cut in, “I live in Alamané. In a penthouse overlooking the river. I write music and paint, and I sometimes sell those paintings.”

“Your brother hates me.”

“What? No. Liam is wary of you, but he is wary of everything.”

“No, pretty sure he doesn’t think I’m good enough for you.”

“Emma,” Killian said, looking at her in concern, “I’m not sure what the idiot did to give such an impression, but I promise you that is not it. Liam’s issues are with my choices, not you. If he hated you, he wouldn’t have launched an inquiry about your parents.”

She pulled her hands away from his.

“He did what?!”

Killian looked like he deeply regretted revealing that. Emma glared at him.

“The Sukrasa are… they are the guardians of the elves. Everyone has a file. Since that first night, they’ve been building yours. Liam looked at it. I didn’t. Told him he was overstepping.”

“Fucking right that’s overstepping,” she growled, crossing her arms.

“Yes, well, he’s got a different idea on what constitutes as help. Liam is big on family. It’s why he tolerates the mad witch.”

“The mad witch?”

“Father’s consort, of course.”

“Of course,” she echoed sardonically.

“Liam may know a fact or two, but he doesn’t know the stories. Besides, I have a feeling you’ll get on with Elsa.”

“She seems rather frosty.”

“She’s the nicest. Too nice for my idiot brother, honestly. She just takes a little time to warm up.”

“Did they Recognize too?” she asked, uncrossing her arms.

“No. They chose each other.”

“What happens if they Recognize with someone else?”

“They still have the choice to keep choosing each other. Besides, elves aren’t nearly as prudish as humans. We’re a polyamorous species, which makes sense when you think about how long we live.”

“I don’t share,” Emma said, the words rushing out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“Good,” he said, taking the passion behind her words as an invitation to step into her space, “because neither do I.”

Emma gulped, suddenly feeling short of breath. Killian kissed her forehead, lips lingering between her brows as he breathed her in.

“Are we doing this, then?” he whispered, arms coming around her to caress her sides.

“I…I just… I’ve got to do something first.”

He sighed, pulling back. “Fine, but don’t tell me you’re not avoiding this, us, me.”

He looked as if he was fighting his frustration, biting his lip and shifting his foot.

It shouldn’t have been, but was, terribly endearing. Running on instinct, Emma leaned in, going for a kiss.

Killian’s reaction was instantaneous; his lips parted, deepening the kiss, derailing the chaste peck she had been aiming for. She indulged in it for a moment, breathing him in, before pulling back.

“Be patient, Killian.”

“Sure, what’s another 300 years?” he muttered. His cheeks were a ruddy red.

“Killian?”

“Yes?”

“Liam’s enquiry…did…”

“No. Not yet. If there is, I’ll let you know.”

She placed another quick, tender kiss on his cheek and then turned and walked to the water-closet, shutting the door firmly behind her.

She heard a faint murmuring, not being able to catch his words, as she washed her face and took in her own flushed complexion.

You’ve played yourself, Swan.

* * *

In hindsight, staying for dinner had been them, overstaying their welcome. They’d barely finished the hors d’oeuvres when the Sukrasa announced Her Highness, Queen Consort Coraline was to be joining them.

The easy flow of the room vanished instantaneously, as Liam, Elsa and Killian sat up straight as if a tree branch had been inserted down their spines. Jefferson, who generally stayed away from elvish politics, looked discomforted by the prospect of the queen joining the table.

Gracie and Henry, clearly neither oblivious nor stupid, picked up on the change of demeanor of the adults and quietened down. Emma could think of no good reason why the queen would join them for a simple occasion of tea and dinner.

Beside her, Killian gripped her wrist. Emma had given up resisting him while she was in his presence, the need to connect and touch too strong to ignore for the sake of pride. They’d been discreetly hand-holding under the table for a while now, though neither had said a word about it.

The doors opened, and everyone stood. Killian dropped his hands from hers abruptly, as an elf in a blood red ballgown with dark hair in an up-do practically glided into the room.

Aside from the fact that she was over-dressed for the occasion, there was a sense of superiority about her that set Emma’s teeth on edge.

“Really, Killian, I must find out from the help that you’re hosting a dinner with someone who could potentially be joining the family?”

Her voice was clear and sharp, and despite the concern in her tone, Emma could tell it was more a reprimand than a desire to be included. She didn’t care about his response as her eyes zeroed in on Emma, who despite wearing an elvish-style dress, felt like she had been judged and came up lacking.

“Well, she’s pretty, at least. Small mercies. What is your name?” the queen demanded.

“Emma,” she answered, matching the no-nonsense tone.

The queen made a tsk. “I hear you’ve lived as a human your whole life, what a pity. But that’s no excuse for lack of propriety, my dear. I suppose we’ll have to see to your lessons about elvish court.”

She heard Liam cough, and saw Killian’s ears flush red.

“I think you’re putting the cart before the horse, Your Highness,” she said, looking the woman in the eye. “We’re here to honor Gracie, after all.”

“Yes, there’s really no need to be inundating the Lady Swan, is there, Queen-Consort?”

Clearly irritated by the title, her eyes flashed to Killian. She moved to the head of the table, sitting down and beckoning them to do the same.

“I told you, son,” she replied, tone saccharine sweet, “no need for such titles when you could call me mother.”

“Not a damn chance, thanks, Your Highness,” Killian answered with a smile.

God, this was exhausting. Killian, with teeth still bared at his step-mother, turned to Gracie.

“Gracie love, I present to you Her Highness, Queen Consort Cora. You should tell her all about your assignment about human-elf integration, I’m sure she would love to hear it. You and Henry make a great research team.”

Emma wondered who she ought to kill first - the Queen, if she made a disparaging remark about her son, or Killian, for bringing attention to him. It was sure to be a fun dinner.

* * *

It wasn’t a fun dinner.

As soon as it was polite, Jefferson excused himself and Gracie, with a look to Emma. Needing no impetus, she also excused herself, receiving no resistance from Henry, who had been asked twice what sort of history they studied in human schools.

