#i just don’t like that people will look at me and assume that I am never outside
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Then it would only be second to death.....
Hozier x fem!reader
Author's note: this shouldn't have taken me a month.
Masterlist
Summary: Following their chance run-in at the farmers market, Andrew shows up at Y/n's house. Part 2 of What if this is the last time I see you?
Warnings: Angst
“I’m right here,” he threads his fingers through his hair, “right here. We’re getting married, it doesn’t get any more present than that.”
Y/n scoffs, turning away from him, and Andrew knows that it’s because he’s brought her to tears – she hates when people see her crying. He hates making her cry. “Is that why we’re getting married?” Her voice breaks and she quickly swipes at her cheek, “so you can prove to yourself that you want to be here?”
“I want to be here,” when he takes a step towards her, Y/n takes one backwards and shifts her shoulder. He winces at the gesture, as if she’s actually pushed him away – though he supposes that in a way, she has. “I’m here –”
“You keep saying that but you’re not!” When she finally looks at him, her eyes are wide and glassy. He’s trying to think of the last time he heard her yell, but he quickly realizes that such a memory doesn’t exist. “You're at the studio, you’re in L.A….you’re on tour –”
“I'm working,” he grits.
“So am I. But I don’t forget that you exist when I do.” He’s irrationally offended by her comment; Andrew has never forgotten that she exists, he’s just been…..compartmentalizing. When he’s at work, he’ll work – when he’s with her, they’ll be together.
But when was the last time they’ve been together? When was the last time he’s taken her out or just sat down with her on the couch with her? Gone to bed the same time she has?
He can’t immediately remember – it must’ve been months ago.
But she should understand; that's what being with him means sometimes. It's not some well-kept secret, Y/n knows him – and he's the same person he was when they first met.
So he says that.
“You have always known who I am,” the minute the pointed words leave his mouth, Andrew regrets them and the only thing he wants more than to pluck them out of the tension-riddled air and shove back into his mouth. The look on her face is one he’s never seen her wear before, and it might be because she’s never been hurt that badly before.
The tears in her eyes. The quiver in her lips. The visible tightness in her throat. The way her cheeks suddenly seem hollow and it looks like she’s holding her breath.
“Right,” the word is broken up by a strain in her throat, “you’re right. You have much more important things going on. It was silly of me to assume that for once you’d put us first –”
“No,” he reaches out, but Y/n pulls away and grimaces, as if the thought of his touch is physically painful, “honey, that’s not what I meant,” he swears, breath is escaping him and he’s struggling to come up with the words that will fix things, “you’re misunderstanding –”
Again, Y/n brushes her face with the back of her hands, “no, I think, for the first time, I understand you perfectly,” he protests when she starts taking her ring off, but Y/n doesn’t seem to hear it – or particularly care. “I’ll come back for my things,” she says, slipping the little, emerald cut, Welsh gold ring into the breast pocket of his camel-coloured coat.
“Please don’t go,” he rasps, loosely gripping her shoulders, “please.”
“I just need to get away for a while,” Y/n offers softly, standing on her toes and holding onto her shoulder as she reaches to kiss him. He bends his head mechanically to allow her lips to meet his cheek. When she pulls away, it feels like he’s suffocating and while Andrew knows that going after her as she heads for the door has the potential to make all the difference, he can’t get his legs to move. The air is thin, his head is swimming and his legs feel like they're made of cement. So he does nothing but regret everything.
There’s so much he’d do differently, but Andrew thinks the thing that he’d change first is that moment when Y/n told him that it felt like there was an immeasurable distance between them. It was following a forgotten appointment with a wedding planner he’d meant to hire as part of an early wedding present but had neglected to, he hadn’t even realized he’d forgotten until he got home and found her on the sofa, coat and keys discarded on the coffee table and eyes red-rimmed. Andrew can’t quite remember what had made him forget, but in the moment it had seemed more important than their wedding – except now he’s forgotten all about it but the memory of her telling him that she’s lonely in their relationship, and that he feels light-years beyond reach is still fresh in his mind.
Unbridgeable – that was the exact word she’d used.
“I can’t get to you,” she says, the hazy blue film of such a bruising memory shrouds the glassiness of her eyes but barely hides the thick emotion in her throat, “I keep trying, hoping you'll let me get close. I want to be with you, be there for you but most of the time I can’t tell what you’re thinking — I'm not sure if you even want me around. Whatever’s between us its……unbridgeable.”
Unbridgeable.
It makes him think of oceans and gaping canyons. That unmeasurable distance between the deepest point of the sea and the barest end of space. Unreachable – was he really that bad?
So far away that for every time they kissed, Y/n felt like she was locking lips with a memory she never made?
It doesn’t matter though, because to her, it certainly felt that way.
Andrew is sitting in the driver's seat, glazed over eyes staring at the way rain beats down on his windshield. He’s been parked outside her house for longer than anything that would constitute a normal amount of time – though, he doesn’t exactly know where the threshold between normal and creepy ex-boyfriend is.
Well, ex-fiance. Though, he isn’t sure if semantics matter.
The gentle buzz of the engine is the only thing joining the swoosh of the near violent downpour. They haven’t experienced rain like that in a while; swollen droplets pouring from the milk sky in a slanted fashion. So intense that even the tallest trees seem to be weighed down by the weight of it, branches adopting a downward curve and leaves hanging despondently.
And still, it isn't the prospect of getting drenched on the brief walk to her front door that stops him from getting out of the car. It's the fear that he’s making a bigger mistake than he did five years ago that rivets him to the driver's seat, fingers still curved around the bottom of the wheel, the tips of his toes tapping the gas pedal as the car lingers in park.
She’s been more of a constant on his mind since that meeting at the farmers market a week ago, than she has been in the past few years. Still, Andrew wasn’t going to drive to her place that night, but somewhere between his first and second beer of the night, with a record that she gifted him playing as he tried to read – but couldn’t – it dawned on him; what if she was it?
Andrew hardly believes in true love or anything of the sort, but he does believe that every once in a while the stars align so perfectly that constellations are more visible and more beautiful than they’ve ever been, and you meet someone whose life changes the trajectory of yours forever. You're meant to be intertwined, like roots twisting and tangling around each other in that graceful, effortless way.
