#i just wanted support?? or acknowledgement??

[mr-mercutio]

So here's something that I have learned about patriarchy I want to share: patriarchy is designed to benefit PATRIARCHS. Being the male "head of the family." It's about power and status and hierarchy. To be a patriarch you have to be in charge of others - generally your family. That includes other men! There's no real way to actually escape this, but the closest thing to escaping it for men is to become patriarchs themselves.

My dad was raised in a very strict and traditional catholic household. My opa (his dad) was very much The Head of the Family - even more so because he immigrated to Canada and his father wasn't around, so there was no one above him. He expected obedience from his wife and children, including his two sons, and that was just The Way of Things.

My dad suffered under this quite a lot. And he did the big hippie thing of vowing not to be like his dad - and to his credit, he did try in many ways not to repeat the same mistakes his dad did when being my dad. But the problem is that he still bought into the system of patriarchy. And the only real way to have power in that system is to be a patriarch. So that's what he became. He got a wife and had kids and expected them to defer to him the way he had to defer to his dad. He expected the cycle to continue, but now in his favour.

Problem was that no one else in my immediate family was fine with that. My mom eventually checked out of that. I cut my dad out of my life about 8 years ago. My sisters barely speak to him. We said no, you don't get to control us like that just because you're The Man of the House. You don't get to dictate our lives to us, to tell us how to behave and what's allowed and what isn't, especially as adults. It was chafing enough as kids, but as an adult he still had this expectation that we'd all still defer to him. He would always be right the same was his dad was always right.

And that worldview of his extended to everything outside the family as well - that's why he buys into men's rights nonsense and is anti-choice and thinks the world is too woke. Because he sees that people aren't willing to just prop up the system, and it means he doesn't get the power from it that he was promised. When he was young, it was clear that if he just held out and did what he was told, he would one day be King. And now he doesn't have that and hates it.

I've cut him out of my life because it's been too difficult to stay connected to him. He's hurt me too much and I can't be okay with him anymore. But I'm SAD for him because he's been screwed over by this system just as much as most people I know. Not in the same ways, but still very palpably. But he'll never acknowledge that the problem is the system and not everyone who refuses to follow it. For him, everyone who says no to patriarchy is just wrong and a traitor to how people should live, and he refuses to see that he doesn't benefit from this system because it's a BAD system. It crushed him and remolded him into something to prop itself up, and that's heartbreaking.

The people who support patriarchy are rarely the ones who are actually truly benefiting from it. Yes, men definitely get privilege from the system because it's designed to put men over everyone else. But very few men in the system actually manage to escape the hierarchy of the other men over top of them who make their lives miserable.

If you can, be kind and try to understand and help. It's too late for me and my dad - there's too much bad blood there now and I tried to help for too long without success. I still hope for his sake that he finds a better way to be happy. But there are lots of men out there who would blossom and thrive if they could let go of the idea that patriarchy is going to make them king - and there are more chances than ever that they CAN understand that. Try to give them that chance.

I want there to be fewer MRAs. Do you want that too? Do you want to know what helps us get there, from a feminist perspective?

You may not like my answer: acknowledge that sexism can affect men. Recognize that, although the patriarchy generally privileges men, they are also subject to restrictive gender roles that are harmful to them (shunning all things “feminine,” not showing emotions, being protectors/strong, never admitting being victims of SA/IPV, having to “earn” their manhood, etc.).

Give young men a place other than the right-wing manosphere to be heard about the issues they experience. If these grifters are telling them “only we understand how hard it is to be a man, the left hates you for your gender” and they look to the left and see “men claiming they have ‘problems’ are losers who just hate women, all men are trash,” do you think they’re going to be drawn towards or away from feminism?

Before you leave an angry response: no, this does not mean to center men instead of women in feminism, it just means including them at all. No, it is not “coddling” men to treat them with human dignity, you can and should continue to hold them (and every other gender) responsible for unpacking sexist beliefs. No, this does not mean it is every individual woman’s and feminist’s responsibility to prioritize men’s issues, it just means at the least not shutting them down when they do speak up about sexism. No, it is not “not all men-ing” to point out that “men are trash” sentiments hurt the feminist movement rather than helping it. Ask questions before you make accusations on this post, please. I have been abused by men too, I get it, this isn’t easy to hear.

[rothpie]

❝FIDELITY❞ |part8

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.

Warnings: slut shaming(?)

previous - next

Could you really call yourself an adult now?

I mean, honestly, is there some magical age that makes you a certified grown-up?

If it’s all about age, then nope—you weren’t an adult. Maybe a “young adult” at best, but even then, the life you were living? Let’s just say it was… a bit different.

When everything started happening so quickly, keeping up felt impossible. And let’s face it, that was normal. If you managed to juggle everything with calm composure, you’d probably qualify as Wonder Woman. Life came with its ups and downs, but throw pregnancy symptoms into the mix, and things got extra tricky.

You liked to share what you wanted with others. Talking about your plans openly was just how you were. It wasn’t about bragging; you just enjoyed sharing your happiness. But every single time—without fail—whatever you talked about? It never happened.

That Venice trip you’d been set on for the summer? Canceled.

The dream university? Rejected. That car you were this close to buying? Nope, didn’t happen.

It was like clockwork. Every time.

And the thing was, you never learned. Not really. You’d repeat the same mistake again and again. Life’s law, right? Someday you’d figure it out… though that day clearly wasn’t anytime soon.

Pregnancy, though, wasn’t exactly something you could go shouting about to everyone. That was off the table. But moving?

If you weren’t pregnant, there’s no way you’d have kept quiet. You’d have made sure the entire island knew. And naturally, that would’ve meant it wouldn’t happen.

This time, though, you zipped it. The only person who knew was JJ—and, well, he didn’t really count. Or, okay, maybe he did. Of course, he was important, but not the kind of person to stand in your way. On the contrary, he had your back. He even offered to help you with the whole moving process.

Things happened so fast, you could hardly believe it.

Your dad came home from his work trip, you visited the mainland, met with a realtor friend of his, checked out potential homes—it was like someone had hit the fast-forward button.

You couldn’t decide on anything. You were even okay with a cute little apartment. The list of occupants was simple: you and your daughter. You didn’t need much more.

Your mom, however, had her opinions. She didn’t want a mansion either, but she was firm about the house having enough rooms. One for you, one for your daughter, and a guest room—because naturally, grandma duties. And a yard, because she wanted to watch her grandchild play outside.

So apartments were out. Houses it was. After seeing what felt like a million empty ones, you were ready to scream.

But finally, you found it. The perfect house. The yard alone sold it. You could already picture the memories you’d make there with your daughter. Maybe a swing or a hammock… some comfy furniture on the porch.

You never imagined you’d get so close to your dream so quickly.

It had the three rooms your mom insisted on, was two stories, and honestly, it was beautiful. You loved it. But the idea of living there alone was terrifying.

Still, the deal was sealed.

It didn’t take long—two weeks, tops. When your mom insisted on hiring an interior designer, you didn’t argue much. Secretly, you liked the idea. And once your belongings were packed, it was all done.

All that was left was you.

There weren’t many people to say goodbye to on the island, which was, honestly, fine. Who were you supposed to bid farewell to? Rafe? His family, who didn’t even know you were pregnant? Your friends, who’d probably broadcast the news to the world? No thanks.

Except for JJ.

You’d have been a total ass not to acknowledge his help. Even if his support wasn’t entirely physical, his presence had been a huge emotional lift.

So saying goodbye wasn’t hard.

Ignoring the support he’d given you would’ve been dumb. When you decided to give him a nice surfboard as a thank-you gift, you didn’t overthink it. You just thought about who JJ was—someone who loved the ocean and surfing. Beyond that? You didn’t know much. So you kept it simple. Spoiler alert: he liked it.

You hesitated, thinking a gift might make things unnecessarily sentimental, but he deserved it. Nobody else in his position would’ve treated you as kindly. Even Kooks barely treated each other well. Expecting a Pogue to go out of their way for you? Yeah, no.

But JJ had.

You weren’t super close, but during one of your conversations, he’d mentioned how much he liked the rare nights when his shift ended early. He worked at a pub. In your head, you’d given him two weeks before he got fired—or kicked out after starting a fight. You were that sure of it.

A week ago, knowing the end of his evening shift, you parked near the pub, sitting on your car hood to wait for him. The plan? Give him the surfboard. Maybe even give him a ride home if he needed one.

Fifteen minutes passed. He hadn’t come out.

You started questioning everything—maybe you’d gotten the wrong day? Or maybe you’d messed up the time?

Waiting around for nothing felt miserable. You should’ve paid better attention when he’d been talking about his schedule.

Not that the gift had been planned or anything. The idea had hit you on a whim. You just wanted to do something before you left. After all, there weren’t many people to say goodbye to. And texting JJ a quick see ya felt way too impersonal.

“What are you doing here?”

You snapped out of your thoughts, your eyes shooting up from your phone. JJ stood a few steps away, mid-turn before he stopped and faced you fully. His eyes scanned the car before landing on you.

Quickly, you shoved your phone into your pocket. “Making sure you didn’t pick another fight.” Sliding off the hood, you smirked.

JJ rolled his eyes, flashing you a sarcastic smile. “Ha-ha. How funny.”

Unlike him, your grin was genuine. Why should he have all the fun pissing people off? It was your turn.

Unlike him, your lips curled into a genuine smile. Was it always going to be him getting under your skin for his own amusement? No, this time, it was your turn.

You heard him say your name, his tone serious. “No, really. What are you doing here?”

Keeping surprises wasn’t exactly your specialty, but you couldn’t resist messing with him a little. After all, this was the first time in days you’d left the house—and only in your baggiest clothes. Might as well enjoy it.

“Just hanging out.”

He frowned, his eyes scanning the area before gesturing around. “Here? Outside the pub?”

The confusion on his face was nearly comical—borderline annoyed, maybe?

You mirrored his glance at the surroundings, raising your eyebrows. It wasn’t much to look at. Just… a place. “What’s wrong with here?”

JJ let out a frustrated sigh, and for a moment, you couldn’t believe you’d actually managed to annoy him. He genuinely looked upset. “Are you serious right now? You—” He stopped himself, clenching his jaw as he stepped closer. Lowering his voice, he added, “You can’t drink. You’re not even supposed to be hanging around.”

So, he thought you’d come here to drink? That’s why he was so worked up?

It was kind of… cute. But poking the bear was way more fun.

You let out a dramatic hum as you crossed your arms. “Not allowed? Says who?” You tried not to laugh at the look he shot you, a mix of exasperation and disbelief, like you’d lost your mind.

“Me. You’re not drinking. Not here, not anywhere. Have you lost it?”

Your lips pulled into a grin, and despite his attempt to scold you, his irritation only made it funnier. Especially since you hadn’t even done what he was accusing you of.

The second JJ caught onto what you were doing, his annoyed expression melted away. As your laughter echoed, he pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly unimpressed. “Yeah, yeah. Hilarious. Now, can you just tell me what you’re actually doing here?”

You clutched your stomach, your laughter dying down into a lingering smile. Sure, he wasn’t amused, but you were, and that’s all that mattered.

“I’ve got something for you.”

JJ’s eyebrows shot up. He straightened, intrigued. “Yeah?”

You stepped away from the car’s front, glancing back to see him still rooted in place. You gave him a quick head nod to follow. With a sigh, he finally moved. “If this is a gun for self-defense, just so you know, I’m not really clear on the rules here,” he joked with a wink.