The queen seemed to adore Gracie, constantly comparing her knowledge to that of Henry, making sure to note the differences in standards. Emma was two seconds away from throwing a fork through her eyes, but Gracie seemed to diffuse tension with the kind of grace befitting her name.

“Of course, it’s late. I would like a word alone with Miss Swan” the queen said, eyes glinting.

“Your Highness,” Liam interjected smoothly, “I’m afraid Miss Swan isn’t quite privy to all the protocols of court. Perhaps when we’ve—“

“I’m well aware, William. Now, my request stands. Please leave us.”

Jefferson, Henry and Gracie stood. Emma waved them off.

“Go on, Henry. I’ll be right there.”

“I’m staying,” Killian said, tipping his chair in an insouciant move. Emma ignored him. This power play was a family issue, and she did not want to be anyone’s pawn.

“Am man theled?” Queen Cora said to him in Elvish, leaving Emma clueless as Elsa and Liam rose.

“I am staying,” Killian repeated, clearly having no wish to explain his reasons.

Liam looked like he was about to say something, but Killian flashed him a look, posture screaming for this fight to be his. Liam said nothing, giving the queen a hard look before walking out and slamming the door.

“So hot headed, your brother. Just as you are,” she said, switching back to the common tongue. She shook her head at him disappointedly.

Having had more than she could bear, Emma snapped. “Fine, Your Highness,” she said, the title dripping like ooze, “I’m here. What did you want to say?”

“Very well, straight to business. You’re to remain discreet, Miss Swan. The less anyone sees and knows you, the better. You’re not to talk about your suspected parentage to anyone. And…” she pulled out a bottle from her pocket, “if you happen to find yourself with a…problem in your belly, this tea will solve it.”

Killian had grown progressively more irate as the woman had spoken. At her last words however, he growled, standing so abruptly the chair crashed to the floor.

“How dare you—“ he sputtered, stalking to her.

“Killian,” Emma called out sharply, never taking her eyes of the queen who seemed to be enjoying the bonus of watching her stepson rage, “this is my conversation.”

“As you pointed out, I’m uncultured in your bullshit rules of court. So let me tell you right now, that I don’t give a flying snapdragon about what you think of me. I sat down here and played nice while you barely tolerated my son, and now you’re asking me to abort a child I might have? I see why they call you a serpent, but it seems like a damn insult to the snakes.”

“How dare you speak to me that way, you insolent brat! You have truly no idea who you’re speaking to. No idea how I’m helping you. This is your one and only show of mercy, Miss Swan. Test me again, and you will deeply, deeply, regret it.”

Nostrils flaring, the queen strode away, the anger radiating from her an ancient thing. Perhaps if she had been anyone else, Emma might have been cowed, but she felt nothing but anger.

Just as she reached the door, she turned, eyes finding Killian.

“Ask your brother, he knows why I only meant to help,” she said, and then walked out through the antechamber. The door was shut heavily behind her.

“Amarth faeg! That fucking, no good, lousy viper! Pe-channas!” he snarled, picking a bowl and flinging it across the room. It shattered into dust, the fine glass completely disintegrated from the force.

“I should slit her throat where she sleeps.”

“Okay, whoah, calm down, Killian. I’m pissed too, but calm down with the murder.”

“Slitting her throat would be too merciful for someone like her,” he said darkly.

“What did she mean about ask your brother?” Emma asked, moving to pick up the vial she’d left behind.

Killian was shaking, his face red. He looked two seconds from throwing another bowl.

“Who knows? Probably something said to sow seeds of distrust.”

She held the vial of clear liquid up to her eye, swirling it this way and that. “No, she wasn’t lying. I could tell.”

“What are you doing with that?” he asked her instead, ignoring her remark.

“I don’t know.”

“Throw that away. Perhaps you should throw it there,” he said, indicating to where a dust of white lay to their right, “where it belongs.”

“Does it do what she said?”

His mouth dropped open, the look in his eyes one of betrayal. “You can’t be serious.”

“I don’t think I would. But I should have a choice!” She tossed the vial in the air and caught it.

“You do have a choice, but what am I? Does my opinion count for nothing?”

“Not if it’s my life on the line!” She growled at him.

“That’s fair, Emma, look I’ll respect your choice. But at least let us talk about it if it comes to that. And for the love of the universe, not by her methods. Who knows what poison is actually in that.”

Without a word, Emma swung her arm back, releasing the vial against the wall. It shattered, the liquid running down the sides of the wall.

“That felt good,” she said, grinning. “I pictured hitting the back of her head.”

Killian blinked at her, an unreadable look on his face, before he surged, crossing the distance and grabbing her by the waist. He kissed her soundly, pulling greedy kisses from her lips. She responded enthusiastically, channeling all her irritation and emotion into passion.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing deeply.

“You’re a marvel, Emma Swan.”

“And you have some serious anger issues, but it’s also very, very sexy.”

“I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

“That’s sweet, Killian, but I can fight my own battles.”

He smiled against her lips, kissing it briefly before pressing his nose to hers. “I don’t doubt it, but you don’t have to do it alone. That’s what I keep telling you.”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

She pulled back far enough to look him in the eye.

“Henry told me an old saying. We’re only as strong as we are united.”

“Smart lad.”

“Yeah. I missed you. I could feel that…emptiness. I thought it was an after-effect of all that Recognition stuff…maybe it is, but I guess… I mean you asked why make this harder than it needs to be, and well, maybe you’re right.”

“I know exactly what you mean, my love. I’d rather not live like that, considering I now know what its like to have you in my arms. My heart no longer needs be empty. I know it won’t be easy, but we don’t have to get involved in any of the snake’s politics, we can just… be. Away from here. Work on this, us, together. Would you like that?”

“I suppose it’s good as any plan.”

He laughed, tweaking her nose. “That’s hardly a plan, but we’ll work on one. Henry is probably getting really impatient outside this door.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised he hasn’t barged in yet. Gracie is really good for his manners.”

Killian kissed her softly, a gentle peck of the lips, before reaching to grasp her fingers with his hand.