What if she's all of that to him, and much, much more, but he never sees her again? Because that was the last time; it must be some kind of death – to never feel her eyes on him again, to only ever hear her voice in his memory for the rest of his life, like a phantom haunting his mind. To never again feel the way it does when her arms go around him and she presses her body to his, and suddenly they’re nothing more than two puzzle pieces, made with each other in mind.
That little epiphany came over Andrew in a rush, knocking the air from his chest and making him feel as if he’d just been tackled by a wave and smashed face first into freezing cold water. In his chest, he felt a sort of panic that he could only associate with drowning rise up, threatening to spill out of his throat. He didn’t think he could live like that.
He still doesn't think that a life that she is gone from is survivable.
But as he parked along the curb near her driveway, one fear gives way to another;
What if Y/n doesn’t feel the same way at all? What if she doesn’t regret their untimely demise as much as he does? What if the best love he’s ever gotten nothing but a figment of the past? Lost forever, so far behind him that its entirely out of reach.
What if he does get out of his car, beats against the angle of the rain and trudges to her front door, only for her to tell him that she doesn’t want them anymore?
That she’d actually heard when he said he’d missed her, but pretended not to so she wouldn’t have to deal with the messiness of his feelings.
That might be the only thing worse than never seeing her again. And that is why he’s still in the car.
But he won’t know unless he tries, right? It isn’t the reasoning with the most integrity, but its the only thing keeping him there – he just wishes it was enough to get him out of the damn car.
Andrew is staring at a window, a window that he knows with absolute certainty looks into the living room, when he notices the thin, sheer curtain shift slightly. The movement doesn’t last long enough for him to determine who the person behind the window is, but when the front door swings open a handful of seconds later and Y/n steps into the middle of the doorway, Andrew spares himself from thinking too hard on the matter.
She’s holding her cardigan closed at the front, and it falls to the middle of her thighs, effectively hiding the shorts he knows she’s wearing underneath. By the silvery glow of the rainy evening and the sickening yellow hue of the bulb mounted over the porch, Andrew can see her form on the threshold, frozen, like something plucked out of his memories.
He can see her again, one leg crossed over the other as she leans on the doorframe as she watches him playing the piano;
“That sounds nice, its new?”
“Yeah,” he sighs, lifting his fingers off the keys and turning to look at her, “like it?”
Y/n hums, pushing off the frame and sauntering over to him, feet bare and dressed in nothing but the crewneck he’d been wearing the evening before. When her fingers, delicate and gentle, clasp his broad shoulders, Andrew leans into her touch, allowing her to eventually slink them forward. “I love it, its so beautiful,” with her fingers splayed on his chest, Y/n bends so her chin sits on his shoulder, “would you teach me how to play it?”
He chuckles. In all the years they’ve known each other, Y/n has never been interested in learning to play an instrument – she always jokes about being tone deaf. “You sure?”
“Positive,” her lips on his cheek are quick, he almost misses the sensation before fully registering it and if it weren't for the resolve in her eyes, Andrew would pull her in for another, longer kiss.
“Alright,” he reaches for her hand, encouraging her to slip it off his shoulder before guiding her around the small, varnished, oak bench. Y/n goes to sit beside him, but Andrew’s hand on her hip, sneaked under the hem of the thick jumper, urges her onto his lap. “This is better,” he rasps, breath tickling her jaw as he presses his cheek to hers, the bristle of his beard on her skin making her giggle.
“This is how you’d teach somebody?” She laughs, and the sound, coupled with the way she leans against him, makes his chest feel full.
“This is how I’d teach you, sweetheart.” When Y/n angles her head to catch a glimpse of him, he can see the warmth in her cheeks, and takes the opportunity to steal a peck off her lips, “now, pay attention.”
Her hands are much smaller than his, making it easy for him to completely cover them with his long fingers. “I’m gonna show you,” he breathes, “and then you’ll try on your own.” Slowly, he guides her through a single line of the melody he’d been working on. “Do you understand?” He props his chin on her shoulder, leaning his head against hers. He loves having Y/n this close, he isn’t sure if he’s ever told her but there’s something about the weight of her on top of him that stirs a sensation that he’s never felt anywhere else. Maybe its peace or comfort or safety – maybe its some combination of all three, wrapped into one magical thing.
“No,” Y/n returns, tone flat, albeit just as hushed as his.
Andrew barks a chuckle that turns out louder than he expected it to be. “You’re not paying attention,” he reprimands gently.
“I’m trying,” Y/n defends, voice pitched, “but my teacher is…….distractingly close.”
“Don’t blame this on me,” he scoffs, wrapping his arms around her middle, squeezing her to him. Her shoulders shake in a fit of laughter as he peppers her neck in a series of ticklish kisses as he loses himself in the way the cologne still clinging to his jumper mingles with the remnants of lavender left behind by her body wash.
“I’m not gonna learn to play this, am I?” Y/n shifts when he pulls away for a brief moment. Her head is tilted a little, mouth barely a hair away from his and the barest tips of their noses are touching.
Lifting one of his hands to thread his fingers threaded through her hair, Andrew eagerly closes the sliver of distance, “not today you’re not.”
A crack of thunder jolts Andrew out of the memory and in an instant, he’s back in the confines of his car, gaze fixed on Y/n as she lingers in the doorway. He needs to get out of that damn car – that prison that's kept him from her long before she pointed it out.
On impulse, he hastily shuts the engine off, and pushes the door open. Within a minute of getting out and shutting the door, Andrew’s coat and the sweater he’s wearing under it is soaked through and his hair is matted to the sides of his face. His shoes hit the gently sloped driveway with a wet, squishing sound with each step as he trudges towards the front door.
“Andrew, what the fuck?" Y/n breathes when he stops at the bottom of the porch steps.
He shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. The rain is still pounding against his back and head, but he doesn’t dare take another step forward. “I had to see you,” he explains simply. Roughly, he brushes some wet hair away from his brow, “I just-I can't…..I can’t live like that –”
“Andy –”
“No,” he cuts her off desperately, “I know you don’t want me here,” he licks his lips, “but you need to hear this – I need you to hear this,” he pauses, but not near long enough for her to get a word in. “I just….I was thinking….what if that was the last time we saw each other? Could you live like that? Cause I couldn’t. Not without looking for you everywhere I go; every bookstore, at the grocery, every street. At the fucking farmer’s market,” where he’ll linger at every vendor selling strawberries on the off chance of running into her. “Just everywhere,” in every reflection when he pauses to look at a storefront and on planes that take him to places she wouldn’t go without plausible reason, “But I’d never find you because that was the last time.” Swallowing thickly, he ducks his head and wet tendrils fall over his face, disrupting his view of their feet, his clad in water-logged converse, and hers bare with blue, painted nails. “I know you said that I’m good on my own, and I guess I used to be,” Andrew slumps his shoulders, “but I’m not anymore. And I’ll never be again –”
“Andy –”
“Please,” finally, he comes up the trio of steps that leads to her small, covered porch. “I’m different now.”
Y/n slumps her shoulders, tilting her head slightly to the side as she blinks away tears, “I was just gonna tell you to come inside,” she says softly when he stops, “you’re gonna catch a cold or something,” there’s a crack in her voice and Y/n scoffs when a lone tear creeps down her cheek. She doesn’t even want to think of him getting sick on her account, especially when he’ll probably be all alone and miserable. She thinks about that sometimes – who’s taking care of him when he forgets to take care of himself?
With the back of her sleeve, Y/n brushes at her cheek before reaching for one of his hands. “I never wanted you to be….different. I wanted…..I wanted you to be who you are….but right next to me,” her thumb grazes his knuckles and Andrew revels in a miniscule shred of contact. It's nothing compared to having her in his lap or her arms around his shoulders, but it's more than he’s had in a damn long time and he’s never been more grateful for anything else.
“I can do that now,” Andrew promises earnestly.
Sighing heavily, she glances away, “but I don’t know that. I won’t live like that again,” so haunted by something she almost has, but never truly will. The ‘almost’ that he became. Almost close enough to let her in, almost ready to let his guard down, almost her husband.
“You won't have to,” Andrew gives her hand a promising squeeze, “I swear. I swear to you, it’ll be different –”
“But I don’t –”
“I can’t live like this,” he urges, “I can’t….” Andrew shakes his urgently, “do you still love me?”
Y/n’s slumps her shoulders, “of course I do.” How could she not? After pouring so many years into their relationship, after years aching to break the wall he kept between them. After spending every minute since the one she took the ring off – the one that makes her hand feel like it's missing something even now – thinking about what they could have been. Really, dare he ask her that?
“Then how could you never want to see me again?” He asks desperately.
A sharp inhale is her initial response, and Y/n thinks back on those first moments after Andrew had approached her the week before – the relief she felt in seeing him, the way that when they hugged, it felt like something was finally going right in her life. There’s so much she’d kept to herself that day, mostly because she was so sure that he was over her and couldn’t possibly still be thinking of them, not the way she does. Everyday when she steeps tea that she doesn’t really like, or goes out into her garden but can’t think straight, because it was something they'd done together.
Its why she let the strawberry bushes die, and weeds overtake the flowers along the back fence before clearing them out.
“I could never want that,” Y/n finally manages, voice soft and fragile, “I think about you all the time.” The strawberries have been rotting in her fridge because she can barely stand to look at them without recalling what it felt like to slip that ring into his pocket.
The warmth the metal had soaked up from being on her finger, the crack in his voice when he said, “honey, please.”
“Then come back,” he rasps, letting go of her hand in favor of taking a gentle hold on her hips.
Y/n’s find his chest, fistfuls of his wet hoodie bunching up in her fingers, the fabric heavy and cold. “Don’t hurt me again,” she pleads softly, inching closer.
Andrew lifts one of his hands from her hip to cup her cheek, his long fingers dwarfing the side of her face, “I wouldn’t.” He roves his thumb over the apple of her cheek, and his breathing settles a little. He hadn't realized just how on-edge he’d felt since she left until right now, when he’s touching her again and it feels like the first inkling of peace he’s had in five years. “I don’t want us to be strangers,” Andrew adds.
“Just let me in then,” Y/n encourages in the same, hushed tone.
Swallowing thickly, he nods, “I will. I want to,” lowering his head, Andrew presses his forehead to hers. “You’re the only person I want this close – for my whole life, I just want it to be you.”
When their lips meet, he feels her shudder just as a shiver runs up his back. It isn't from the cold, or the uncomfortable way in which the fabric is sticking to his skin. It's from the realization that there's never been a homecoming quite like this one. There isn't anything that compares to this; it's like having some lost part of himself snap back into its rightful place.
“Please,” he rasps against the plush softness of her lips, “please let it be you.”
Whatever little resolve she's managed to build up over the years, the scraps that kept her from seeking him out after she walked out, has been entirely ebbed away. Staying away is easier when he isn't at her doorstep, offering her exactly what she's wanted for so long. “Always,” with one hand flattened against the center of his chest, she reaches up to brush away some wet hair matted to his damp brow. “It’ll always be me,” she promises earnestly;
No one can love him the way she does anyway, its a fact that Y/n is entirely certain of.
When she presses her lips to his again, the rain is still coming down around them, though while the sound has been suffocating, Andrew finds that its fading now – all the noises that seem to make the world a little unbearable is so much quieter, and he thinks it might be the universe’s way of telling him that this is the way things are meant to be.
******
Tagging: @tungledotfuck
#hozier#andrew hozier byrne#hozier x reader#hozier x you#hozier x y/n#hozier fanfiction#fanficton#fanfic#what if this is the last time I see you?#then it would only be second to death
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Okay, so I was doing a thing for Wade’s Wilson Birthday, Right?
And Conically, Wade was born in 1973, November 22. So I did the math, (going by movie-verse) and made it so that Wade mutated by events of the the movie (2016) But then I realized that would mean he mutated at 45. And that, today, he’d be fucking 51.
Which, sure. Isn’t bad. 51 can still be baby girl. But in movie-verse he looks way too young to be 45. I assumed 29-35 at the latest (Because I headcanon that the entirety of his teenage and young adult years, like 18 to 28) was spent in the military. Then he left around his mid thirties.
But nope! And sure, I’m aware that the movie-verse isn’t at all compatible to the comics, so it shouldn’t matter. But I did the math, and if my headcanon was correct, Wade would’ve been mutated in 2004. ( 12 years before the DeadPool movie came out.)