You snorted, shaking your head. “Please. If I gave you a gun, you’d be arrested in, like, two seconds.”

He laughed, but you could tell he was curious now. Opening the back door, you reached inside. “It’s a thank-you gift. Kind of.”The surprise on his face was priceless. He clearly wasn’t expecting this. Honestly, neither were you until the idea struck.

JJ tilted his head, his expression skeptical. “Thank you? For what? For telling you not to pick fights?”

You rolled your eyes. He couldn’t be serious. “No, JJ. For helping me out.”

He smiled, but it was that classic, goofy grin of his. Any trace of his earlier irritation had completely vanished. He didn’t even glance into the car. “Oh, I get it. Like a ‘without JJ, my life would’ve fallen apart’ kind of thank you? Go on, feed my ego. I live for this.”

For a split second, you considered slamming the door and driving off. Instead, you laughed. Sure, there was some truth to what he said, but no way were you letting him win.

Taking a deep breath, you opened the door wider and stepped back. “Nope. It’s just a small gesture. Don’t read too much into it.”

JJ walked over and held the door open, his eyes going wide when he spotted the surfboard wedged into the backseat. His fingers ran over the smooth edges and the blue-and-white design. “You got this for me?” he asked, his voice softer now as he inspected it.

You couldn’t suppress your grin. “Yeah. I mean, I know it’s kind of random, but I figured you could use your own board for a change. For everything you’ve done—” You hesitated, trying to find the right words. “It meant a lot.”

JJ’s smile was different this time. It wasn’t cocky or teasing. It was genuine. “If I don’t take this, I feel like you’d be really annoying about it,” he muttered, pulling the board from the car.

“Absolutely. You wouldn’t want to hear me talk about how I poured my heart into its design,” you teased.

He froze, eyes narrowing. “Wait—you designed it?”

You smirked, holding his gaze. “No. But it’s nice that you believed it for a second.”

JJ laughed, shaking his head as he leaned the board against the car. For once, he wasn’t mocking or making jokes. Instead, he looked at you with something softer, something you couldn’t quite place. “This is… perfect. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know. I just wanted to.”

He hesitated, glancing at the board before meeting your eyes again. “I was just trying to help. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

And that was it, wasn’t it? That’s how it felt. Deep down, you’d even envied the way he was with his friends. He didn’t know you. In fact, he hated your group. But if he treated you like this—who knew how he treated his friends?

You weren’t used to people doing things for you without expecting something in return. Sure, you had a hunch JJ liked money. Not just you—everyone on the island knew that. But still, the way he talked to you, made time for you… it mattered. It broke the prejudice you had against him.

It wasn’t anything grand. He didn’t buy you houses or cars. He didn’t shower you with jewelry. But he talked to you like no one else did. He made you feel—like you were someone. Like someone whose decisions shouldn’t be dictated by anyone else’s words.

And that? That was worth more than jewelry. More than anything money could buy. It was something most people—Rafe included—didn’t have.

From the moment he heard, he didn’t tell anyone. What friend would do that? Ruthie? Sophie? Who?

JJ did.

And he wasn’t even your friend.

That’s why it mattered. He was just being himself, and you needed that.

“It felt like that.” JJ was holding the surfboard, his eyes catching yours. A strange silence fell between you. Neither of you had expected such a gesture—not just surfing, but the support he’d given you.

You hadn’t expected his support; that was his gesture to you. And he hadn’t expected a surfboard from you; that was your gesture to him.

JJ lifted the board to examine it, the usual smirk still on his face. He was clearly trying to ease the tension hanging between you. “So, I have my own board now, huh? I don’t have to give this one back, do I? Because when it comes to stuff like that, you’re pretty stubborn.”

“No, it’s yours,” you said, smiling. You were grateful for his teasing—it cut through the awkwardness. You could’ve stayed silent for hours. “But if I catch you getting into another fight, I’ll beat you with that board.”

JJ laughed, shaking his head. His gaze flicked between the board and you. He was ridiculously excited about the surfboard but trying hard not to show it. “Fair deal. But just so we’re clear, every cool move I pull off with this board? I’m crediting you. ‘Thanks to Princess for this wave,’ that kind of thing. You’re my sponsor now.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny his antics made you laugh. He was fun to be around. You were glad the whole “status” nonsense between you two seemed to be fading. It wasn’t just you—he had his own assumptions about you too. But it felt like you’d both moved past that. “Okay. Sponsorship’s over. Go find your wave.”

JJ carefully propped the board against the wall, his expression softening. “Jokes aside, thanks. I mean it. This means a lot. Just don’t tell anyone I said that—gotta protect my image.” He smiled, dimples showing as he ran a hand through his hair.

You smiled back, nodding quickly. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe.”

As you both grinned, JJ’s eyes flicked from you to the surfboard. Following his gaze, your eyes drifted to his hands, gently tracing the board like it was fragile.

“I’m leaving the island tomorrow.” The words tumbled out, and you saw his hands freeze. His gaze landed on you, but you kept your focus on the board, pretending to admire its design. It really was a beautiful surfboard. “So—I wanted to say thank you.”

His blue eyes pierced through you as if that was even possible. JJ didn’t say anything to make the moment heavier, just nodded. For several seconds, neither of you spoke. Realizing the air had gotten heavier, you shifted your tone to something more casual. “I could drive you home if you want.”

You weren’t the kind of person to offer, but making him carry a surfboard all the way home felt cruel.

JJ opened his mouth to respond, but a car horn blared from down the street. Both of you turned toward the sound. Outside the car, John B and Kiara were leaning against it, with Pope, Cleo, and Sarah visible through the windows. Pope waved at JJ from where he hung halfway out of the window.

When Sarah’s eyes met yours, you instinctively tugged at your shirt. There wasn’t anything visible, but still—you felt uneasy. “Wow,” you said, feigning amusement. “Your entourage is here.”

JJ hesitated, looking momentarily torn. Finally, he sighed, a guilty smile creeping onto his face. His gaze dropped to your hand still fidgeting with your shirt. For a split second, it seemed like he wanted to grab your hand, to stop you.

“Nothing’s showing,” he said, his eyes lingering on your waist. You knew that, but the idea of anyone finding out still terrified you. Especially someone from Rafe’s family. He didn’t want them to know, and neither did you. That’s why you felt the need to be extra cautious around Sarah and Wheezie.

“I know. It’s just—” You stopped, shutting your eyes briefly before opening them again. It was paranoia, but understandable. “Relax. No one knows, I swear.” His hand almost reached out to your arm, but he stopped, remembering his friends were watching from the car.

“Go,” you said, shrugging. You composed yourself. “Looks like you’ve got a ride after all.” You smiled.

JJ paused for a beat, then flashed a crooked smile. He hated the awkwardness lingering between you. “If this board isn’t as good as you said, you’re getting an earful. I’ll call you.” He walked backward, teasing. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his words.

As you walked toward your front door, you noticed his movements slow. He stopped, turned, and looked back at you. It was like he’d remembered something he’d forgotten to do. Placing the surfboard down gently, his eyes briefly darted away from yours.

Then he walked up to you and stopped right in front of you. After a brief, silent pause, you felt his arms wrap around you. Was he… hugging you? Seriously? The gesture caught both of you off guard. You’d never imagined this kind of closeness. But then again, you hadn’t imagined buying him a surfboard either. So, it didn’t feel wrong. If buying him a gift made you feel this close, then it wasn’t strange that he’d feel close enough to hug you.

You returned the gesture, wrapping your arms around him. His grip was firm, and the scent of salt and ocean filled your senses. How did he always smell so much like the sea?

The hug was short, but both of you felt the strangeness of it. Once again—you felt like you’d crossed a line. Broken some unspoken rule.

JJ shrugged as he pulled back. “Yeah, that’s it. See you, uh… whatever.”

You took a deep breath, watching him stand there. You hated goodbyes. You were going to miss this island, and now—

“Yeah… goodbye.” You pushed your hair behind your shoulders, trying to steady your voice. You didn’t understand why you felt like you were losing a friend. Like you were going to… miss him?

Stop. Don’t even think about it.

JJ nodded, picking up the surfboard as he walked toward the car. You watched him for a moment before turning to the front door and stepping into your car. Through the windshield, you caught a glimpse of Kiara muttering something to Sarah. Whatever she was saying, you couldn’t hear.

When JJ got into the car, he paused, lowering his head for a brief moment before looking outside again.

He mouthed something to the group. Not to you, but to the friends in the car. “Just shut up.”

When he gave you a quick nod, you returned it before starting your car. Watching them drive off, you felt a strange mix of relief and melancholy. You’d thanked JJ, and that was all you wanted. It was done.

Except for the quiet ache of losing a friend.

You’d left only a few clothes back at the house on the island. The furniture and everything else stayed in your room. Your parents insisted the room remain untouched—they wanted you to know there was still a home for you there. They even promised not to change a thing.

The first few months were bound to be hard; you knew that. Living alone was going to take some getting used to. But you hoped it’d all be worth it when you finally held your baby.

Now, you were sitting on the couch in your new place, sipping a green smoothie. You’d have given anything for a coffee, but pregnancy meant sacrifices. A little caffeine might not hurt, but you didn’t want to risk it. The smoothie was healthy, though it tasted awful.

It had only been six days since the move. You’d allowed yourself time to explore the area, taking walks around the quiet streets. Your parents had offered to stay with you for a few days, but you politely declined. You wanted to settle in on your own. Leaning on their warmth and presence only to have it ripped away later would have made the loneliness worse. You couldn’t let that happen.

Morning sickness had eased enough for a few walks, so you’d wandered the calm streets near your house. Quiet, orderly, nothing like Outer Banks. You couldn’t help but compare the two. Everything here was different. The people, the lifestyle—it all felt so structured and tame. But a part of you missed the chaos of the island. The freedom. The absurdity of going to the store in a bikini without anyone batting an eye. That tight-knit community where everyone knew each other’s names.

You’d visited the local park a few times. It was rarely crowded, and you hadn’t met anyone yet. By the time you arrived, most of the adults and kids were just beginning to trickle in.

So, here you were: your own place. Did that make you an adult?

How did adults even make friends? Scratch that—how did anyone past a certain age make friends? As a kid, it was easy. Just ask someone to play with you, and that was it. Middle school? Same thing.

But now? You didn’t know a soul here. What were you supposed to do? Walk up to someone and introduce yourself?

Terrifying thought.

Still, maybe worth trying, right?

-

Socializing wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

Your eyes scanned the park’s scenery. The leaves rustled gently in the breeze, and birds chirped in the branches above. A group of kids played in a sandbox, their laughter mingling with the faint sounds of distant traffic.

You clasped your hands over your stomach, exhaling deeply. “Maybe this is good for me,” you thought.

But the whole idea still felt horrifying. Sitting at home would’ve been worse, though. At least you were out, breathing fresh air.

Introducing yourself to someone, though? Out of the question. No anxiety attacks, but your chest tightened just thinking about it. No, you’d just sit and enjoy the park for a bit. That would be enough.

Your gaze dropped to the book in your lap: Healthy Nutrition and Development During Pregnancy. You fiddled with the corner of its cover. Would someone else find this funny? Carrying a guidebook instead of a novel wasn’t something even you would’ve expected a few months ago. But here you were, on the verge of a whole new chapter. Screw what anyone thought—you were preparing for your future.