“And you’re really good for me. Come.”

please track tag ‘cs ff recognition’ for future updates:

@piratesails @freckelscheeks@pinkbonesforeverblog@alys07@emswan @julesep3026@rouhn@stephat815@strawberryfieldsbricksonwalls @andiirivera@env13@klar425@urufrufruf @shady-swan-jones @teamhook@fleurreads@fictional-redheads @myswan-myhappyending-mylove@scottieswan@haocomeback @onceuponaprincessworld @adeelam@fallensites @deathbycaptainswan @ascolinwishes @ab-normality@kmomof4@natascha-remi-ronin @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky @kday426@sambethe @rouhn

Shoutout to @mysecondmountain and @galadriel26 for all the comments and reblogs and for reading past fics and commenting on that too. You guys are rockstars ILU

[news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog]

Am I the only one who's horny for podcasts?

May is National Masturbation Month, and we're celebrating with Feeling Yourself, a series exploring the finer points of self-pleasure.

He murmurs into your ear, his voice as soft as it is authoritative. Dazed, you don't quite hear what he's saying, but it sounds imploring, urgent — making your heart beat quicker, breath heavy, lips part. 

This isn't a sexual encounter. It's a podcast. Dan Carlin's Hardcore History to be exact. And I'm horny for it.

It's about time we all acknowledged the unspoken eroticism of podcasts (at least, certain types of them).

For enthusiasts, podcasters whisper into our ears with honey-smooth voices on a weekly if not daily basis. (Oh, don't worry, we'll get to Michael Barbaro.) As we lay in our beds alone at night, they come with us, that soothing and familiar cadence washing over us, melting the day away until it's just us ... and that voice. Podcasters are also our constant companions, drowning out the noise and stress of daily routines, turning morning commutes into immersive journeys through sumptuous soundscapes of storytelling.

For the incurably perverted like myself, they can be a wake up call to the wondrous and under-explored world of audio porn. (Apologies to the hardworking creators who may never see their work the same way, but your content is definitely serving us in more ways than one 😉.)

Everyone trying to pretend like podcasts don't get them hot.

Image: vicky leta / mashable 

The rise of the aural fixation

Those who've felt even the slightest titillation from that "aural fixation" are probably relieved to hear they're not alone. A majority of you, however, most likely feel a bit disgusted to discover that rule #34 even infects the wholesome realm of podcasting.

But inarguably, there is a unique and unmatched intimacy embedded into the medium. For more people than you imagine, that makes podcasts the perfect avenue for a more humanized and personal type of masturbation. Both in terms of everyday podcasts and those purposefully trying to get you off.

"Being able to use your imagination to fill in the blanks can be incredibly sexy when many people are used to seeing porn that looks a certain way," said Girl On The Net, a pseudonym for the sex blogger whose dulcet British tones voice some of the most popular auditory erotica on the web.

@HardcoreHistory so glad to hear your sexy voice after 2 endless months of waiting💀💉

— echo (@Alanood504) January 14, 2013

In the same way that some of us are auditory rather than visual learners, some of us are hornier for aural rather than visual porn. It's a small, but growing niche. For Girl on the Net, that's evident in how traffic to her audio porn page nearly doubled over the last year.

SEE ALSO: Podcasts were my friends when I had none

"I think people are becoming much more aware that tube sites aren’t the only place to go to get your rocks off — and I hope many are realizing tube sites aren’t the most ethical place to get your rocks off either," she said, referring to porn sites that host user generated content.

Phoebe Judge's voice is super hot. Inviting but authoritarian, a little hoarse.

— madeleine (@parietines) December 16, 2017

On subreddits alone, there are roughly 276,000 subscribers to r/gonewildaudio (for naughty recordings of yourself), 20,000 on r/GonewildAudible (for more general erotic audio needs), 25,200 on r/pillowtalkaudio (for erotic amateur recordings with consenting partners), and 68,000 on r/nsfwasmr (for sexualized ASMR, which used to be a popular tumblr, too). Similarly, there's a whole subgenre of erotic podcasts recorded with the intent of getting you off, and literotica has an entire subsection for audio. 

People are even starting to monetize on the phenomenon, including a recent app called Dipsea that hosts erotic audio stories catered to millennial women. "It’s perfect for storytelling, it’s intimate, and it’s incredibly imaginative," said Dipsea cofounder and CEO, Gina Gutierrez. "Listening to Dipsea you can feel like the voyeur, or you can become the character."

Even harder core history

I don't know when I first realized certain podcasts (always a solo host or narrator, so panel podcasters are safe) did it for me. But I remember the exact moment I discovered a voice could bring me to near orgasm, despite not having the words or understanding to know what was actually happening. 

I was watching the first Harry Potter movie in the theater, and Professor Severus Snape (played by the late, great Alan Rickman) was delivering his now iconic first year speech on the, "subtle science and exact art of potion-making." A mounting quiver ran down my spine when his tongue clung to each curve of every "s" sound in the phrase "ensnare the senses."

Snape later became the fictional man who guided me through my early sexual awakening, a fantasy that I could control through my imagination while losing myself to these newfound uncontrollable urges. A reoccurring scenario involved being blind-folded, leaving me in total sensory deprivation but for the sound of his silky voice, low and measured, describing everything he wanted to do to me.

Again, with sincerest apologies to Mr. Carlin, I was instantly brought back to those fantasies when I first started listening to Hardcore History.

The perfect boyfriend is the kind that stops talking when you press a button.

Image: vicky leta / mashable

It's not about what he's saying because, no, I do not get off to visceral descriptions of the greatest human atrocities ever recorded by man. Actually, for the process to work, the volume must be low enough for me to hear his impassioned teacherly intonations, but not so loud that I can't replace whatever he's talking about with what I actually want to hear instead. (In my defense, I do also go back and listen for the purpose of learning, too.)

To my relief, I found that I was't alone in having the hots for pods, but also that others are specifically attracted to the idea of a scholarly, silky voice teaching you things. 