And I get it- people don’t typically cast old ass men as movie stars and such. But hot damn if Wade really was 45 when he mutated, I sure as hell hope Venassa was at least in her thirties. Because to me, she looks late twenties-early thirties the same as Wade.
Soooooooo…Did the mutation make Wade look younger? Or would he just be reaching his forties? How old is Venassa in the movie-verse. Either we push up Wade’s birthday or we do go by movie-verse and he IS 51 to this day.
Does this mean him and Venassa spent damn near teo centuries together just to call it off? Or am I missing something. Anyways, old man Wade until I post what I intend to.
@atimesfeeler @ramblingautisticman @icarusredwings @twilightkitkat
#old ass man#Wade Wilson is fucking old#so is Wade technically a baby boomer almost?#i just know he jokes about being an millennial but when people find out his age?#how does Logan feel?#He would still love wade#i have know doubts in that#but like#what if he started making old man jokes?#old man yaoi#poolverine#deadclaws#deadpool#wade wilson#deadpool and wolverine#deadpool 3#deadpool fanfiction
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get ready for my thoughts on yaoi UBI
So I’ve kvetched about UBI in the tags for long enough someone finally asked me what I was going on about so here we go!
I will start with some caveats:
I am British, and so I can only speak about the British specifics.
I have for the past twelve years worked as a professional health economist, and health economics is based on social welfare theory (specifically growing out of Arrow’s work in the 1960s and Sen’s work in the 80s/90s). I literally could talk forever about this, but I won’t. If you want to know more, read the pretty good wikipedia article on welfare economics.
But fundamental to welfare economics is two things: if we make a great big change, do the benefits outweigh the costs? And does the change make a fundamental change for good? (aka cost-benefit analysis and pareto efficiency).
The other thing you need to know about me is that I don’t like activists very much, because they never have to show their working, and my entire professional life is showing my working, and critiquing other people’s working. We all have ideas mate, show me the plan! I love a plan! and this isn't coming from anything but personal experience; I have been to talks by UBI activists before, including ones by economists, but I have never had the case made to me that UBI would be either cost-beneficial OR approach pareto efficient. In fact, it usually reminds me of arguments that are based on some other imaginary world, and then I get so annoyed I want to scream.
In the early 2010s when I was first starting working as an economist, I was asked to build a model to see whether switching a disability benefit from government administered to individual administration would be cost-effective. Essentially, if you were newly in a wheelchair and you needed a ramp building up to your house, would it be better for the government to organise a contractor, or for you to be given a cash transfer and organise it yourself? The answer was that it wasn’t, but anyone who has ever had to hire a builder could have told you that, and the government didn’t have to pay my firm £30,000 to make that decision. But that is what UBI essentially is; a cash transfer where you get cash and the government gets to enjoy less responsibility.
There are 37.5 million people of working age in England. (Nearly) every single working person gets what's called a tax free allowance, where the government doesn’t claim income tax on the first £12,570. (Once you make over £120k, your allowance starts to decrease, and you lose it entirely at I think £150k)
Let’s assume that instead of just not claiming tax on this amount, the government switched to making that £12,570 your UBI. That is £471,375,000,000 just for England - just under half a trillion pounds. In cash, or nearest as in our modern economy. And not one off - Every year.
Okay, let's say that the country does have a spare half a trillion a year (in cash) lying around. What is the benefit to switching from tax free allowance to UBI? Well, let's assume that no one stops working, so there would be the tax receipts from the 20% income tax on the £12,570, and that’s just a shade under £100 million. Not bad.
But if you’ve seen a UBI post, you will know that people like the idea because they will be able to work less. Which probably means that UBI will need to be paid for in some other way. Perhaps by cutting existing benefits. The universal credit cost is around £100 billion. So we’re still £300 billion short, and honestly, you wouldn’t cut all of universal credit anyway, probably only the unemployment benefits, but I’m not digging into the maths on that tonight.
But, look, I am sympathetic. I am a welfarist. I genuinely believe that the economy is not just money, that welfare is happiness, it is utility, it is all the stuff that makes life worth living, and it is the responsibility of the government to maximise the welfare/happiness/utility/quality of life of the country through efficient use of taxation and other sources of money. So people give the government money and it spends it on goods and services and then people get utility, and then they spend their own money to get more utility, and ultimately we can gain intangible things that are incredibly valuable.
But the problem is that cash is cash, cold and hard and very real. I don’t know how unlimited spare time translates into half a trillion real pound coins. I wouldn’t know how to build a model that complex and uncertain, especially as this all assumes that you can live on 12k a year, and that whatever replaces progressive taxation is equally progressive. I haven’t even touched on how having a convoluted welfare state insures it somewhat against being entirely destroyed after a change in political opinions, aka what I call the daily mail test. You think the narrative about people on welfare is bad now? But also, how would you deal with people who didn’t manage their UBI money well? What happens if there is a personal crisis?
The more I look at it, the more the existing system is actually remarkably good value for money. Individualism is expensive. Collective decision making and spending is just cheaper.
Ultimately I don’t see the additional benefit of UBI, requiring a pie in the sky change, when it is far, far, far more cost effective to strengthen the existing regime across the board; taxation law, social safety net, childcare, working laws, education and health - all systems that are already in place, and have a thousand times higher likelihood to be pareto optimal and cost effective than trying to find half a trillion pounds of cash round the back of the sofa, while torching 150 years of progress so middle class people can write their book without having to have a job. If I was conspiracy minded I would say that UBI feels like a psy-op, trying to shut down old fashioned progress in favour of ripping it all out and starting again.
Ultimately, that is my real annoyance. It is far, far, far cheaper for the government to provide you with your new ramp for your house, and that is done through politics, but not fun moonshot politics, the hard shit that isn’t sexy.