Suddenly, the bench shifted slightly as someone sat down beside you. The movement snapped you out of your thoughts. You glanced up to find a middle-aged woman with an energetic demeanor. Her dyed-blond hair revealed a hint of gray at the roots, and a steaming coffee cup rested in her hands.

“Ugh, I hope I can finish this before it goes cold,” she muttered to herself before calling out to the playground. “Tati! No running, sweetheart!”

She waved toward the child before turning back to you with a wide smile.

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” she chirped.

You gave her a polite smile, nodding. “It is,” you replied, subtly shifting your book closer to your lap. Her eyes flicked to the book in your hands, narrowing slightly as if trying to make out the title. “Is that a… guidebook?” she finally asked.

You tilted your head slightly. “Yes,��� you said simply, hoping that’d be enough to end the conversation.

“A pregnancy guide?” she pressed, her curiosity accompanied by a cheerful smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How sweet! Helping out a sister or expecting a niece?—Oh, where are my manners? I’m Viola.”

Her question caught you off guard. You hesitated briefly before giving your name. “Uh, no. It’s for me,” you said with a small smile.

Her expression shifted instantly. Her eyes widened, her grin turning stiff and awkward. “For you? Oh…”

You nodded, feeling heat creep up your cheeks. She had seemed friendly at first, but the subtle judgment on her face now was impossible to ignore.

“How far along?” she asked, as if the question was perfectly natural.

“Sixteen weeks,” you mumbled, pretending to smooth the book’s pages. The weight of her gaze made your skin crawl.

“Ah, so young,” she murmured, taking a long sip from her coffee. When she lowered the cup, her eyes lingered on you, as though dissecting every detail. “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Twenty,” you replied, keeping your tone neutral but feeling the words land heavier than you intended. You watched her eyebrows knit together as she took a sharp breath.

“Twenty? You look barely old enough to drive!” she exclaimed, clearly not trying to be subtle. Then, almost conspiratorially, “But… you must be married, right?”

Your hands instinctively moved to rest on your stomach, but you hesitated to respond. The silence must have been answer enough because her eyes flicked from your belly back to your face.

“Oh,” she said knowingly, her smile tightening further. “So… is the father still in the picture?”

What was this, an interrogation?

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. Was it the tone of her voice? Or the audacity of her questions? Whatever it was, it stung. “That’s not something I need to discuss with you,” you said firmly, fighting to keep the frustration out of your voice.

Viola shrugged, but her scrutinizing look didn’t waver. “Fair enough. But raising a baby at your age, and without… well, you know. It’s going to be tough. Don’t you think this was a bit… impulsive?”

Her words hit like a cold wind. You tightened your grip on your stomach and tilted your head slightly. “That’s none of your business,” you said, your voice harder now.

Viola didn’t back down. “Yes, maybe you’re right. But people talk, sweetheart. And usually, they judge the ones they think made the wrong decisions…” She paused, pursing her lips. “Well, they judge.”

That was all you needed to hear. You tucked your book under your arm like you were putting it in a bag, got up, and said, “I think it’s time for me to leave,” your tone colder than even you expected.

Viola raised a hand as if trying to smooth things over. “Oh, I didn’t mean to offend,” she said, but the look in her eyes betrayed the opposite. “I’m just saying this for your own good.”

You could shove your “thoughts” up your ass.

Turning on your heel, you walked toward the park’s exit. The sound of her coffee cup being placed on the bench and her murmuring words echoed behind you. A fresh start sounded nice, you thought. But a new beginning wasn’t a guarantee of escaping old judgments.

There was no way you were going out to socialize again anytime soon. You hated that woman. With every fiber of your being. The way she judged you with that smug little brain of hers—it made your blood boil. You had no memory of how you even made it back home.

You made yourself some hot cocoa, hoping it would calm your nerves. Honestly, lying flat in the grass wouldn’t have been enough to shake off the anger at this point.

Even though you tried to distract yourself—knowing full well that stress wasn’t good for the baby—it wasn’t working. The incident replayed in your mind on a loop. You were certain you’d shiver every time you walked past that park again.

Who did she think she was, anyway? How could someone pass judgment on a stranger like that? The sheer audacity—it was baffling.

The sound of your phone notification pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts. Glancing over, you reached for the phone resting on the couch.

You waited for a reply, but when nothing came, you set the phone down again. At least one of you was having a good day. Even though you felt like you were on the verge of exploding, you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

The sudden ring of your phone startled you. You looked over, eyes narrowing slightly in surprise. JJ Maybank was calling you. Right now.

Pressing the phone to your ear, you grabbed the half-full cocoa mug from the table with your other hand. You weren’t going to drink it anymore. You were too annoyed to even think about washing it, but you figured you could at least move it somewhere out of sight. JJ’s voice came through the speaker, and despite everything, a small smile crept onto your face. For all his antics, he was a decent guy.

Heading toward the kitchen, you heard the cheerfulness in his voice as he began, “Used it this morning.” He was talking about the surfboard, excitement practically dripping from his words.

Frowning slightly, you placed the mug on the counter. This morning? Shouldn’t he have been at work? “This morning? Weren’t you supposed to be at work?”

There was a brief pause before JJ let out a muffled laugh. “Got fired,” he said casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Honestly, with him, it kind of was. You couldn’t help but laugh a little.

You weren’t surprised—of course, you weren’t. With the phone still pressed to your ear, you wandered over to the window and glanced outside. “Figured,” you said, your voice laced with playful sarcasm.

JJ didn’t miss a beat, his tone now teasingly accusatory. “Wait a second. Did you bet on me?”

Smiling, you shook your head even though he couldn’t see it, your attention momentarily caught by a cat wandering down the street. JJ cleared his throat, bringing you back. “No, but I wish I had,” you said.

His response came in the form of a dramatic groan. “That’s the meanest thing I’ve heard all week. You’re better than this.”

You turned around and walked toward the kitchen, your tone a little sharper now. “Get used to it.”

JJ responded immediately, his voice carrying a hint of challenge. “Never,” he shot back. Then, after a brief pause, his tone softened, but he added a teasing edge. “Pregnancy hormones have turned you into a completely different person. And it’s only been six days.”

The way he always knew how to push your buttons—and somehow make you smile instead of snap—was maddening. You found yourself tapping the corner of the table with your fingers, a habit you didn’t even notice until it happened. “I take pride in that,” you said, a playful grin tugging at your lips.

JJ came back stronger, more confident this time. “Hey, do you think it’s the hormones, or is it because you haven’t seen my handsome face for six whole days?” There was that familiar cocky tone, but you could tell he was trying to make you laugh. “I’d bet everything it’s because you haven’t seen my handsome face.”

“Even your surfboard?” you teased, your voice lifting just enough to show you were fully invested in the banter now. You moved toward the living room and dropped onto the couch, your gaze briefly flitting to the TV. But your attention was fully locked on JJ.

“Not a chance,” he replied instantly, almost defensive. “The board’s off-limits. Too precious.”

You chuckled, grabbing the nearby blanket and pulling it over your lap. “Then you’ve lost everything except the surfboard,” you said, shaking your head in mock disapproval. JJ’s laugh echoed through the phone, rich and warm, before he quipped, “You’ve been extra rude lately,” his voice carrying a mix of mock hurt and teasing amusement.

You didn’t just roll your eyes—you sank deeper into the couch, grabbing a pillow to prop yourself up. Of course, he’d called just to mess with you. Was he bored? Had he decided you were the best target for entertainment? “I’ve always been like this,” you replied with a shrug he couldn’t see.

“Nope,” JJ shot back instantly, his tone softer but still certain. A brief silence followed, filled only by the sound of your own breathing, before he spoke again. This time, his voice was a little more sincere. “So… how’s it going? Living alone and all?”

You didn’t hate that he asked. Actually, it felt nice to talk to someone. As an adult—or whatever weird in-between phase you were in—socializing wasn’t exactly easy. It hadn’t been easy on the island either, but at least that had been your choice. This wasn’t.

You took a deep breath, realizing the question was harder to answer than you’d expected. “It sucks,” you admitted finally, the honesty not surprising you in the slightest.

“Why?” JJ’s voice was softer now, laced with just enough concern to feel genuine but not suffocating. It was like he always knew how to navigate these moments without overstepping. And honestly, it was strange—good strange.

You tried to sort through the chaos in your head. “I don’t know,” you said with a faint sigh. “I haven’t really connected with anyone. I don’t know anyone here.”

JJ, ever the problem-solver in his own weird way, jumped in with his trademark ease. “Then make friends with the stray cats,” he said, that classic carefree tone of his bringing a smile to your face despite everything.

“I already have you,” you teased back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “I couldn’t possibly betray you.”

His laugh from the other end of the line was contagious. “Not funny.” 

Fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, you hesitated before mumbling, “Are you okay? How are you?” Somehow, over the phone, it felt easier to ask—less intimidating than it would’ve been face-to-face.

“I’m amazing,” JJ said, his voice taking on a flat, almost robotic tone that screamed deflection.

“Your ego is exhausting,” you retorted, matching his sarcasm. Why couldn’t he just answer the question for once? Did everything have to be a game? “Seriously. How are you? After… you know, that day.”

JJ exhaled deeply, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost reluctant. “I don’t live with my dad anymore.”

You sat up straighter, grabbing the remote to lower the TV’s volume. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Packed up my stuff and left.”

It wasn’t exactly shocking. In fact, you were relieved he’d done it. Knowing he’d been living with someone who hurt him was unbearable. But still, you couldn’t stop your brow from furrowing. You couldn’t shake the worry. “Are you staying with John B?”

JJ’s silence was unexpected. You listened to the sound of his breathing, the faintest hitch before he finally answered. “Kind of?”

“What does that mean?” Your voice sharpened with concern. Why was he dancing around the answer when he could just tell you?

JJ sighed again, his tone shifting as though he’d stepped further away from the phone. “They don’t know I left yet. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

He hadn’t told his closest friends? Why? They weren’t the type to judge him. You didn’t know them well, but you were sure of that much. It didn’t make sense.

Even as your worry grew, you knew pressing him wasn’t the right move. “So where are you staying?” you asked cautiously.

JJ’s tone hardened. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.” There it was—his three-year-old tantrum mode. Did he really think people didn’t have the right to worry about him? Idiot.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, already feeling your patience wearing thin. “As your friend, I’m allowed to be concerned about your safety, JJ. Just tell me where you’re staying.”

His tone shifted again, this time lighter, more teasing. “Friend, huh? That’s nice. Kook and Pogue forever.”

“Shut it,” you snapped, your irritation clear. All you wanted was to know he was safe. “Just tell me already.”

JJ paused, then let out a soft laugh—the kind you knew was covering up something deeper. Even a toddler could tell. “I stayed with them for a few days. Been figuring it out since.”

You frowned. That wasn’t a solution. “You need to tell them,” you said gently.

He responded with the same stubbornness you’d come to expect, but his tone hinted at a smirk. “This is my problem, princess.” Then, as if to shift the mood, he added, “This is the first time we’ve talked on the phone. Cute, right? Now, tell me about your day.”

Despite the worry gnawing at you, you relaxed just a little. He wouldn’t be joking around like this if things were terrible… right?

You hoped so cause—JJ is your friend.