"I have a huge crush on a guy who does a politics podcast I listen to a lot," said Girl on the Net, not wishing to call out a specific name (though notably, Dan Carlin also has a political podcast). "There’s something intensely hot about listening to someone more knowledgeable than me discuss a subject I’m interested in. Why else would so many people crush on teachers? You’re definitely not alone in this!"

NPR's podcasting hosts running away from our thirst.

Image: vicky leta / mashable 

That also tracks with the trend of an increasing amount of people identifying as sapiosexual (someone physically aroused by intelligence). Maybe our hankering for podcasters comes down to the fact that nerds are in. And there's no bigger concentration of nerds than in podcasts.

To be fair, those who know me know that there is little in this world I can't find a way to sexualize. To be fairer to me, though, there does seem to be an underlying sensuality — or at the very least admission to intense emotional relationships — in even the most platonic explanations of podcasting's appeal.

A very unsexy (but fascinating) New Yorker article called it a "peculiarly intimate medium," further noting that, "for a digital medium, podcasts are unusual in their commitment to a slow build, and to a sensual atmosphere." NPR's Pop Culture Happy Hour podcaster Glen Weldon even admitted to his own discomfort and revery for the one-way intimacy in our relationships to podcasters, equating binge-listening to nothing short of falling in love. 

Perhaps nobody embodies the intense emotional connection podcasting can inspire more than the New York Times' Michael Barbaro. In a way, he feels like everybody's dream boyfriend: reliable, smart, useful, engaging, able to fit in your pocket — and you can turn him off whenever you've had enough of him.

The indisputable soft-spoken King of Podcasting, a New Yorker profile positively dripping with erotic subtext wrote that, "It’s hard to resist the empathetic vocables with which Barbaro punctuates his interviewees’ words," later describing this as a, "quasi-therapeutic aural hovering."

[INT. BAR — NIGHT] HER: so do you have a name ME: from The New York Times I'm Michael Barbaro

— Liam Weir (@liamrweir) July 31, 2017

What they're talking about is his tendency to interject emphatic, often prolonged hmms during interviews, to vocalize his engagement with what his guest is saying. It's such an endearing and recognizable quirk that it now have its own Twitter fan page, which Barbaro actually follows. 

Generally, he seems to be a man who accepts that this vocal tick touches on a particular nerve that people either love or hate. As another Twitter user begged, "Please please please do not stop the hmmmm!"

Not only seen, but heard

Despite its seeming perversion, though, the sexual attraction to podcasts and auditory erotica comes from a pretty wholesome place. 

I'm listening to the do not disturb podcast with @itsarifitz and I'm realizing, women with SEXY ASS VOICES ARE MY FUCKING TYPE. Help. Me. -L

— LauRapsody (@LauRapsody) May 8, 2017

In large part, it's about feeling like you know the person whispering into your ear like a lover. If the eyes are a window into the soul, then maybe the voice is like a sonic radar for the soul. There are so many human imperfections in your speech pattern, your personality embedded into every lilt, unspoken emotions communicated through each prolonged pause or sudden exclamation.

The best way to describe the vastly different experience between masturbating to visual rather than auditory porn is the difference between anonymous sex versus sex with a significant other.

Audio porn is also a more non-threatening outlet for masturbation, since the visual porn on tube sites often feels intimidatingly aggressive and catered only to heteronormative male desires. 

The visual medium in itself limits you to a more external masturbatory experience, as you shut off your brain and consume other people as sex objects. But as a medium closer to literary erotica (or often an aural version of it), audio invites you to imagine rather than tell you what to like. 

"Of all the audio I’ve made so far, the stuff that seems to get the strongest reaction is when it's framed as 'you.' Instead of 'I did this, he did that' it’s 'you did this to me,'” said Girl on the Net, pointing to this specific example. "Again, it’s focusing on the intimacy — making people feel like they’re a part of something. As if it’s happening to them in the moment."

SEE ALSO: Why notification sounds send you emotionally reeling into the past

Also, she said, "most of my sex stories are true, which I think gives them an immediacy and intimacy off the bat."

In essence, audio porn relies on a more direct relationship between you and what's bringing you to climax.

"All sorts of complicated questions go through your mind when you’re watching visual porn," said Gutierrez, the Dipsea cofounder. "Is she actually feeling pleasure? Is this ethically created? What creepy Airbnb is this happening in? You’re also removed from the action, and are distracted by the things that you don’t relate to — like other people’s (often unrealistic) bodies."

Press play with me

The aural has an innately human power over us all. Before there was video, before there was picture, before there was written word, we knew each other by sound. As a collective, we told our first stories through the oral tradition. As individuals, we were first introduced to other human beings by hearing our mother's voice from inside her belly.

Whisk us off to sleep, Podcasting Daddies.

Image: bob al greenE / mashable 

The common adage that the brain is the largest sexual organ is unmistakably at play in aural erotica. Yet unlike purely text-based erotica, the humanizing addition of another person's voice is one of the only ways to make masturbation feel less solitary. 

Aural erotica is the best of all worlds when it comes to spank bank material: more personal, inclusive, approachable, ethical, and exploratory than visual porn — yet also more sensorily engaging than just textual porn. 

Maybe you still think we're just a minority of weirdos. But in my humble opinion, I think maybe I'm just one of a few willing to admit in plain speak that we're all a little horny for Michael Barbaro's voice.

WATCH: Consent-oriented condom packaging says four hands are needed to open it, but then again – maybe not

[sarahburness]

Healing from Abuse: How I Stopped Hating The Man and Learned to Listen to Myself

“Ignoring isn't the same as ignorance, you have to work at it.” ~Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale

We’ve just passed the year anniversary of an event that has greatly changed our country. The shock of the election results last year sent waves of powerful emotions rippling through our nation.

Personally, I felt the effects as intense and immediate grief. It was as though I had just lost my dearest companion.

I had days of shock, despair, feelings of intense cold with physical shaking and episodes of vomiting and nausea, followed by weeks of sleepless nights, spontaneous sweating, nightmares and feelings of imminent danger. Everything felt like a threat. Everything felt like an unbearable reminder. It was all so devastating…and so embarrassing.