#UBI#universal basic income#me being an economist on main again#the third time in twelve years#which is a pretty good record#study economics and be involved in politics#engage with the actual politics you have!#you'd be surprised how many progressive things get passed by conservative governments#and that is because you should never give up hope#I hope I don't get cancelled for my perfectly anodyne takes where I also show my working#and now back to your regularly scheduled blorbo fixating
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okay, I know every stardew valley character could have a pretty decent argument for being autistic, but I want to say one character that I honestly don’t see being headcanon’d as autistic nearly as much and that’s alex!
before I start, I just want to say that you may disagree and that’s completely ok! you’re entitled to your own opinion and so am I ^^ I am also autistic myself, so this is mostly coming from my own experiences
one quote that sticks out to me is ‘oh wow...your shoes are a little dirty... but that's fine, too! different people have different tastes I guess’. alex is attentive to small changes, something that many autistic individuals are heightened in. he zeroes in on how your shoes look, something he may have noticed while avoiding eye contact and looking down to the floor rather than looking straight at you (an autistic trait is avoiding eye contact)
mentioning your appearance may be alex’s way to try and engage a conversation, but it comes off as blunt and even unintentionally rude when he says how your shoes are dirty, rather than how your hair looks nice or something similar. he seems to have realised his mistake and after a pause follows up with ‘but that's fine, too! different people have different tastes I guess’. to me, this seems like an attempt of smoothing over a mistake he may have only just realised could be seen as insulting, which highlights a struggle of social filters.
another quote which I think exemplifies alex’s difficulty understanding social cues is: ‘hey, you must be getting pretty strong working on that farm all day. maybe you'll reach my level some day. Something to look forward to, huh? why do you have that look on your face?’ (which alex will still say even if you’re 4 years into your farm and probably now jacked)
alex saying you ‘reaching his level some day’ as a goal may come across as egotistical and condescending, but it’s likely not intended that way (because of his later ‘why do you have that look on your face?’). I think this shows his unfiltered confidence (which isn’t always ego! It’s good to be confident!). he seems to just be proud of his physique and seems to be the only reason he’s been complimented before (including his appearance) so that’s what he wishes to show and talk about.
it may seem patronising, yet I think alex sees it as motivational or friendly banter. his ‘why do you have that look on your face?’ underlines his trouble at understanding nonverbal conversation. alex doesn’t immediately understand why his comment could provoke offence.
the player is, in other dialogue from characters, assumed to be reasonably quiet, which may be why alex finds difficulty when it comes to talking to them.
when alex is insulted after asking if you think he’d ever become pro (and you say that he will fail and become a salesman) he snaps back with ‘that's insane. you're just jealous that I'm talented and popular and you're not. get away from me’. he reacts strongly to negative feedback and interprets it as jealousy, which could stem from how he reckons his dad was jealous of his youth and that’s why he called alex ‘worthless’ and the fear of failure (i.e. wasting his youth). for autistic people, self-worth can be closely tied to one or two abilities, and being questioned on their skill can make it very threatening.
alex also clings onto this idea of being ‘popular’ which may have been his school identity, being a jock and an all-star quarterback, which is a stereotypical popular archetype. this could suggest a difficulty in updating his self-image (and we know he has been outside of school long enough to get married and have kids, so he doesn’t have a reason to call himself ‘popular’ as there’s no context to be called popular anymore)
alex’s insistence on being ‘popular’ could be a form of masking. he shields his emotions from everyone but his dog dusty (and you once hearts are higher). he feels more confident in acting like this macho bravado than he would if he expressed his feelings which also ties into his toxic masculinity, which in turn goes to internalised homophobia. he feels as if he has to act ‘normally’, and being good at a sport and assumingly getting friends in school because he was good at that sport, would probably give him a tunnel vision that talking about gridball is the only chance of having another friend (why he only talks about gridball!)
and I know a lot of people would probably think that gridball is alex’s special subject if we’re going down the autism route, but I don’t actually think so. I could see alex having it as his special subject when he was younger, but as he grows up and as it becomes more of a goal and more of a job, he starts to forget the reason why he started playing gridball in the first place (because it’s a hobby, because his mum played catch with him).
I can definitely see him struggling with autistic burnout, where he’s tried so hard for so long and still hasn’t seen success. this is why I can 100% understand why he’d like to work at the farm with the player, completely giving up his dream for a change in the current, a turn in decision. change can be frightening for autistic people, which could be why alex hadn't thought of doing anything other than going pro, but as you become his friend, he realises that he doesn’t have to stick to this one made-up persona for eternity and that he can be himself and subvert expectations.
no beta (me) we die like men... this may ramble and one day I'll reread this and cringe at the grammar... hi future me :P
#sdv#stardew valley#alex stardew valley#alex sdv#alex#txt#headcanon#sdv headcanons#my post#stardew valley alex#sdv alex
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My post about Anya is making like a little ruckus on Twitter and I think it’s crazy how many people like have a problem with it.
Like you don’t have to agree with how I characterize Anya and her actions but it’s more like, why are you focused on only one aspect of her character? Why are you removing nuance from the situation? I don’t see it as giving Curly the benefit of the doubt when it comes to doing better for Anya, but as exploring his character and hers relationship with a the very little authentic facts we get about them. In truth, there’s a lot more I wish Curly did, even if it wasn’t pragmatic but I realize the issue there.
The first psychological horror game in a while that’s real intricate in its storytelling and makes you need to really need to address the morality of intentions and its already getting torn asunder smh 😔
#I don’t know if it’s the case of people who hate curly and think he should’ve just killed Jimmy won’t accept anything else#but I really am trying to get the idea that they were stuck for over a year in space together on a ship barely kept together with wildly#different and conflicting personalities who also got more hostile because they know they are going home to unemployment#it sounds heartless to say and he should have prioritized her more but in his head that’s not the only thing he has to manage and he has to#fit the necessary actions to take in his head with all that including his perception of them as a friend vs as a boss#idk I just don’t believe Curly was comforting Jimmy with the intent of helping him get rid of Anya. he wanted to help both of them he went#about it horribly like the game is literally about realizing how misguided you can be and that responsibility#and how to be responsible look different even if there are better options like it’s just weird just block my ass dawg#also I think the argument of how could the situation be worse if he stopped Jimmy is stupid cause it’s under the guise that Curly would#assume someone he trusted would just try and commit murder suicide or he’d get degloved and all his crew directly#or indirectly killed by that friend like sorry if that’s a reach statement like adding#your supplementary thoughts is how analysis is born but adding facts about events we don’t know happened and treating them like character#truths is lame is a cop out from actually engaging with parts of the story that adds grey areas to characters you wants to see in black#this is just a stupid like thing to me but it makes me sad cause I don’t even hate seeing depictions of Curly as more aware and#accommodating to Jimmy purposely but I need you to understand he thought he was doing the right thing for both his friends and his closest#friend but the key point is he thought he was doing right for both of them like what game were we both watching???#mouthwashing#like just block me pls like Anya would not share ur mindset or hold ur hand like do more than just pity her if you like her so much
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guys hear me out would painis cupcake pay taxes? Because he’s not like mega insane like ass pancakes I think he’d pay his taxes in my professional opinion.