[meazalykov]

let me in

giulia gwinn x anxiety!reader

part one - part two

summary: you try to hide it, but she already knows

warnings: diagnosed anxiety, fear, zoloft mentions, angst, split into two parts because of the word count

the second half starts, and somehow, you manage to push through. you make an assist to sydney. for a fleeting moment, there’s a spark of joy. you’re happy for her, you really are. 

then you start to think that you’ve realized something. the acknowledgment you’re used to isn’t coming. no one is rushing to congratulate you for the assist, like they normally do for anyone else who makes a great play. 

you know it’s not because they don’t care, but your mind betrays you. it starts spinning with doubt, with fear. did they notice the mistake you made earlier? do they think you’re not good enough? why is no one congratulating you?

your heart beats faster now, the panic rising again. you try to push the thoughts aside, to focus on the game, but the fear is too strong. it’s all you can think about. 

then, a familiar voice pulls you from your spiraling thoughts. pernille is next to you, her arms around you in a tight hug. 

“you did great,” she says, her voice warm and reassuring. 

tuva follows, giving you a pat on the back, and for a brief moment, the fog lifts. you’ve made a mistake, but they don’t hate you. they don’t blame you. they still believe in you.

your heart is still racing, too fast, too loud, pounding against your chest like it's trying to break free. calm down, calm down, you tell yourself, but it doesn’t help. 

nothing helps. it’s like a constant hum of anxiety buzzing in your ears, drowning out everything else.

when the coach calls for the substitution, you barely register it at first. you’re already so deep in your head that the words don't hit until he’s looking directly at you, a hint of concern in his eyes. you blink, startled, as he gives a quick nod towards the sideline. 

linda comes on for you, and you give her a light hug before the coach reaches out to put his hand on your shoulder.

"y/n, rest. you did great. go ahead and sit the last twenty minutes out."

it feels like the earth shifts beneath your feet. the pressure mounting in your chest. as you walk toward the benches , all you can feel is this deep sense of failure. 

I didn’t do well. I wasn’t good enough. that’s why he’s subbing me off. 

your pulse doesn’t slow down as you sit on the bench, your leg bouncing uncontrollably. you try to still it, but your body doesn’t listen. it’s as if the constant movement is the only thing you can do to release the built-up energy inside of you. 

I wasn’t good enough, you repeat, the thoughts relentless, pushing through the cracks in your mind. 

sam kerr sits beside you, and without a word, she leans her head on your shoulder. it’s a small gesture, but it’s enough. the weight of her support, her presence, pulls you out of the storm in your head, if only for a moment. 

“great job love,” you hear her say silently, and you want to believe her, want to feel proud of what you’ve done, but it’s so hard to shake the feeling of not being enough. 

you glance back at the field, watching the play unfold, but your focus isn’t there. your body feels heavy, and your mind is racing. 

I don’t belong here. I can’t even finish a game. I’m not enough for this team. 

the rest of the game moves in a blur as you try to calm your breathing, to remind yourself that it’s okay, that you’re doing your best. 

the anxiety has a grip on you, pulling you deeper. your leg keeps bouncing, faster now, each movement a desperate attempt to release the tension building inside you. it’s exhausting, and the fear is suffocating. 

when the coach comes over after the game, his words are meant to comfort you. 

“y/n, you did great out there. you’re doing everything right. you just needed a break—take it easy.” but they don’t sink in, not right away. you nod and give him a quick smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. 

I didn’t do great, you think. I was subbed out. I couldn’t finish the match.

ten minutes after the ending of the game, you’re surrounded by teammates celebrating the 5-2 victory over arsenal. it should feel like a triumph, and in some ways, it does. 

when you’re talking to lea about the win, lena—still recovering from her ACL injury—suddenly picks you up from behind, lifting you off your feet in an enthusiastic embrace.

“you did so good!!!” she shouts, her voice filled with joy.

for a split second, panic courses through you. you freeze, body rigid, terrified that somehow you’re going to hurt her. you don’t want to be the reason she gets injured again. you pull away quickly, a nervous laugh escaping your lips as you explain, 

“i don’t want to be the reason you get hurt again.”

lena laughs, shaking her head. “you’re so light. you couldn’t hurt me,” she reassures you, and for the first time all day, you feel a little bit lighter. 

the fear begins to lift, and you let out a shaky breath, finally starting to believe that maybe you’re being ridiculous, you’re not as bad as your anxiety makes you think.

lea picks you up next, and for a fleeting moment, you feel the weight of your worries start to fade. the team loves you. they don’t hate you. they’re not disappointed in you. you are enough.

later that night, when you and giulia arrive home, the house feels different. quieter. more intimate. the adrenaline of the match still buzzes in your veins, but now you’re alone with giulia. 

she sits next to you on the couch, her strong arms around you as you both begin to unwind. you talk about the game. your assist, the plays you both loved from giuli, the moments that didn’t go as planned. 

then giulia’s tone shifts. she’s quieter now, her hand resting on your knee as she watches you carefully.

“how’s therapy going?” she asks, her voice gentle but probing.

the question catches you off guard, and suddenly, you’re paralyzed with fear. you’ve been hiding the truth from her for so long. the medication. the diagnosis. the fact that things haven’t gotten better, despite what you’ve been telling everyone, including her. your chest tightens as the words struggle to leave your mouth. 

(throwback) you sit in the small, sterile office at bayern’s campus, your fingers anxiously tapping against the arms of the chair. the white walls seem to close in on you as you try to focus on the woman sitting across from you. 

the psychiatrist. 

she’s kind and patient, but everything about this situation feels foreign and uncomfortable. you’re not used to talking about your feelings. you’ve spent your whole life pushing them down, burying them behind a smile, behind the constant drive to be better, to be strong. 

today, everything feels too much. too heavy.

“y/n, you’ve been dealing with a lot of pressure lately,” she says, her voice soft but steady. 

“and it’s okay to admit that you’re struggling with it. it’s more common than you might think.”

you want to argue. i’m fine, you want to say. i don’t need help. however, the words stick in your throat. you can’t lie, not anymore. not when it feels like your entire body is suffocating under the weight of everything. 

you nod, even though a part of you still wants to shut it all down. it’s too much now. the fear. the racing thoughts. the panic attacks. it’s been months, and it’s only getting worse. so you listen as the psychiatrist continues, explaining how anxiety can feel like an endless cycle that’s hard to escape, how sometimes your mind just needs help. 

medication, she suggests, can ease the constant tension, help you regain some control. 

she mentions zoloft, a small pill to take each morning. at first, the idea of it makes you cringe. medication? you’ve never been the type to rely on pills, but deep down, you know something has to change. 

you’re tired of feeling like your chest is going to explode every time you step onto the pitch. tired of the constant weight of guilt and fear that follows you everywhere.

“it might take some time to work,” she says, as if reading your mind. “it can help. we can monitor it together with the rest of the doctors here.”

you nod again, though it feels like a distant part of you is screaming to stop. you don’t want to admit that something’s wrong, that you’re not strong enough to handle it all. but here you are, agreeing to try something new, agreeing to take that pill. 

you want to believe it’ll work, but you’re also afraid it won’t. if it doesn’t, what will that say about you?

the psychiatrist hands you the prescription, and you take it, your hands shaking slightly. the weight of the small bottle feels overwhelming, like it holds all your fears inside. this is it, you think. this is the fix. this is how it’s going to get better. the thought doesn’t make you feel better. it only makes the weight heavier. what if it doesn’t work?

that night, when you get home, you find yourself standing in front of the dresser, staring at the small, nondescript bottle in your hand. 

you want to hide it. you don’t want anyone—especially giulia—to know. you can’t let her see this side of you, not when you’ve worked so hard to keep up the facade. 

without thinking, you open the drawer of your underwear dresser. it feels like the safest place, the one place where no one would look. you tuck the bottle inside, burying it underneath your things, as if hiding it will somehow make it less real. less of a reflection of what’s wrong with you.

the next morning, you take the pill as if it’s just another routine. but the guilt hangs over you, a shadow that doesn’t leave. 

you try not to think about it, but the more you take the pill each day, the worse it feels. it doesn’t help. it doesn’t change anything.you think that you’re still broken. it only makes you feel like you’re drifting farther away from yourself like you’re numbing your emotions, but not in a good way. 

it’s like you’re fading into someone else’s skin, and you don’t know how to stop it.

you feel like you’re suffocating in your own mind, and you don’t know how to explain it to giulia. 

what if she thinks I’m not good enough for her? what if she sees me as weak? she’s always been your anchor, the one person you never want to disappoint, but telling her about this... it feels like the ultimate failure.

and so, you keep it to yourself. the pill bottle stays hidden, tucked away in that drawer. the anxious thoughts continue to spiral, unchecked, but you don’t want anyone to know. not even giulia. not even her.

back to the present– giulia’s quiet, but you can feel the weight of her gaze on you. she’s waiting, and you know she’s already figured out that something’s wrong. it’s been weeks, and the cracks in your facade are starting to show.

“therapy has been fine.” you smile, pulling a loose piece of blonde hair behind giulia’s ear. her hair wasn’t in her signature ponytail braid from the game, but in loose curls over her shoulders that the braid gave her. 

you try to focus on something, anything—anything to avoid her eyes—but it’s useless. your hands are shaking, and every thought feels like it’s running away from you. the anxiety from the match still lingers in your chest, but now it’s compounded by guilt. 

guilt for not telling her sooner. guilt for hiding the truth. you feel trapped in your own head, like you’re suffocating under the weight of your own emotions.

giulia watches you carefully, her brow furrowed. she doesn’t need to ask anymore. she knows. and that’s what scares you most.

“y/n,” giulia finally says, her voice calm but firm. 

“you know we need to talk, right?”

you swallow hard. your throat feels tight, the words stuck there. you try to smile, but it feels forced, like it won’t reach your eyes. 

“about what?”

she leans forward, elbows resting on her knees, eyes never leaving yours. 

“about you. about everything you’ve been hiding.”

the words hit like a punch to the stomach, and you flinch. hiding—the word stings. because it’s true. you’ve been hiding everything. everything that’s been eating at you for months now. 

the anxiety, the fear, the constant worry that you’re not good enough—that you’ll fail again and let everyone down. especially her. the person who’s always had your back for the last five years. the person who’s seen you at your best, at your worst, and still loved you unconditionally. 

now, you’re afraid to admit that you’ve been struggling.

“giulia, I don’t—” you begin, but she interrupts, her tone sharper now, like she’s not going to let you brush it off again.

“don’t, y/n. don’t shut me out again!” giulia’s voice is soft but serious, and her eyes search yours with a piercing intensity. 

“i’ve seen the way you’ve been. I’ve seen how you’ve been withdrawing, how you’re not talking to me or anyone else about it. I know you’re not okay. I know you’re not just tired or stressed from the game. this is something else. I want to help.”

you feel your chest tighten at her words. you want to tell her everything, want to explain what’s been going on inside your head, but the fear grips you tight. 

what if she thinks you’re weak? what if she thinks she can’t handle this part of you? what if she doesn’t understand? you thought.

giulia’s expression softens, her tone gentler now, but she doesn’t back down. 

“y/n, I know you better than anyone. and I can see it. I know what’s been going on. I know you’re struggling with anxiety. and I know you’ve been taking medication for it. you don’t have to hide it from me anymore.”

the room goes quiet. your heart skips a beat, and the blood rushes to your ears. 

how does she know? you didn’t tell her. you didn’t want to burden her with it, didn’t want her to look at you differently. 

somehow, giulia knows. she’s known all along.