I was ashamed of how deeply I registered the experience and found it difficult to talk about even with those I loved. I was confused as to why it felt so intense, why I felt choked when I tried to speak of how I was feeling, and assumed it was something wrong with me. I was the living example of the liberal snowflake.

As I began talking to others I realized that I was not alone in this experience and I began to be curious as to why it registered so deeply with myself and some others, and yet did not in some of my friends who had similar political ideologies. They were still disappointed and disgusted with what had happened, but it did not register in such a visceral way.

Personal and systematic abuse shaped us all in invisible ways. The answers I found to why I related so physically to the event go back very far into my personal history, and if you believe in such things, my ancestral history also.

As a small child family gatherings held a sense of dread for my sister and me. While we enjoyed the food and presents usually involved, there was also the regular ritual of uncle Joe.

Uncle Joe would call us floozies and comment that our legs were too skinny, our knees looked like washerwoman knees, and no one would find us attractive.

There were also the sneak attacks of him grabbing us and holding us down and tickling us while we screamed for him to stop. It was always in the middle of the room with everyone watching, and him narrating the scene, saying how much we really loved it, how silly we sounded screaming stop because we were laughing, and everyone could see we enjoyed it.

At the beginning and end of gatherings he would demand a hug and kiss, didn't we love our uncle?

I remember feeling helpless, humiliated, and ashamed for my tears. It was expected for us to swallow our feelings and put on a happy face. We needed to be polite.

If any adult came to our aid or defense I do not recall it, and I'm sure if anyone did they would have also been told that they were being too sensitive. He was showing his love for us, and why didn't they appreciate it? We should feel lucky to have an uncle who loved us so much.

This kind of story is so commonplace, so ubiquitous, that many may read it and still question what was wrong with that situation. But this is how the very damaging abuse called gas lighting works.

The perpetrator takes advantage of someone weak or vulnerable. They deny the victim from having a voice in the story, then re-center the story to be about themselves, about how great and wonderful they are or, conversely, how they themselves are being abused in the situation. And they mostly are not even aware that they are doing it.

Even in writing this down I feel the tension in my body rise. I feel the tremors involuntarily start in my limbs, y breath gets shallow, and I have trouble even wrapping my head around the words to adequately explain the experience.

In Psychological Harm is Physical Harm Nora Samaran writes of how this kind of abuse shapes the brain and how someone can react to this behavior for the rest of their life. The systematic silencing of one's voice and denial of one's reality can cause someone to become incapable of talking about it.

Uncle Joe was not the only person in my life who behaved in this way. It was everywhere, from the doctor who told me that it didn't hurt when he burned off my warts with dry ice, to my father who told me to quit crying or he would give me something to cry about, to the teachers who seemed to always ignore my correct answers, but hear the boy behind me who repeated what I just said as if it was his own idea. It was on television, in movies, in the music I heard on the radio.

I internalized the patterns and found myself over and over in the same frustrations, the same endless arguments, the same feelings of invisibility.

I sought out the dynamic in my relationships, sometimes in more obviously abusive partnerships, but often in the subtle and almost invisible forms of minimization. I felt like I was talking, but the people I was talking to didn't seem to register what I was saying.

It was like being caught in a nightmare, where you are trying to speak but what comes out of your mouth is unintelligible. You know what you are trying to say, but what my partners heard was something altogether different. It was crazy making.

Because of the systemic normalization of minimizing and denying the feminine perspective, I came to deeply distrust my own mind.

I did not have to even be told my perceptions were not important; it was done in the subtle shrugging off of my suggestions, the deep sigh that made me feel my words were ridiculous, the automatic response of the males in my life to say “yes, but…,” “ I don't think you get what's going on,” “you are misunderstanding,” even when I was describing my own feelings or experience.

And the many years of work I did getting a handle on my own anger issues and automatic reactions made me super sensitive to the claims that I was the one being too aggressive, making too big a deal out of something or just being mean.

I automatically took on the blame and responsibility of any argument. I was being irrational, I was not being clear enough, the words I used were hurtful; therefore, they were invalid.

Mathew Remski discusses this quite eloquently from the male perspective. He talks of the behavior of minimizing being so embedded in his make up that it takes continuous concentrated effort to even notice when it is happening. And that it also takes the help of his partner continuously pointing out when it happens.

It is a lot of work to be constantly vigilant monitoring our behavior, and it can feel almost impossible to overcome. I know because I, and most other people who have had the experience of personal or systematic marginalization do this every day with our own behavior. The constant rewriting of our own experiences to fit within a system that cannot accept our true feelings, which center the collective narrative on a cis, white male perspective.

When the campaign happened, the behaviors I had deep visceral reactions to became public. Instead of being hidden away in the most intimate relationships or invisible private conversations, they were being played out on a very public stage.

I felt myself reacting to them all as if they had happened to me personally (because they had, just not by this particular person).

When one of the most powerful positions in the world was given to a person who was so blatantly abusive and disrespectful, who openly mocked his victims, who rewrote every story so the blame was scattershot anywhere but his direction, who played out the usually hidden abuses so many of us feel intimately on a scale so huge it permeated the globe, it felt to me that the years of hard work I had done to reclaim my identity had been wiped out in a single night.

It validated the claim of every person who had told me I didn't know what I was talking about; if I was uncomfortable it was because my expectations were not reasonable; if I felt abused, hurt, ignored it was hurtful and unfair to the person I was accusing; that pointing out my pain or the pain of others was downright impolite and my behavior. The mere fact that I had a perspective of my own, was intolerable.

I found relief through somatic therapy. Somatic therapy works directly with sensations of the body and translating them into the emotions that we may be storing there. It requires one to become present in the now, opening to the deeply buried layers that bubble up from the subconscious when we have knee-jerk reactions and strong emotions.

Translating the subconscious reactions we have into conscious and conscientious actions creates the space to make our hurt, and the hurt of others visible. To do this I had to dive into the depth of the grief to see where it stemmed from, not just place it was most recently triggered. This was a place that made every fiber of my being long to run away, numb out, cease to exist.