#I also had a conversation with my friend about if he had to wear a suit why would he#We discussed for a very long while(6 minutes) and the discussion was very enlightening#Slowly turning painis into a functional human in society…#Except you know he eats people that isn’t really stuff normal people do#this is a joke btw#I think he would pay his taxes but if the tax people are rude to him he wouldn’t#I think it really depends#Does he even have any taxes to pay? Because he doesn’t have a job I assume so he doesn’t have any money#But theoretically if he’s like working for another freak and he’s getting paid or something#Idk guys I might be going a little bit bonkers… he’s helping me get out of art block at least#Oh I hope all these tags don’t accidentally show up in another tag that would be bad I’ve seen that happen#I’ve already typed so much though#It’d be funny if there was painis angst because I wouldn’t be able to take it seriously because his name is penis basically#Why am I only saying painis I’m going to tag him anyway#Painis cupcake#there#alright anyways painis cupcake angst would be fucking hilarious imo#My professional opinion#Mmhmmm I’m a professional in being stupid#My friends will call me spedpool on hallowen#I took 2 yardsticks in stem and I pretended to be said guy in the red suit I don’t want to tag him because I don’t want someone to#Find this unhinged rant about painis cupcake that got way off track woah#Ok continuing on the painis rant#I can’t draw him with pencil for some reason he looks so weird#I can draw soldeir just fine with pencil probably even better than online but whenever I try to draw painis he looks like a pile of dog shi#A moist pile the kind that would make steam if it’s cold outside#I feel like it he tried painis cupcake would really be a great functional citizen#Oh wow I wrote a lot my bad
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ok how do I explain this. I hate being called a girl but I like being called a woman because it makes me feel respected. I don’t feel the need to change my appearance with makeup and whatnot to fit into a standard. I don’t like people affixing feminine stereotypes to me just because of my agab. I do not want to be perceived as any sort of gender if that means it’ll influence my interactions with people. I don’t really have a choice in how I am perceived. I only want to be seen as me. I do not think of myself as a woman, nor nonbinary, nor anything else. I see myself as just me. I like how they/them pronouns force people I don’t know that well to stumble a step before judging me. I like it when friends use varying pronouns for me, even ones they make up, because it makes me feel seen and appreciated. I love women so much, I fall in love a little when I notice the color of somebody’s eyes or wonder at what may have drawn her to the earrings she wears or see someone smile at me. I love being included in that world and because of that, like I am a sponge, I soak up womanhood and glow with it because I am so full of love
#a sponge isn’t defined by the water it carries but the water shapes it definitively nonetheless#a woman in a drag queen sort of way perhaps. but also not#I am a human being who loves being a part of this social group except for when it means people make assumptions about me based on how they#assume I have been socialized. like ‘well you’re afab so you must have insecurities about your looks’ motherfucker I’ll make YOU insecure#about YOUR looks once I knock out all your teeth!#like the whole ‘girl dinner’ thing. I’m going the extra mile in my refusal to have that me applied to me#gender as a revolutionary act! but also gender as in a literal ‘what the fuck do you mean you see yourself as being?? a man? woman?#nonbinary?? I don’t understand! I do not have this part of identity. I am literally just a Kelly like hello#cannot fathom how people see themselves as a certain gender but I love it and I want to absorb it in the same way I pick up my friends’#mannerisms and for the same reason too#it is love!#whimsical.txt
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The thing is, you could’ve made Rogue entering to “I’m The Bad Guy, Duh.” easily make sense if you’d wanted to. You’d have just written that he thinks he’s a bad guy all cool and nefarious - Rogue neither refers to himself negatively, and the Doctor says he’s cool not him (admittedly you’d still have to explain him pre-approaching the string quartet to play it, or it be magic but whatever).
You have Rogue think he’s A Bad Boy, but the Doctor be all ‘no you’re not there’s a heart of gold there’. He wouldn’t have freed himself with an I Am A Time Lord speech giving himself authority over Rogue, it would be appealing to Rogue’s good side that he doesn’t actually want to incinerate him etc. Rogue would choose to do the ‘good guy’ decisions himself, not have them imposed. He’d convince Rogue killing the birds is wrong, not just take his stuff and modify it - he’d get Rogue to reveal his better nature. The Doctor would convince him to leave his gun on the ship.
This is what would bite them later, where they’d both know, maybe with just a look, that if Rogue could have just shot the birds stuck to the glue trap, they wouldn’t have been in this mess. With Rogue then acting correctly ‘sometimes you need someone to be the bad guy’ by taking the controller when the Doctor was busy snogging him and dispatching Ruby himself.
Leading into a finale where Ruby is in a different dimension and relying on her battle-earpiece skills to fend off 5 murderous birds as long as possible, giving us an opportunity to engage with whatever her reality warping powers are but it ‘could’ just be dimensional weirdness, and if the TARDIS was still the one who programmed the teleport she knows where Ruby is, and luckily for her if unluckily for the universe, the dimensions are now all bleeding at the edges and seeping out and Doctor Who is a TV show, yada yada yada.