“giulia, I—” you start, but she cuts you off, her voice gentle but firm.

“why didn’t you tell me, y/n?” giulia asks, her voice laced with a mix of concern and hurt. 

“why didn’t you come to me? why have you been hiding this from me?”

the words hit you like a slap, and you blink back the tears that threaten to fall. 

“i didn’t want you to think I was... weak,” you admit, your voice trembling.

 i didn’t want you to think I was... broken.”

giulia leans in, her hand reaching for yours, gently taking it in hers. her grip is steady, warm, and you feel a little bit of the weight on your chest lift. 

“y/n, you’re not broken,” she says softly. 

“you’re human. and being human means you have struggles. you have fears, and you have moments where you need help. that doesn’t make you weak. it makes you real. I’m not going anywhere. I want to help you, but you have to let me in.”

you feel the tears that you’ve been holding back finally spill over, hot and unrelenting. the sobs wrack your body as giulia pulls you into her arms, holding you close. you’ve been so terrified of letting her see you like this—vulnerable, broken, messy. 

you realize that she’s not looking at you with disappointment. she’s not seeing your anxiety as a flaw or a weakness. she’s seeing you. all of you.

“i’m sorry,” you choke out, your voice muffled against her shoulder. 

“i didn’t mean to shut you out. i thought... i thought you’d think i wasn’t strong enough to be your partner anymore.”

giulia shakes her head, her fingers soothing through your hair. 

“y/n, I never thought that. I never would. I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be you. and right now, that means letting me be here for you.”

“we’ll get through this together, okay?” giulia whispers into your hair, her voice filled with unwavering support. 

“you don’t have to face this alone.”

you nod against her, the sobs slowing, the tightness in your chest loosening. for the first time in months, you finally feel like you can breathe.

the morning light filters through the curtains, casting soft beams across the bedroom. the air is calm, the silence between you and giulia comfortable for once, free of the tension you’ve been carrying for weeks. luckily, you guys have the day off from anything football related so you can stay in bed for longer. 

you sit on the edge of the bed, your fingers still trembling slightly, but you’re more at ease than you’ve been in a long time. last night, you opened up to her in ways you didn’t think you could. and though your heart had pounded in your chest and the fear of being judged had nearly consumed you, giulia hadn’t wavered. 

you glance over at her, the way she’s lounging on the bed, her legs propped up under the covers, her eyes half-lidded as she smiles faintly in your direction. 

the bottle of zoloft sits on the nightstand, so small, so innocent-looking. it feels heavier than it should, but the weight is different now. 

it’s no longer just a symbol of everything that’s wrong with you. it’s a step forward. and you’re ready to take it. 

without hesitation, you pick up the bottle, twisting the cap off, feeling giulia’s gaze on you. her eyes are soft, not judgmental, just... waiting. you feel a small sense of reassurance, as if her presence alone is all you need. 

there’s no longer that nagging voice telling you to hide, to keep it to yourself. you can’t change your past, but you can change how you move forward, and you want to move forward, especially with giu. 

you take the pill, the cool surface of the tablet smooth in your fingers, and swallow it down with a sip of water. it’s such a small act, but it feels monumental.

“good morning,” giulia says, her voice light, laced with affection. her eyes soften, and she shifts slightly to make space for you on the bed. 

you settle down next to her, the pillow cool against your skin, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. giulia’s hand brushes your waist, and you lace your fingers around hers. 

“i’m proud of you, you know,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. she turns her head to look at you, her eyes warm, filled with love. there’s no judgment, just acceptance. 

you nod, trying not to let the lump in your throat get the best of you. it’s hard to believe sometimes, that she’s always going to be there, in moments like these, it feels real. it feels like you can finally breathe.

“thank you,” you reply softly, feeling a quiet sense of peace settle over you. 

“for being patient. for being so loving my love.”

giulia smiles, the softest smile you’ve ever seen. 

“you’re perfect just the way you are.” 

she brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, her touch gentle. 

life is not easy, and you’re not perfect. you don’t have to be. you have giulia, and that’s enough.

baby steps. it’s enough.

masterlist

[lilacxquartz]

Those Late Summer Nights | Chapter 21

satoru gojo x f!reader x suguru geto

plot: moving to the city from a small town was no easy feat, especially to start teaching as a jujutsu sorcerer.

summary: everyday was exactly the same but then satoru dropped a heavy truth onto you.

trigger warning: noncon in this chapter, approach with caution, it’s quite bleak. disclaimer, i don’t support these behaviours irl.

masterlist • ao3 • chapter directory • < previous chapter • next chapter >

21. Purgatory

Ignoring Satoru for a beat, you thought about where it all went wrong for you to have ended up in a place like this.

It was hard to imagine let alone comprehend due to the absurdity of the situation. As far as you understood, you were securely tucked away in a small pocket of space underground deep within the Gojo clan estate. Far from the prying glimpses of the residents who roamed the surface, with only passing flickers into the above stolen whenever he made his way down.

You didn’t know all that much about the estate he snuck you into, but given Satoru’s influence and power, you calculated that your chances of escape were slim.

Satoru very likely had you lodged somewhere within the confines of his personal chambers as a result; perhaps it was a space that had been custom-tailored to include a secure underground space for your impending arrival. Maybe those who worked on such a spot had just assumed that he wanted privacy in case people came looking for him, or at least, that’s where your mind drifted to when considering the location. Wherever you were, this place was a secret. You knew that much, especially evidenced so by your fits of desperation manifested as endless wails and screams and begging only for the cries to fall onto deaf ears (if any at all).

Such consideration of your circumstances however left you in a recurring grave predicament.

If you were perfectly contained in a place that nobody else knew about, then your initial fears were surely correct.

You were done for.

You glanced up at Satoru who had your head idly resting on his lap, talking about the traffic on the way back home. You tuned in and out of his words selectively, only picking up on the details you deemed to be important. He often drawled on about the little things, playing pretend with you as the doting lover, so ready to sit back and listen to his words that held onto a darker charged meaning. Maybe he knew that you weren’t truly listening, maybe also, he just didn’t care. Delusion was a powerful motivator, after all.

You considered the possibility of escape again.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried, it was just… that the odds were highly against you. The only way out was up and try as you might, you never once breached even a crack. The basement was impenetrable and your chances, as long as Satoru was around, were unfortunately slim. Besides, had there been such a route way out, then you would have known by now. You searched for it countless times, at least. Whatever work he put into the basement, whoever he had paid to design the damn thing had ensured to seal off every single exit, with the only way out seeming to be from the above.

So yes, to think that this was your reality was a devastating thought and you could never accept it. You could acknowledge it, sure, but you couldn’t accept it. You refused to and yet, he was always there for you when you didn’t want him to be, ready to not quite poison you as Suguru did, but latch onto the whittled-down aftermath of your broken-down psyche, holding onto whatever remained.

“It’s better this way for us both,” Satoru continued to say, combing his fingers through your hair, “you’ll learn to accept all of this one day.”

You closed your eyes briefly if only to imagine what the sky must have looked like; what the air must have felt like, what the warmth of the sun was like—you missed the outside a lot, strangely enough—you were always more indoorsy but now the opportunity was simply just stolen, with no such chance to even try.

Oh, how you missed the side of Satoru that you got to know before he turned… into this.

You’ve had time to process your anger, so it wasn’t like you could become any more resentful than you already were, but the time that had passed, the stagnant resolve of it all—left you depleted and depressed, making you lose your appetite for all things worthy of living. Of eating, of drinking, of moving and simply just… surviving. Living had become a chore and you were alive only out of necessity. It was to the point where you truly had come to believe that being dead must have been more exciting rather than remaining locked in a slowly aging purgatory like this.

And, due to all of the days blurring seamlessly together otherwise, your only break from the monotonous flow, was when you both had the chance to exist together. So all of those silent protests you took when you refused to move from the spot, when you refused to eat, or when you laid awake as he slept and the like—none of it ever had an impact, nor ever mattered at all—not when he continued to touch you the way that he did.

It wasn’t the fact that he repeated it that was the grounding part either, but rather that instead of shutting down all displays of hope, rather than immediately silencing all forms of attempted protest, he would simply… let the situation build. He would the tension rise and would simply just ignore, ignore, ignore. The delusional resolve would push through and it was back to you being simply just ‘stir-crazy’ as he put it, often joking (albeit not promising) to take you out, if even just for a bit when he later had some time spare and whenever you thought that just once, that there could be a break from the usual, you were always wrong. Satoru was dedicated to his schedule, towards his nightly habits; it was just different how he did it every time. Sometimes he would talk before and sometimes he would talk after, but he would always get with you. Always.

There was never a break and truth be told, you were going insane.

It felt surely insulting too, to listen to him prattle on and on about his job that was supposed to be your job, too.

Satoru, after all, like you were supposed to be, was a Jujutsu teacher and he seemed to be good at his job, which was such a difficult thing to grasp. He loved to tell you all about what was happening on a day-to-day basis, often with your head resting just above his knees or against his shoulder while his hands roamed around your body, no matter how much you resisted.

“Come on, [name],” he predictably said, sitting up as he pushed you back up to his level with his eyes pointed at the breakfast table (or that’s what he called it), “you need to eat to live, you know.”

You gulped dryly, watching as he rummaged through the bag he brought back with him, taking out something from way down at the bottom. Takeaway? Your memories recognised it as the very same type from the first time you had split that exact meal with him, Shoko, and Suguru. Your mind raced back to when he did something nice for you and made you feel included as a result, so you wondered what significance there was for today to be a reminder of such memories—or if there was any such resemblance at all—it wasn’t that likely that you were overthinking, especially given how limited your circumstances were.

“You have to take better care of yourself, you know,” he added, nudging forward a plastic container of food towards you, the food being exactly what you tried back then. There had to be something behind this action, surely. You weren’t reaching.

This wasn’t just a usual meal; he was planning something—but what?

“I can’t have you completely wasting away,” he added, reducing his voice to a concerned murmur as he propped the lid off, sliding the chopsticks across to where you sat, “not when we have so much time left together.”

You blinked at the meal and then glanced up at him, wondering what exactly he was planning on pulling. With a weary tone, you cleared your throat before bringing it up, “I’ll eat, but… what are you doing?”

Satoru, being as stubborn as he was, didn’t reply to you right away. He simply watched for you to get started, his intentions unwavering and pushed without pause; he would have you do as he wanted before informing you of anything at all, no matter what it was. Perhaps this was why you both collided so often; you were both equally stubborn against one another but for different reasons. He could maintain his gradually crumbling facade for as long as he claimed able to do so, but the surface he hid under was visibly cracked and it was obvious that, he too, was struggling. You’ve had plenty of time to learn how to read him, and his barely-contained impatience was far from subtle.

All of those smiles he would crack to convey a casual display of ease only to be clenched away by the grinding of his jaw or his fist squeezing as he struggled to hold onto the slipping semblance of control that drifted in and out of his reach. The way he would talk in strained bursts of barely contained anger, going as far as convulsing from the stress that dared to boil away from the stress bubbling within. His life wasn’t easy, that much you could emphasise, but he wasn’t being fair to you when you now had to take on the role of someone who unconditionally supported these parted bursts of lapsing sanity.

Sometimes, he would succumb to these moments of turmoil, letting out punches of barking laughter—something that unsettled you and at other times, he would break himself on purpose and cling to you, just because.