But the leaning into the pain instead of running away allowed me to recognize and accept my own feelings and reactions as tools of learning. I had to relearn to trust my instincts and see myself as a reliable source of information. I learned that I am valid, my feelings are important, and I have a right to be heard and to take up space.

I saw the ways I was complicit in my own harm. I had given up the right to my own perspective, internalized the doubt that my experiences are real, automatically responded to my strong emotions as unreasonable, and I had agreed that the feelings and needs of others were more important than my own.

When I saw that I had agreed to these things subconsciously, I was finally able to decide for myself that I did not want to do these things and could make the choice to stop.

It was and continues to be hard work. But now I listen when strong reactions come up, and instead of automatically silencing them I ask, what they are here to tell me? My anger, fear, guilt, depression, despair, all have a message they are desperately trying to get me to hear.

With deep listening my reactions can be transformed into conscious actions. Actions that let my voice be heard, centering my own story and needs, and allowing others to express what they need to express as well. It also gives me a very low BS tolerance threshold.

In claiming my own story I suddenly found it intolerable having it minimized in any way and could no longer be silent when it was.

This is a deeply inconvenient perspective to have. Going against the grain of society and allowing myself to be impolite while remaining as compassionate as I can muster leads to many awkward and uncomfortable conversations. It leads to conversations where I have to put my personal safety on the line in order to stand up for my personal integrity.

There is also the need for great delicacy and diplomacy. You cannot hope for others behavior to change when you make them the enemy. We all have the capacity to hurt; we all have the capacity to heal. I am the victim of abuse in cases related to my gender, and at times, my age, but have also been the perpetrator in cases where my privilege, be it from my white skin, my middle class upbringing, my citizenship etc. have blinded me to the ways I have contributed to the minimization and abuse of others.

Learning to have compassion for myself and my own tender emotions also requires me to have compassion for those who have harmed me. In the cases of my intimate circle, these are people I love and respect, and I want to be able to still love myself and need to allow for others to love themselves. I see the great hurt many of the people who have treated me this way carry around, you do not abuse without having first been abused yourself.

Unfortunately the abuse of toxic masculinity (the culture of oppression, patriarchal values, or the many names this behavior is known by) has become so embedded in our culture that we do not even recognize it as abuse. It is the norm; it's just the way it is.

It is invisible to the unconscious eye, until we make it visible. We are all damaged by it, but some are made to pay a dearer price, and some are allowed to gain privilege.

Those that gain privilege may have less of a motivation to change the patterns and a harder time seeing the ways they do harm and the ways it benefits them. It takes a lot of self-awareness and the ability to make yourself vulnerable. Accepting the responsibility of having harmed others and making amends is a very painful truth to accept, and so many will avoid this at all costs.

And this responsibility is passed down through the generations. If one generation cannot make amends for the harm they caused, the pain, guilt, and responsibility are handed down to the next, only the further it goes from its origins, the more subconscious it becomes, and the more difficult it is to bring the surface and recognize it.

But this is also the way it is healed, once and for all. It is not appealing work to dig deep into the ugliest depth of our suffering, to name the ways we have suffered, the ways we have caused suffering, the ways we have allowed both things to happen. But not doing it makes those part of ourselves most in need of tender care the least visible.

So in this year when all I really wanted was for this guy, who made all my alarm bells go off, to shut the hell up, I was moved to look at all the ways I had let this weak and damaged person, and so many others like him, convince me I had to shut the hell up. I lovingly listened to my own story and convinced myself to speak up instead.

About Dr. Lisa Klieger

Lisa Klieger is a Five Element Acupuncturist (MAc) and a Doctor of Medical QiGong (DMQ China). She uses decades of clinical and personal experience to bridge ancient wisdom with modern sensibilities in order to guide sensitive souls to trust their innate wisdom and embody resilient self love. You can visit her on Facebook and at lisakliegeracupuncture.com.

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The post Healing from Abuse: How I Stopped Hating The Man and Learned to Listen to Myself appeared first on Tiny Buddha.

from Tiny Buddha https://tinybuddha.com/blog/healing-from-abuse-stopped-hating-man-learned-listen/

[samtheflamingomain]

dear danny,

You started writing me the first week of July, just before the breakup. I was there for the whole thing - well, 4100km away - but still there. I saw the before, the middle and the ultimate end.

Before was when you didn't talk about him much and it didn't seem like he was a big part of your life. The middle was when you started telling me that things were going downhill. The end was, not when you broke up officially, but when you knew it was over.

I've watched a huge change over the last four months. You changed. I remember June Danny, who knew he had some problems but who seemed content with much of his life. Then I saw July Danny slowly realize what was coming. I like to think it was a bit like "waking up". You called it "putting [your] life on 'play' after being ‘paused’ so long".

I saw Paused Danny in the early weeks. And to be honest, looking back, I kind of felt you were on pause, even from across the continent.

I'm so glad I get to see you on 'play'. I like to think I helped a bit with that - not that one should rely on another person to be happy, and not that you couldn't have pressed play without me. I just hope I helped in some way.

You described feeling alone after the breakup, which, despite my constant internet presence, is understandable. You also said you didn't like how it ended - also understandable given the situation you were stuck in for a month.

But enough about him and you. I want to talk about me and you.

You write to me because you love writing to me and telling me everything, and I understand when I can and just listen when I can't. You say this is a quality you don't find in other friends.

Neither do I - it's taken me ten years of teaching Connor how to talk to me when I'm depressed. My therapist has taught me a lot about how to help others just by the way she talks and responds.

I think it's a rare quality to have someone understand and listen without judgement or suggestions for quick fixes is because humans are very judgemental and solution-oriented. This, I think, is a sociological phenomenon. But no need to get all philosophical.

My point here is that it takes a lot for people to learn how to overcome their social hard-wiring and realize how to actually communicate effectively and how to handle different people. If you’d met me 4 or 5 years ago, I would’ve been uselessly dickish. But we learn.