#i know let it go#but assuming romantic warm paste#of the two new writers#(‘women be writing mr darcy in space’)#that doesn’t stand up to scrutiny#especially the ending#when analysed#feels so wrong to me#like i’m the last person who goes for#‘you’re not being particularly woke right now’#identity politics bullshit#but ‘sure there are plot holes#but it’s an austenian romance#you don’t need to look too deeply into it#sometimes you just need a bit of romantic fluff#this is why we need women writers cus they get that’#just ugh god#if this were a rusty episode#we’d be going#‘what does this tell us?’#‘how does it fit into the wider plot?’#‘what mirrors are there?’#but then not doing it for this episode cus other people wrote it#even though we picked apart moffat’s for meaning just the same#feels bad man#i’d prefer analysing and being wrong#(and i don’t think i am)#at least shows trust you think the writers can write well#i don’t get what’s happened to people here
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okay I severely misjudged spaghetti guy he’s actually just really cool
#okay so I came to this flat and he wasn’t here. greeted by a very dirty flat with shit all over the kitchen counters over cling film#I meet first my other flatmate who told me he stays in his room constantly bc of previous bad flatmates#has literally just a saucepan and some salt in the kitchen. so I’m like okay spaghetti guy potentially not great but could just be#how this guy is yknow#on Tuesday I get an email back saying he’s coming back from Norway tonight looking forward to seeing you feel free to use the kitchen sauces#rlly friendly message that I wasn’t expecting. I also didn’t know he’d been on a trip i just knew he wasn’t there bc his door was open#(to a REALLY nice room. multiple rlly nice plants (which he has little care labels for!!!) and it’s tidy and pretty#and he’s got a sheep teddy on the bed)#meanwhile I am in my own head bc I don’t wanna cook in the kitchen until I can clean it and I can’t clean it without moving his shit and#I haven’t seen him yet to talk abt it and I can’t bring myself to talk to him immediately bc I’m dying#and embarrassed as hell by how I’ve been cooking in my room with a microwave and air fryer (loud) and sneaking my shit out of the kitchen#but then yesterday I DO talk to him!! and he’s super friendly!! actually interested in having a conversation and Good at it.#and then he’s cooking and like. spaghetti burns but I’m not there for long and seems to be a mistake (he made the same thing for lunch today#and did Not burn the spaghetti) and is otherwise clearly competent bc the food smells Good and despite leaving a few things out it’s like#washed up stuff isn’t dirty and the sides are better despite still under cling film. more a case that he’s spread out than he’s messy#and now today we talked and i offered to hold onto some shit over summer bc complicated situation that boils down to he’s flying back home#and he cant take all his stuff and had to choose between chucking stuff/having literally nothing this weekend. like sleeping on the sofa etc#and then cleans the whole flat?? which I’m assuming a good chunk is his mess? but he did not need to do that. could’ve easily left#bc there are two people still living here who would’ve had to deal with it and he doesn’t know either at all#and THEN tonight we talk abt food which is fun bc we both ordered stuff. and he offers me some honeydew melon bc he’s been gorging himself#these past two days to finish it before it goes bad/he leaves which is also really sweet#and JUST NOW. I take my headphones out after finishing dinner and hear the sweetest fucking guitar#he plays the gentlest like dreamy sounding acoustic guitar I’ve heard in my life in his room (door closed by the time I leave)#this is actually just a really cool dude#now that the kitchens clear I’m gonna cook tomorrow and will probably offer him some bc otherwise he’s gonna be eating out all weekend#he has extra takeout for tomorrow night but might want smth Sunday#regardless I am just. huh??? left a bit stunned bc of the u turn my opinion of this guy has taken. bc my opinion of him was a reflection#of my discomfort moving to this weird dirty basement flat with two people I didn’t know#well. idk where to go from here. I think I’ll start by talking to him more this weekend. bc holy fucking shit.#luke.txt
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genuinely so angry and scared im shaking. how many other times this week this month this year have i been exposed without knowing it. do people even tell each other anymore. it’s just so grim. it’s so fucking grim
#purrs#delete later#covid19#i am fighting for my fucking life every day to stay safe and to keep the people around me some of whom are disabled / chronically ill /#immunocompromised / medically vulnerable safe. i am fucking fighting for my life. it’s already hard that i am usually one of two people in#any given room still wearing a mask let alone an n95 mask. hard and bad enough that we get looks for wearing masks and people think im crazy#for my life still being on hold and for my family still basically never going anywhere. ITS FUCKING WORSE that we are still very much in the#throes of all of it and we are in constant physical and quite frankly EXISTENTIAL danger not only of getting sick / becoming (more)#disabled / literally fucking dying but also returning to the absolute hell of lockdown which while important was psychologically damaging in#ways that are difficult to even articulate. like not only have we as a society decided to not give a shit about unpacking all of that and#healing from the trauma and assuming everyone went through the same thing when we very much did not and to just send everybody back to#school and work because 🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑capitalism🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑 but we have ALSO decided to pretend like the freakish unceasing danger just doesn’t exist#anymore and to get rid of every tool we had available to keep us safe or at minimum make people have to pay exorbitant amounts of money to#access them because 🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑capitalism🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑 !!!!!!! im TIRED. im so fucking tired of it. i am so fucking exhausted and angry and scared. and i#HAVE the luxury and privilege of being able to afford n95 masks and covid tests and to be able to work a job that i can do remotely if i#need to and to not be disabled or immunocompromised. what makes me fucking furious is we decided to throw all the people who don’t have#that access or privilege under the fucking bus and forget about them lol. but what do you expect from a country rotten to its core the way#it is lol. im fucking despondent. why are we living in an incinerator.#* the lockdown(s) werent just important they were necessary. and arguably we should have another one even though if we do i genuinely fear#for my mental health both during and afterwards and quite frankly before. im tired. i am grateful for the life i live which has resulted in#part from the different things that have happened because of the pandemic but i also so desperately wish this never happened and every day I#think about what life would be like if it hadn’t happened. the grief of it all is unspeakably big.
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.
#I had a moment#where I realized it’s been a while since I was randomly complimented#just like when I’m out and about yanno?#at the grocery store or walking into work#it’s like oh that hasn’t happened in a while#and I realized this after my daycare lady told me I look tired#like thanks I am#anyways I’m just gonna assume people are too shy to randomly compliment strangers but maybe they do see me and think aw I like her shoes#or her shirt#and they just don’t wanna say anything and make things weird#but I think today I’ll make it a point to compliment someone when I’m just out and about
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People always think I’m much younger than I am because I, 1) unfortunately look like a little boy, and 2) am exceedingly silly.