Satoru Gojo may have been the strongest, but you often got to see him at his weakest, so perhaps that’s why he had to hold onto you as tightly as he did.

“Eat,” he repeated, tearing you away from your troubling thoughts and replacing it with something even colder, the mask slipping back on. Satoru was seldom violent, rather more so just… forceful. Thankfully he had never raised a hand at you, even when you bit and kicked and clawed away at him, but his restraint seemed worse than usual today—as if he was at last, finally just as worn down as you were.

This was his own fault though, you thought. You wanted to tell him that lovers, particularly spouses or whatever he was forcing you to take on the role as, didn’t keep their feelings bottled up and locked away from each other. That much you did learn from Suguru, who at least told you the importance of learning to communicate, because sometimes, that was the only thing that could work when nothing else did.

How… peculiar was it that you learned something useful from him?

You sighed as you plucked the to-go chopsticks apart from one another, fitting them into your hand and digging into what he had gotten you. You ate slowly with your eyes flicking on and off at him, who watched you with unsettling focus.

“Good,” he clapped his hands together once, seemingly soothed by the sight, “I’m glad you are still capable of listening to me, because like I said, I’d hate for you to grow unhealthy down here. I can’t have you become sick.”

You nodded wearily, biting back the urge to tell him that you would be healthier if he at least you have even fifteen minutes of outside air a day, knowing that suddenly his careful demeanour would drop and you would be the hypochondriac instead.

Satoru led you back to the sofa when you were both done, helping you settle back against his shoulder. He offered you those crisps that you once, in passing, mentioned you liked, but you didn’t reciprocate his offer. Something was off about how much he was giving you—with how much he was paying attention to you—it was beyond the usual level of care, so you wondered what actually must have happened on the surface.

You didn’t get a fresh flow of news from him, anyway. He was selective with what he disclosed to you and you weren’t too trusting of the information he did reveal on the occasion that he did. Shoko? Suguru? Utahime? He would hold their names hostage to you, taunting you with the occasional slip of a promise that they weren’t completely lost from your life. He knew that you still cared about them, even the one who had hurt you, not quite understanding why didn’t say his own name with the same sort of chime, despite the pain that he inflicted upon you, in his mind, being equal.

He bit his tongue, refusing to find out why.

Instead, it was easier for him to punish you for having feelings that you couldn’t control.

For not making sense, for not existing in the same way that he built you up to be in his head.

“You’d like to see them all again, I’d bet,” he repeated, having already said something similar before tonight.

“Huh?” you blinked, barely catching on that he was addressing you directly that time.

“I said…” Satoru repeated himself, letting the reminder of his words hang in the air before continuing, “That you’d probably like to see them all again, huh? If you behave, that is.”

You sighed again, swallowing away the resentment once more. What even was ‘good behaviour’ anymore, anyway?

“If I behave…?” you half-scoffed, unable to resist a jab at his words, not caring for formalities anymore (yet another habit picked up from Suguru, maybe also Shoko, too), “maybe if you didn’t keep me locked up.”

“You—“ Satoru began before cutting himself short, prompting you to narrow your eyes at his barely contained composure, “—you don’t get it, you… you don’t understand,” he strained, laughing somewhat at what he believed to be a naive response on your end, “I had to do this for your own good, you’re safe down here, don’t you get that?” he asked, seeming to hint at something new, something that he hadn’t yet shared. “You think that I didn’t notice that little stunt that you and Su… that you both, pulled?”

“What are you talking about?” you sighed, trying to sink back into the sofa, finding that he didn’t let you.

Satoru snorted again, sounding amused, “That little stunt of yours back at your hometown,” he replied, keeping his voice eerily calm as he tucked a strand behind your ear, “did you really think you could continue to walk free after murdering a civilian? Even as a witness… you’d be an accomplice, an accessory to a crime,” he hinted, likely referencing Yui.

Remaining sceptical, you glanced up at him briefly before back at the wall. “So you know?” you asked him in an unsurprised tone. “Why bring it up now, though?”

Satoru scoffed before continuing again, “Because, you keep thinking that you have a right to a way out when all I’m doing is keeping you safe from the higher-ups,” he said, relaxing his voice for some reason, “they can be quite harsh, you know. I’m keeping you safe down here along with your little secret. Wouldn’t want that to get out, now would you?”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” you replied instead, “it’s been months since you brought me down here.”

He sighed, realising your point. For a moment, he relaxed but then his features creased into something serious again, as though having a revelation of some sort. “Because, I’ve been keeping something from you, to protect you even further.”

“And what’s that?” you asked, taking the bait.

“…Why do you think he did that for you?” he asked.

“Suguru?” you asked, watching something else glint in his icy blue eyes when you spoke out his friend’s name the way that you did. “He was helping me bury the past, or something like that.”

Satoru clicked his tongue and sucked at his teeth before leaning back, letting you readjust to him or not as you preferred. He unwrapped the bandages around his eyes, tossing them off to the side. “I thought as much too, but then I did some digging. I couldn’t let my once-good friend just commit something so rash without at least trying to understanding why, you know?” he asked you, building up to some sort of unspoken truth. “He used you, [name]. He used you to justify his own issues, because if he actually did so to help you, then he would have stopped at Yui.”

You paused. “What do you mean?”

Satoru let the silence between you build for a moment, letting the implications fester and rise. He brought you down to lay on his lap again with one hand holding rather firmly over your shoulder and the other against your skull. He then took a deep breath, as though he was about to share something heavy with you. “Yui wasn’t… the only casualty, [name]. He took care of your parents, too.”

“Say that again?” you asked, feeling your eyelids flutter as you couldn’t quite process what was said.

“Not long after,” Satoru continued after about half a minute of stagnant silence, “he did the same to his own parents, too. I suppose we should have all seen the signs, especially given what his attitude was like towards non-sorcerers, convincing himself that they were all part of a deeper issue, but…”

You tried to sit up again, finding that the position he kept you anchored down in was impossible to get out of. You wanted answers, but he kept continuing with more and more new information, not letting you process anything at all.

“Wait, though…” you struggled, “what did you say before?” you pressed again, still not having processed the first part of his claim.

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Satoru continued instead, smoothing your hair with his palm in a soft, affectionate gesture, “but you still seem to holding onto something that shouldn’t be there with… him, when all he did was just use you to further his own selfish ideology. Don’t you get it, [name]? I’m just looking out for you down here, I’m keeping you safe. So why not… just…have a little trust in me?”

You stared straight ahead, feeling many things all at once. The words finally settled into your mind, not quite believing the extent of what he had claimed, and yet, accepting his words with violent clarity. He was your only source of what went on beyond the surface, after all, so your weakened state of mind accepted his words as truth, even if deep down, refused to believe it. You felt angry, upset, confused, and numb all at once—yet, Satoru still dared to ask for your trust—after everything that had transpired over the summer, after keeping you in the dark both literally and figuratively, he claimed to still be doing this for you.

You shuddered a breath down, letting your tears spill over his clothes. You didn’t argue with him, knowing that whatever he revealed wouldn’t change a thing. Deep down, you wanted to believe that Suguru wouldn’t go that far, but then you remembered the look in his eyes when he regarded Yui being the very same as when he met with your parents—so maybe, just maybe, Satoru’s claims weren’t too far from the truth.

Maybe he did do the unthinkable.

“But, this can’t last forever,” you finally whispered.

Satoru seemed to relax again, his voice growing calm once more, “You underestimate me,” he said, repositioning you once more so that you now laid your back over the sofa, the inevitable finally taking place.

You locked up as he inched towards you again like clockwork, hovering over your body in a way that was almost longing, caging you in between his arms as though you had somewhere to run off to. You blinked up at him, wondering just how he could be in the mood at a time like this, after such casual admission of a grave confession, that his friend, your former lover, abuser, whatever, had inflicted something potentially devastating as the right time to continue with touching you.

“Not today,” you tried to mumble out, unable to focus.

Satoru ignored you, leaning forward instead. His lips ghosted over your neck as he pressed coaxing little damp kisses along your collarbone, his voice growing low and heavy as he took advantage of your disoriented state, having you right where he wanted you.

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” he murmured, pushing his knee in between your legs so that you couldn’t close off his advances, “you don’t have to do anything,” he continued, “just let me take care of everything—of you—I’ll make sure you feel good, too.”

You sighed, feeling exhausted. Maybe he would let you drift off, or maybe if you zoned out with enough focus, you could quicker go back to blurring all of the days together again.

Satoru continued at usual, trying to ensure that the experience was as nice as he could make it (with all things considered), but otherwise repeating the staleness yet again. It was messed up, but you were bored of it—of him. You hated to admit it, that even right at this minute, you missed how Suguru… never mind, you couldn’t do this to yourself just yet. Not now. Instead, you gritted your teeth and screwed your eyes shut, pretending that you were somewhere else.

Satoru in the meantime moved down the sweatpants he had you wear, his hand fumbling to reach and pull at his own trousers. He was already hard; evidenced by his straining arousal that pitched against his underwear, tearing out from the second he let his clothes drop. He used to participate in foreplay, but since then grew lazier, which you supposed guiltily again, that Suguru at least never skipped. You grunted instead as Satoru pushed himself into your hilt, feeling the consequences of his impatience rub painfully within you.

“You’re so tight today, huh?” he commented, finding it difficult to push into you from your lack of arousal given the heavy moment. You struggled to take him in properly, feeling his girth stretch you out, but it was far from pleasant and likely not that nice for him either.

Pulling out of you briefly, Satoru spat down onto his tip, using his hand to rub the saliva and coat his shaft before driving himself back into you. He rocked his hips forward with strained fervour, keeping your knees pried far apart with his hands, wrangling them into all sorts of positions as he wrestled to keep your attention.

You winced as you felt him spear into you, feeling the entirety of his length kiss against what felt like your cervix, causing you to recoil in rhythmic pain. Ragged gasps rolled out of the slip of your tongue as you tried to keep up, finding that you couldn’t do so as fluidly with his gradually increasing momentum, finding that both the coiling pain, as well as his pressing tempo, left you sorely breathless.

Letting your legs fall, he hovered over you by keeping himself steady with his arms anchoring parallel over on the sofa cushioning. Satoru continued to rut his hips, sawing relentlessly into you as time went on, hoping for a better reaction but all that you could offer was strained whimpers and barely choked-out cries, growing frustrated at the result. A chorus of “come on, come on, come on,” could be heard in mumbled-out mutters, understanding that the only time he ever got a response from you was when he surrendered into being rougher than he was more comfortable with doing so.

Wanting desperately to feel wanted back, by the only person that he ever sought out with such intensity and then not hearing those pretty little sounds that he once heard coming from Suguru’s apartment was difficult for him. Such a recurring memory sent Satoru into a resentful stupor, almost, as he too, tried to replicate what he once heard, only for you to never give up in the same way.

His fingers clamped down against your hips, his fingernails bleeding scratched crescents into your soft skin as he grew closer to his release. At last, you whimpered, moaning in pain instead of pleasure, but it was enough to go on; enough to pretend with. His own words fell silent as he too, was brought to pain from pushing, kneading, straining himself into your cunt in a hurried attempt to de-stress, until finally—…

Satoru slowed down in a stuttered thrust, releasing at long last. He ground his hips into you with lazy, languid pumps before he slumped over you in an exhausted daze, feeling completely and utterly spent, barely pulling out of you.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” he murmured into your neck, “but one day you’ll see and appreciate it,” he continued, just barely coherently muttering out words that blurred into one another, not quite making sense at all.