And we are different. We're special and we're odd, like you wrote. Well, you wrote that I'm special. I just fixed that for you.

Another thing you wrote about was expectations and low self-esteem, which I think go hand-in-hand more than most people would realize.

See, when you have low self-esteem or social anxiety, one of your main concerns is that you're "not (good) enough". We believe that others have a certain set of expectations that "normal" or "good" people should meet up to. There definitely is some truth to that thanks to social structure (wearing clothes in public is an expectation that we all agree is good) but it doesn't go as far as we think.

My main worry, thanks to my parents, is "getting in trouble". I'm afraid that others' expectations are such that if I make a mistake or similar, that that will breach their set of expectations of me.

But that's usually just not true. Most people, myself included, have an understanding that nobody's perfect. I think this plays into perfectionism a lot - the perfectionist doesn't realize that nobody holds the set of expectations where they must be perfect at all times.

"Desire is the direct cause of human suffering" is a Buddhist concept I've turned over in my mind a lot. It definitely has a lot of truth in it, but there are obvious exceptions. Desiring your friend to succeed doesn't tend to bring about suffering.

I think "having expectations" is a form of desire that does cause suffering. So it became very easy for me to stop having them. In a similar vein to "aim low and avoid disappointment", but more zen. More like  "aim low and be pleasantly surprised if something good happens, but don't expect it."

Low self-esteem is a big part of most of the fears and worries you talk about, too. "Am I even worth meeting?" Of course I'd say "fuck yes" but I know that doesn't make the visceral, instinctual worry disappear. All I can do is keep saying it till you believe it. Neuroplasticity, the concept that explains habits and thought patterns. Do something enough and your brain literally changes shape as you absorb it over and over. It's why we get trapped in our same thought patterns and worries, and it's also why I can't stop drinking.

I hate to keep vomiting quotations at you but one more: "Well you'll never find it/If you're looking for it" from Blue and Yellow by The Used (another song that makes me think of you actually).

Anyway, that concludes my ridiculously long segment on expectations. Join us next week for a philosophical breakdown of the meaning of life.

Let's jump elsewhere.

"I want to be my best self when we meet". You are. There is no "Ultimate Form of Danny" that exists. That person would be fluent in every language, be able to play every instrument and every sport. Humans can only do so much with the time we're given. Don't spend it trying to achieve Ultimate Danny. That's not to say we can't better ourselves and learn more, but if you get stuck on "being the best" it's easy to let the perfectionism and low self-esteem back in. Just be. That's how we grow naturally.

You talk a lot about how much you fear meeting me in person. I've beaten the horse to death but it's because of those non-existent expectations and the low self-esteem and the neuroplasticity that make our fears, and time that makes them grow.

Like you said, maybe you'll cry, maybe you'll freeze, maybe you'll feel exposed. And all those things are fine and not the end of the world. I'm still me in the flesh, the me you've grown to know and love just by text. Also keep in mind your own expectations building: if you build me up too much in your mind - I know you're afraid of disappointing me - but I'd be more likely to disappoint you.

That's why I know you won't disappoint me: I have no expectations and therefore no overwhelming fears. I do of course have low self-esteem, but I've learned so much about it over the years that I know now that it just stands in the way of life. I've learned not to stew on it but instead to acknowledge, "hey, maybe this thing you're afraid of is because of your low self-esteem and expectations from yourself and others?" It takes practice.

Let's talk about feelings~! Yours were confused pre- and post-breakup. You recognized that I was there for support, but I know exactly how confusingly and subtly feelings of "wanting more" from a good friend can creep up on you.

I can't remember if I've told you, but I used to think I was in love with Connor. I randomly came across the word "limerence" one day - an emotion that seems like love but is actually just extreme possessiveness and desperation. I didn't love him, I just possessively and desperately wanted him to return my feelings. It's very common for people with few relationships and bad parents to go through this, and some people never get over it (but, with a little help from our good friend therapy, I did). It's hard to describe but well worth the read of the Wikipedia page.

I say this because I want you to know that I really do understand how confusing feelings can be. While I (thought) I was in love the first time I saw him and did so for the next 12 years of my life, it crept up on me in that it got worse and worse. For a while after I got through it, it was extremely confusing to navigate how I felt about him. It took a while, but eventually I picked out the emotions: bitterness, rejection, platonic love and codependence. Once you can name them, you can trace them back to where they come from. Bitterness and rejection from him not returning my feelings, platonic love from being friends for so long, and codependence from the fact that he was the only person that I cared about for almost my whole life.

Anyway, sorry for that tangent. My point is that emotions suck.

And it segues into my next point of interest, "unresolved issues" that you mentioned. Once you were able to pick apart your feelings about Nic and about me, there were still more things to disassemble. Gender, living situations, the future. All these things are ongoing; it's hard to process things that are still in motion, so try not to get too hung up on them. Take things as they come. There's always time to analyse who we are and where we're going - so much so that we spend our entire lives trying to "resolve" these unresolvable "issues". ‘Tis the nature of life. 

You feel fake, cynical, like you're pretending. I'm sure the term "Imposter syndrome" isn't new to you, but it's yet another part of low self-esteem. I also suffer from Imposter syndrome on the extreme end. So much so that I spent nearly my whole life trapped with the belief that "I'm not a real person". "Pretending to be fine" falls into this category a bit, along with the categories of "having expectations" and "social conditioning". I can't tell you how to fix this one, since I can't fix it for myself, but what's helped is having someone constantly challenging these feelings. Neuroplasticity takes care of the rest.

At the end of "August", you say you're excited and you want to quash your fears via rationality and logic. This works to an extent, but it's not the cure. For example, I /know/ I'm a living, breathing, thinking person, but I still /believe/ that I'm not. Logic and rationality have a hard time digging past what we "know" to affect what we "believe".

You almost didn't send "September". I'm glad you did, obviously. You told me why you wanted to talk to me and how, with the conclusion of "Folly", I piqued your interest. I never get messages about my stories so when I do, I always reply. I rarely give people I've never met my Facebook, but I didn't want to be rude; you'd sent me a lot of messages asking if I was okay and how I was doing, so I figured you'd earned it in a way, despite how weird that sounds.