#I’m just assumed to be like….7-10 years younger than what I am#I don’t get carded tho so at least I don’t look under 21#the two things people tell me that I think they think are compliments but MAKE ME SO MAD are ‘you look so young’ & ‘you’re so androgynous’#shut up lol
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:|
#Alexa I am so so sad#ugh it’s stupid I’m so sick of being sad#and everyone is sick of hearing about it wah wah sad again just like yesterday and the day before ad nauseum#ugh. well tell you all the truth I’m kinda ugly and all of my new coworkers are so fucking pretty and it makes me feel like shit every day#I don’t want to assume bad things about them cuz they seem like genuinely good people mostly but I do feel like they all look down on me#for being both ugly and bad at my job like fuck dude I really got nothing to offer here other than the fact that I fucking show up#if you know me irl please leave me some fucking dignity and don’t read this I’m already ashamed enough for having feelings in the frst plac#this is so stupid just cuz I met a coworker for the first time that I am extremely attracted to that is way out of my fuckin league#and like I haven’t been interested in A Person in ? almost 2 years cuz every time I have been in the past#in the last 4 years at least it has ended poorly with me feeling like shit like no one will ever want me#and at this point honestly I can’t help but believe that cuz it’s been a long fucking time since anyone has#is it cuz I’m ugly ? is it cuz I’m weird ? cuz I have fucking nothing to offer ?#cuz I’m desperate for affection attention someone to give a shit about me fucking anything#god I don’t know but I feel like I am really and truly at the end of my rope here and I don’t know what to do with myself#shut up satan#negativity
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Sometimes people will criticize a piece of media for things about it they don’t like and some bozo-on-the-internet’s advice will be “well if you expanded your horizons and interacted with media that fundamentally Does Not Interest you…”
#txt#saw someone in the dragon age tag saying that yeah dav’s writing may not be great compared to other things#but there’s other media out there that has what you want if you just take a look at games that are Completely Different In Every Way#I don’t know why it’s such a widely unaccepted idea that people have preferences pertaining to the genres they consume#like if I’m upset with a game that’s combat heavy and plays a specific way#why would the solution automatically become ‘look for a niche game made twenty years ago that has absolutely no combat’#<- an example to describe the larger point before it’s assumed that’s the only argument I’m making#like there are multiple genres of games for a reason and I’m not saying you can’t enjoy multiple types#but I AM saying that when someone has very valid criticisms of a game that could have been and should have been done better#it’s kinda dumb to assume all their issues with it can be solved just by looking elsewhere#YES there are other games we would enjoy of course there are#but this is the fourth game in a series and most of us are here because OF that series not because we’re out searching for any old game to#play like this is about being a long time fan for a lot of people#and even if it wasn’t#it’s not like I’m going to be looking for a game that plays like dragon age#be unsatisfied with it in general#and then go looking for…say a puzzle game in a niche cartoon style with no combat…#that arguably has a story that’s much better than dav#because just because the story has what I’m looking for doesn’t mean I’ll be satisfied with an experience so divorced from the one I was#looking forward to in the first place that ultimately let me down#a thousand tags because my thoughts got away from me as per usual#rant tag
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my sister got engaged and we’re all really happy for her but my bitter rain cloud of a dad (who naturally she told last) is giving her a bit of passive aggressive grief about it despite her boyfriend being like the best man of our generation (presumably either because he’s not catholic or because my dad sees them as young dumb unemployed people who aren’t ready for marriage or because he’s mad he barely has any real love with his own wife or something). so like pray for us? i wish i knew what to do
#if my dad had any brain cells or observational skills whatsoever#he’d realize that in terms of our faith the problem is not the boyfriend. that guy is brilliant and open minded and would probably ace RCIA#the problem is my sister. who is catholic in name but it’s clear to me how hard she’s fallen away from the faith#but like my dad has created such a bitter home environment we never have meaningful conversations with him#so like he doesn’t know *anything* about our inner lives#all he sees is labels. all he judges people by is labels#literally you can still get married in the church to a non catholic it’s just a matter of expecting them to convert eventually#and promising to still live according to the principles of the church and raising your children as such#but my parents are absolute fools if they think that’s the issue. if my sister was true in her faith her bf would have converted already#i am sure of it. the guy is smart he just needs to be guided the right way#evidently my parents don’t realize that about him either#if my dad could become a decent parent for once and stop trying to drive his kids away from the faith by only cherrypicking the parts of it#that intersected with republican/conservative boomerisms#ugh. if he was a virtuous father she’d be a virtuous daughter and therefore all her friends and loved ones would be virtuous as well#should i blame my dad for all our family problems? no.. not rightfully……#but like. the impact a father has on one’s life cannot be understated#ugh i’ve had the sense for a while that God wants me to be the one to fix this family#because looking around it doesn’t look like anyone else is gonna do it#but that’s such a daunting task… especially alone… i don’t have any true friends (ie who share both my faith and life experiences)#and like. it’s really hard to try to assume the role of a teacher or counselor when someone is older than you#or uh. in a position of direct power over you for that matter. esp when clearly deeply mentally ill#the concept of trying to essentially parent my own parent while i myself am miserable and unstable#esp when he is the primary cause of that#just. ughhhhh it’s such a vicious circle#like i’ll do this if i have to i’ll undertake that daunting mission but i have to be so careful and really sort myself out first#or for that matter if i were to volunteer to like. catechize my sister’s boyfriend (heaven knows she couldn’t do it)#i’d have to really study my stuff bc i think the intellect is the only real appeal here#like i said tho his conversion can probably never really happen as long as my sister remains the way she is#what i know is that the first step is fixing myself. i have to be a pillar of virtue if i wanna stand as any sort of authority on the faith#problem is i suck and shouldn’t be regarded as a role model for anything. i have the knowledge down but that alone won’t fix me
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please tell me why a boy i’m talking to calling me pretty has sent me spiraling
#i think it does have a lot to do w the fact that really only my family has ever commented on my looks like that. ‘oh ur so pretty’#so of course i was fine w not really being perceived as attractive or beautiful bc i never got those comments really from other people#or when my friends compliment me i just assume they’re being nice#and i am well aware that that thought process is unfair to them and me but i just genuinely cannot believe it#i’m almost twenty three and this is the first time i’ve received attention from the opposite sex like that and now i’m really really#looking at my looks again and it’s just like. i don’t see it. i was very neutral on my appearance bc i know that in a patriarchal society#my worth as a woman is based upon how i look and present#and i really don’t accept that. i am worth a whole lot by myself and i’m not gonna let corporations and men tell me what to do with my body#but jesus christ i do so badly wish i didn’t look the way i did#and it’s so pathetic to be this upset about it at my big age but what is so wrong with me that no one has ever wanted to be#in a relationship with me? like who would willingly stoop so low? no one wants a lonely insecure woman with no experience#and i know it’s pathetic it’s super pathetic but it hurts me so bad idk what to do#anyways pls don’t reblog obviously this is just a vent
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