All the while you at long, long last, sighed. You were finally able to relax.

Another thing weighed heavily on your mind though.

Even with the heavy truth that Satoru dropped on you, you still found yourself missing… him.

Why?

(Was there something actually wrong with you, after all?)

[naamahdarling]

If you look into antipsychiatry as a movement you will find a lot of suggested alternatives. I don't subscribe wholeheartedly to every part of the movement, and it has meant different things at different times, but as an angle of activism, I do agree with most of the points made by the people who define themselves as part of it. In its current form, psychiatry exists primarily to oppress. (see: the purpose of a system is what it does.) It was founded on the oppression and suffering of stigmatized human beings.

To begin with, the abolition of psychiatric imprisonment is absolutely required, and destigmatization of suicidality and most other behaviors that psychiatry currently deems worth imprisoning people over. The acknowledgment that the current system creates suicidality and trauma, and that way, way more people emerge further damaged from inpatient treatment than healed. Reparations to those who have been harmed, or their surviving loved ones.

Crisis prevention in the form of resources including UBI, health care, and housing for all.

Holding medical professionals and therapists heavily accountable for their behavior, with patient-led enquiries into abuse (i.e. review boards are not solely or primarily medical professionals, but patients, including those with trauma).

Community-based support such as drop-in centers staffed by peers and peer counselors, short-term lodging for those who want observation. The establishment of hotlines and warmlines staffed by peers and which do not funnel into the 911 system (in the USA).

Making psych meds (ALL meds) available without contracts that demand patients comply with restrictions, on an informed consent model. (Specialists in these meds and in mental health should exist! Just like we have specialists for heart or skin conditions. They should not have the power they do. They should not wield more legal power over a person than a cardiologist. The psychiatric profession as it currently exists will never give up that power willingly, which is one of the reasons it needs to be completely reimagined from the patient's perspective.)

Abandoning the DSM as a primary diagnostic tool. Abandoning the idea of discrete diagnoses as definite and certain things, and of the idea of a specific diagnosis being required for treatment. A priority placed on patient experience, not medical control of the patient. Redefining things from an inside perspective and not an outside perspective (people with ADHD often dislike the term, for example, because they see it as defined by what others observe and are inconvenienced by).

Destigmatization of addiction, decriminalization, harm reduction, the rejection of the 12-step model as THE model for recovery (or even a particularly effective one), the abandonment of recovery as the primary goal of treatment for addiction or ANY mental health condition.

Making meds equitably available to those who want them, neither forcing patients into them nor withholding them entirely.

There are valid questions about how to handle certain kinds of crisis. What if someone is a threat to others? Well, in a less horrible system, the following would be true: the person would ideally have supportive people around them that knew they had these issues and could intervene sooner and provide information to responders, the person would have a home and food and health care they could not lose (people who don't have these unsurprisingly wind up in crisis waaaay more often), the person would not have been provoked by law enforcement or psych staff (a VERY common reason for psych patients to lose their shit), the person would have a safe place to self-isolate in advance if necessary, the person would have time to recover and STOP being a risk, the person would be able to access help afterwards to debrief and develop helpful strategies to avoid or manage another such event, the person would have access to an environment that felt safe to them in which to be helped, any round the clock care situation they entered into would be by consent only and hopefully part of a preestablished protocol....

A person in this kind of environment would be far less likely ever to BE a danger to others in the way we imagine (and what we typically imagine is already inaccurate and heavily biased). MOST crises could be avoided entirely, leaving the subset that could not be avoided by these means to be evaluated separately as a group, and better strategies developed for them.

There are few easy answers, and the easy answers we do have (stop abducting and imprisoning people) do not possess easy solutions. But any of the things I have described would reduce crisis. Many of them are goals of social justice anyway.

Anyway, I encourage people to look into these issues and into criticism of and alternatives for every aspect of the psychiatric field, because most are broken or at the very least inadequate. If you can't quite bring yourself to abandon the idea of locking suicidal people up, fine. But look into alternatives to inpatient facilities as they currently exist to see what else is out there. If you can't bring yourself to abandon the idea that people should be forced into addiction treatment, look into the effectiveness of coerced treatment, and look into the effectiveness of traditional models of addiction treatment, look into harm reduction. If you can't abandon the idea of mental illnesses as being definite entities as opposed to useful generalizations, look into the origin of each diagnosis, and how people with it were treated 20 or 50 or 100 years ago.

You don't have to agree with everything to change your thinking about something, and I highly encourage every single one of you to do so.

It would help reduce great social harms, and you'll meet some pretty cool people on the way!

One major factor that makes the nature of psychiatric treatment intrinsically violent is the fact that the boundaries of the patient is considered an obstacle to treatment. The lack of consent of the patient is considered an obstacle to treatment. These obstacles are abhorred by psychiatry and considered things that much be broken down. If the patient has a disagreement with the treatment, or objects to it, this is considered a symptom and therefore is seen as something not to be validated or respected. Thoughts, behaviors, beliefs; these are all considered symptoms if they are in opposition to treatment and must be broken down. However, compliance with treatment is almost never seen as disordered or symptomatic, even if the patient is fawning or similarly complying to avoid more harm done to them. The fact that only extreme compliance is accepted by psychiatry is inherently violent and conditions people to accept abuse. Isolation and violence are not vectors of healing.

[blackynsupremacy]

COOPER HELPING YOU

WHEN YOU’RE ON

YOUR

PERIOD

pairing: cooper koch x black!fem!reader

summary: cooper gives you ease and comfort during that dreadful time of the month.

contains: fluff, mentions of menstruation, vaginal bleeding, cramping, irritability, mood swings, swearing, cooper being a green flag, cooper being amazing, this can be perceived as either platonic or romantic.

a/n: anyone else going through this right now?

taglist: @supaprettyg @hnch33rios @sabrinasopposite @xoxoglittergossip @stereotypicalbarbie @gxuxhdjdu @elitesanjisimp @jkr820 @simply-the-best23 @austeenbootler @greengoblinswifey @hoffmansgirl @thabiddie23 @lust4lifeee @tryingtograspctrl @ellethespaceunicorn @rosiestalez @afrogirl3005 @sheydnni

• you and cooper were fast asleep in bed.

• everything was at peace until you felt… the flow.

• before it was too late, you ripped the covers from your body and literally saw red on the sheets.

• “ah, shit!” you hiss.

• cooper wakes at the sound of your cursing and immediately questions what’s wrong.

• embarrassed, you silently lift the covers to reveal the damning evidence. you’re literally about to cry because this hasn’t happened before.

• plus, it was two in the morning and cooper had a long day ahead on set. the guilt along with the impending menstrual cramp starts to flare in your stomach.

• “oh—oh! hey, hey. look, it’s okay! it’s natural, i understand. i got you, babe.”

• he’d wipe away any tears that came down your face and continue to reassure you, but he acknowledged that you were still going to be emotional, so the best he can do is give you his love, support, patience, and most importantly, the princess treatment.

• it’s not like he doesn’t treat you well all the time, but this time, he wants to take extra care of you.

• he’d go and change the sheets before going into the bathroom to run you a good old-fashioned, heated bubble bath.

• he knows you like the water extra hot!

• he’d check to see if you have enough feminine products to last at least through the rest of the night, making it a top priority to restock just incase.

• no matter if you use pads, tampons, menstrual cup, or the underwear, he’d get whatever makes you comfortable.

• while the bath is running, he’s already getting you fresh clothes.

• he’ll throw in one of his sweatshirts.

• after everything is laid out, he’d lead you to the bathroom.

• he’d give you privacy to undress and go in the tub, but you’re extra clingy during this time, so you’d ask if he can sit next to you and stay while you soak.

• he definitely would, but right after he gets you something to put on your stomach to take some painkillers.

• it’s late so he’ll whip something up. pancakes, grilled cheese, pasta, etc. whatever you want, he got it.

• it pains him to see you in pain.

• you just need to get that medicine in your system before the cramps gets worse. sometimes they’d send pain from the waist down.

• the heat can only do so much!

• he’d hold your hand while you’d soak.

• you’d joke, flirt, talk, and just enjoy each other’s presence.

• cooper gives the best shoulder massages and foot rubs.

• if requested, he’s give you a scalp massage as well.

• cooper LOVES your hair and the products you use to keep it healthy.

• he’d leave you momentarily to leave the bath for you to rinse off in the shower, dry off, and change.

• he already has new, fresh sheets ready in case you want to go back to sleep.

• if you don’t want to sleep, he’s fine with that! you guys could binge a show, stream a movie, paint your nails, or you could ask for another massage.

• cooper is gonna make sure you’re straight!

• he always has a product and extra underwear ready for you when it’s time to change.

• especially if you sneeze.

• he thinks it’s adorable when you cling onto him. he loves to be the little spoon if he has to.

• he’d give you stomach rubs while you wait for the medicine to kick in.

• expect to be spoiled rotten with forehead, cheek, and hand kisses.

• he’ll let you sleep on him whether he’s awake or not. he knows how much fatigue this causes for you, so he ensures you get all of the rest you need.

• his heartbeat lulls you to sleep.

• cooper feeds into your sugary and salty cravings.

• your favorite thing to make and eat together is ice cream sundaes with the works.

• pizza is a great go-to as well.

• he urges you to keep yourself hydrated through it all!

• “did you remember to drink your water?”

• “….no.”

• cooper already got your bottle/cup on deck.

• he’s gonna make sure you drink your eight cups.

• cooper is not afraid to go in a store alone and pick any feminine products for you.

• occasionally gets you guys matching fuzzy socks for this occasion.

• he’d throw in a new bonnet for you to sleep in too.

• he’s patient when your emotions start swinging like a pendulum.

• he kills you with kindness when you’re irritated or sarcastic. (don’t do too much now, he ain’t scared of you)

• he calms you down when you feel like you want to get railed. you just want to be held really, really tight.

• cuddling shirtless with undies for the win!

• he’s sympathetic when you cry. especially when you watch a sad/romantic scene on tv.

• copper feels sooo bad when he has to leave for work and your eyes are already watering.

• he immediately texts to check in on you when he has a break.

• he’ll send memes, playlists, and silly selfies to cheer you up.

• no matter the time of the month, day, or year, trust that cooper will be right by your side the best he can.

[evolnoomym]

I’m your Ghost 🔆

Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist | Support me |

Summary: You keep seeing the same guy at a cafe. You want to help him figure out what to do. Help him and yourself to move on.

Rating: 18+ mature content mdni!!!!

Word count: 0.7 k

Authors note: I scrolled on Pinterest recently, came across this picture and got inspired. I highly recommend listening to “Spring 1 - 2012” by Max Richter and also “Jacob and the Stone” by Emile Mosseri while reading this. 🔆

Warnings: this is angsty, tlou 2 spoilers perhaps, reader has hair, allusions to smut (tell me if I missed anything)

Big thank you to @saradika-graphics @cafekitsune and @xurengu0 for the dividers💛

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that. Also this is not beta read or heavily edited. You are always welcome to talk with me about my writing. In general I appreciate comments, likes and reblogs greatly 🫶🏻

He’s always here, the same table, sitting on exactly the same chair, wearing that goddamn green flannel shirt, drinking a black coffee and staring out at the same sunset.