I figured, like the last time I did give a reader my Facebook, I'd be stuck with someone filling up my feed with stuff from across the globe that I have no involvement or interest in. I already scroll through my feed weeding out the stupid memes and videos as it is; I only use it to keep track of what others are doing with their lives and how people from high school are doing. I never used the messenger much at all.

But much to my surprise, you actually wanted to talk to me and be friends and tell each other things. I'd never had an internet friend before so it was interesting to pick apart how I felt about it.

I guess at first I was kind of detached, the same way one might if one was in a Twitter argument: the internet makes everyone else feel almost anonymous or unreal. I found myself wishing several times that you too had a Tumblr full of your life stories that I could pour through to get to know you.

When I first met Ayla, that's how she got to know me. That's how you got to know me. It's also how I spent my first 2 therapy sessions - I brought in my Tumblr and my journals and watched her read them and then paid her 100$.

Because it works. It's like an instruction manual for how the person thinks, what they've been through, what they need help with. If you have all the background laid out, conversations become easier once talking actually starts.

So, thrown into a conversation with someone I've never met in real life or talked to with no background was... interesting. While I wished I could've just read everything about you, I got to experience it in real-time. That's how it works in real life for the most part, so it slowly made you feel more and more real to me, and matter more and more in my life.

You wrote that you thought we connected so well was due to lack of attention on your end. That our connection made you guilty at first, having your emotional needs met by someone who wasn't Nic.

I too actually felt guilty about it. I worried if I was being a sort of homewrecker. That, I think, right before you ended it with him, was when I started to fall for you. I have a bad habit of falling for close friends, but this was markedly different.

You mentioned the distance working in our favor, giving us the time and "safety" to get to know each other as friends. For me, it also worked because I knew I really fell for you as a person. Whenever I'd fall for friends in the past, the lack of distance was my biggest problem. I spent so much time around them that I grew almost obsessed or attached, kind of like with Connor. I guess with 4100km between us it felt more genuine. I talked to you every day, but I didn't see you, I wasn't physically there. I really don't know why I fall for friends easily, but actually being around them makes me think about them a lot, which makes me fall for them.

I thought about you a lot too, but I guess the fact that I could step away from the phone at any time to chill or think about something else was a form of my "safety wall". Please don't be insulted, I truly believe this is a big part of simply being introverted.

My absolute favourite part of your letters is "But nothing gets past Sam, right?" I laughed because that's usually true except in this case. Your non-platonic feelings whizzed over my head. I've actually wondered why you thought it was obvious - are you more subtle than you think or am I more imperceptive than I think? Probably the latter. 

At the same time, I did have an inkling. You thought I was attractive and interesting, and the fact that we talked all day every day all made me think that it was possible you liked me. When you started talking about how hard it can be to talk about serious stuff and can I ask you an Important Serious Question, I pretty much knew what the next text would be. As I watched the little ellipses flash by as you typed, I got stupid happy and filled with butterflies. I hate that cliché but there's really no other way of expressing that sensation in English. Weird.

Anyway, when you first asked if I'd be against becoming more than just friends, I wasn't sure what to think. I'd never even had a super-long-distance friend before let alone a super-long-distance boyfriend. I told you the truth, "not necessarily", because I was still hung up on the distance.

But then I realized that it was the only thing I was hung up on.

I did an LDR with Ayla for seven months out of our ten together. And our breakup had nothing to do with the distance. Before things started going downhill, I was fine with the distance. I did, of course, wish I could've seen her more, but like I've believed from the start, emotional connection knows no time zone. And again, for me, emotional connection trumps all else in any relationship or friendship.

So once I thought about it, how it worked (on a smaller scale) in the past, I put that worry to bed. Then I had no other worries.

I'm generally not a worrier, though I used to be. I've thoroughly learned to accept things as they come and to let go of what I can't control. I accepted that we were a continent apart and that I can't control how you feel or how things would end up going.

That's not to say I haven't had my doubts, wondering, like you, if it's too soon after Nic, if it might ruin our friendship. But those seemed pretty insignificant to me; I've never let a romantic relationship ruin a friendship before and you seemed to have had some good self-reflection and recovery time. After all, you were the one to bring it up.

So then I was just excited and happy that you liked me how I liked you. I, too, am a fan of people who listen, don't judge and put in time and energy into a relationship. I too am mentally ill. I too have shitty parents. I too have terrible days. We were the same in a lot of important areas, and where we differed only made for good conversation and learning.

I'm not a particularly mushy person - at least not to the extent you are - so I have a hard time going on and on about how much I like you and want to see you like you seem able to do. Maybe it's another introvert thing.

But I too want what you want. I want you, your emotions, your face, your thoughts. I want to play piano for you and write long-ass posts about you.

You finished by bringing up the concept of overthinking. Again, not something I tend to do, but I know you definitely do. You mentioned a bunch of things you were worried about and then ask, "You'll say it's fine - then what?" To which I reply: nothing. Then we continue to be. Worries come and go, sometimes we dwell on them, sometimes we resolve them. It's only by either addressing what you can control or accepting what you can't that puts worries to bed – and, either way, usually not forever.

It is fine to overthink. It's not necessarily helpful, but it's a part of low self-esteem, mental illness, and even just part of life for some people.

I like you as you are. You are fine as you are. Being with someone means accepting their faults and still caring about them. We all have faults - worrying that we worry too much, overthinking, perfectionism - but I know that and still care about you. That's why I'm still here and will continue to be.

Finally, your last question: "What do you want?" I answered that a bit a few novels paragraphs ago, but I'll say it again: you. Everything about you. I want to be your Attractive Canadian Boyfriend and for you to be my Attractive American Boyfriend. I want us to fall in love and somehow end up at least in the same time zone. Fade to black.

I'm not complicated: I just want all you have to give.

Well, it’s not 20 pages, but it is 3500 words. I hope you enjoyed them.

Love Sam

(And Stay Greater, my Flamingo)