Usually you just sit down somewhere nearby and watch him. Whenever you look closer you can see that his eyes are glassy and his lip is quivering. He’s scared, lost and uncertain of what he should do.

Sometimes you selfishly wish he would just be gone, seeing him again and again hurts. You never approach him, afraid of how he might react. What if he doesn’t remember who you are? What if he evaporates the moment you get too close?

Today though you finally have the courage to talk with him. Of course you wish you could tie his soul to this imaginary fairytale place but he’s not happy and you know what is the right thing to do. So you walk up to his table and even when you stand just an arms length away from him there’s no acknowledgment or anything. He just stares out on to the open water, which shimmers golden in the late afternoon sun and there’s not a cloud in sight. Heavenly.

You sink down into the chair opposite him, that’s when you finally catch his attention. It’s been so long since you’ve seen his beautiful face this close. The golden hues of the sun make him look so angelic, he is your Angel.

Those curls tugged behind his ear, the ones you used to play with whenever he pulled you into his lap. Deep brown orbs that you fell in love with so incredibly quickly. His signature strong curved nose that brought you great pleasure all those times he went down on you. His plush lips, that mustache which always tickled when you kissed him. You loved kissing him, every chance you got your lips were attached to his. Big hands that you can still feel gripping your waist, sliding down your back to squeeze your butt, stroking through your hair and massaging your back when the pain flared up. Joel was utterly perfect in his own unique way.

You must’ve been silently sitting there for minutes so he’s the first to break the silence.

“Why are you cryin princess?”

You didn’t even notice the tears, immediately starting to wipe down your cheeks to get rid of the moisture.

“I miss you Joel,”

Joel Miller, your boyfriend, he’s the one you see here in this little beach side cafe again and again. Every night you go to sleep and wake up here in the cafe.

“, I feel as if I’m going insane.”

He appears confused and smiles.

“You see me every day baby, how can ya miss me?”

Does he not know what happened? Is he pretending to keep you from spiraling by ignoring the obvious?

“Joel, why are you still here?”

“ ‘cause ya need me, Ellie needs me and Tommy needs me.”

Joel’s smile is slowly turning into a frown.

“Who’s gonna take care of Ellie, huh?”

“Ellie has Dina, Tommy is there too and so am I. I know you are worried but we will take care of each other, always.”

You grip his hands that are placed in tight fists on the table. Stroking over the back of his hands like you did whenever he couldn’t calm his racing thoughts.

“Joel, you should go. Believe me I wish you could just stay, but this is not right.”

He’s about to open his mouth to argue when a cheery, light, sweet and girlie giggle fills the room. Joel’s eyes fill with fresh tears, he recognizes the giggle anywhere and so do you. In all those years you got to enjoy with Joel he told you many stories about his first baby, Sarah. How bubbly she was, so full of love and happiness.

“Sarah is waiting for her daddy to come home, don’t make her wait any longer. It’s okay to let go Joel.”

As you say this your hands let go of his and you get up.

“I’ll find you again when it’s time Joel, that’s a promise.”

One last look before you turn and walk away, leaving the man you loved.

You wake up in the bed Joel and you shared, facing his side hand placed where he would lay. The sun is shining in through the window, birds chirps outside and somehow you feel a bit lighter. He’s not entirely gone, you can still feel him here, but he’s not scared anymore. He found his peace and so can you now.

©️ evolnoomym 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[justchillandshipit]

Sometimes I feel unsatisfied with the answers in interviews. They bring me down. I'm not saying there is anything inherently bad in them or the actor doesn't interview well. In fact, in Oliver S's case, he interviews fantastically. It's really just that he can't say because he doesn't know or isn't allowed to say what the situation is with Buddie.

Here is the thing, and I've said this before. The show has already shown me that Buck and Eddie are in love. It reads to me as romantic love. I have a lot of respect for the character of Buck, and I do see and believe you shouldn't attach his sexuality to a specific person. Buck would be bisexual if Eddie existed as a character or not. I can respect that. However, this is a fictional character in a fictional show, and he was not introduced as a bi-character first. We were shown his feelings and attachments long before we had him as a canon bi-character.

For the show not to acknowledge that those feelings are already there is a disservice to the storytelling and viewers. I know a lot of people can twist anything into, "Hey this is proof," but no it isn't. Not really. I want to support the actors by viewing as these episodes air, but I'm really not built for that. I think I would be a happier viewer if I watched all of the episodes as a marathon. It would allow me to see the journey without the speculation of will they/won't they in between.

With that in mind, if we don't get confirmation on Eddie tonight which would make an eventual Buddie canon possible, then I will likely not continue watching in March. I will wait until all the episodes air and watch in one go.

[moonsuke]

Oh my fucking gosh all these edge lord lines Rin have been spouting were thrown at him by Sae first 😭

It makes me think Rin is constantly living in this trrrraumatic (lol) moment of his brother abandoning him, though it was painful too seeing Sae's expression when his lil brother first dismissed his dreams like that.

But ngl I get hyped seeing scenes like these:

Like yessss BRING BACK THE OG BLUE LOCK ENERGY. It also reminded me of Reo and Nagi lmao. I know most people when seeing scenes like these tend to take "sides" and hate on the ones who "leave" but I'm not one of them lol. Actually, I tend to like the ones who "leaves" 🤡

Anyway, its clearly meant to be sad and I do feel sad for Rin (and Reo) but my point is, this is what the narrative is going for, just enjoy it and don't make it so personal? Just go with the story??

I do feel very sad for Rin when he's sulking on his bed though, like poor baby ;-;

Aww 😭😭😭😭

But his reaction after makes me like him a lot more! As expected of my second fav :')

Especially his "These feelings... That time back then... You can't just pretend like it didn't happen!! Those weren't lies!!" I love how confident he is of his past memories and bond with Sae? It's refreshing? Compared to the typical reaction (that annoys me) of them completely forgetting the past and focusing too much on the present and hurt they feel? I mean he's still basing his future actions and entire personality off this event, but I just really like that he didn't just entirely dismiss and doubt their bond like that. Says a lot about their bond actually, or rather Rin's feelings towards it.

Also, I can see knsr is recycling tropes here 🤡 and loves making the ones who got abandoned react very intensely lol. He mentioned before he likes seeing characters in such downward spirals right? And he likes writing them in an over the top, over-dramatic manner?

I get Rin's logic of spiral though, he's dedicated his entire childhood to soccer because of his "dream" of being the best with his brother. He really gave his everything to it 😭 but it was all trampled upon by Sae, so I can see how this is equivalent to his life being ruined. It's always cool to see characters being so dedicated and single-minded to their goal (because I can never be like that).

So I'm guessing for the Sae and Rin plot, for Rin to crush Sae's "dream", Sae has to want to be a striker again? I would like some "role reversal" where Rin gets to be the midfielder for Sae's striker sometimes, or they take turns. Actually I would love this for ReoNagi too, where Reo wants to be the striker himself, and Nagi supports (and learns some playmaking skills finally) but we'll see... I still have so much of the manga to go 😭

It was very bizarre to see Rin (and Sae) being "normal" as kids, but that's typical right? Their story seems like a typical brotherhood turned enemies slash rivals trope? I've seen many compared them to Itachi and Sasuke but please, they'll never? I like Rin, he's my second fav after Nagi but he'll never be Sasuke no matter how many superficial similarities and tropes they share (Revenger, edgy, brother complex). I'm sorry but Rin lacks the flair that Sasuke has, which I suspect comes from how much the mangaka likes him. You can always tell there's something "extra" to a character because the creator likes them or vibes with them, almost like meta "star quality" lmao. This is why I like Sasuke and Nagi :)

Rin sadly, don't seem to receive that love.

Also I love their current dynamics lmao. Rin being the one to approach Sae first with the sibling rivary, Sae being cold but also getting caught up in it, calling each other shitty older brother and pain in the ass younger brother because their blood still ties them and they acknowledge that despite being so outwardly cold and stoic awwww :')

[newwavesylviaplath]

okay yall warning angry feminist alert!!! this might actually be somewhat controversial so i might take it down later depending on how i feel and also im not gonna delete comments just cuz i disagree with them but i will get rid of the ones i find disrespectful. this is my blog if u don't like block and move on 🫶🫶🫶🫶

there is nothing on earth that i hate more than woke feminism. makes my blood boil actually! i also hate how terfs and radfems are so intrinsically linked. i don't want to hear anything about 'oh well if you're a radfem you MUST be transphobic they're the same thing!!' they are not! that's why the term 'trans exclusionary radical feminist' exists. because regular radical feminists are not trans exclusionary. however pointing out the differences between trans issues and cis issues is 100% important to radical feminism. just because we're acknowledging that trans women do not face all of the same issues as cis women do does not mean trans women aren't women. for example, there are certain experiences i will never face as a white woman - i can empathize and do my best to listen to my peers - but i will never fully understand the things women of colour are put through, because i am not one. however just because we haven't had the exact same experiences as eachother does not make either of us 'less of a woman' than the other. trans women will never go through certain experiences that cis women do and it is important for us to talk about that. however, we still share a lot of the same issues and pretending like we both go through life experiencing the exact same biases is willfully ignorant.

not to mention!! being a woman is not just about the suffering we go through. and terfs that claim trans women aren't real women clearly view the idea of womanhood as nothing more than an inconvenience when at the end of the day it's truly a beautiful thing.

ps to anyone who wants to argue with me abt the whole 'radfems are inherently terfs' thing; it's a known fact andrea dworkin (one of the most prolific writers of radfem theory) was supportive of trans ppl while she was alive and her good friend/life partner john stoltenberg came out after her death stating that she was a trans INCLUSIONARY radfem

[bharv]

One thing I enjoyed about not choosing the Emmrich romance in the end is how organic that felt and how it still felt like the bond had actually been there.

Marcady is a young dwarven woman who grew up in a country that has prized magic above anything else. She’s cut off from education, prospects, and the experiences of some of her peers because of it. And both Emmrich and Bellara show her world beyond herself. I like to think it all starts with both her and Bellara just sitting asking Emmrich question after question, and he’s flattered and of course, enjoys the attention.

Then it becomes a fun little crush. Emmrich has so much knowledge he can share, and both of them like that feeling of the exchange of that knowledge. He is attracted to her youth, her vitality. She is attracted to his warmth and generosity.

But when it comes to it, when things are revealed about the past of the Dwarves, things shift a little. It’s not just fun anymore. Marcady wants to know more about the fade because not being able to dream feels like a tremendous pain to her now. And, in turn, his own ambitions are so outside of her comfort, where she is in life as a very young woman, that the differences become too stark. It’s not a fight or argument, it’s just an acknowledgement that they are from different worlds and want different things. But the affection, and the love, is still there. She wants to support him to be everything he ever wanted. Just because it isn’t a consummated romance, doesn’t mean the love has gone.

[goodqueenaly]

What do you think of Corlys Velaryon and Rhaenys Targaryen? I specifically ask about their political attitudes toward Daemon, Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra's children, their own children (Laenor and Laena), etc.

Corlys is a character I like; but I see him acting out of ambition rather than love. But I wonder how far his ambition has gone: did he suspect that Daemon killed Laenor? Did he really like Rhaenyra's children? Did he just support Rhaenyra in power or was he also afraid of her and what she could do to him?

These questions I also extend to Rhaenys. I feel like we got little from her (And she wasn't the only one, as F&B has a lot of issues), so it's hard to say to what extent she supported Rhaenyra because she was also a woman who had her rights taken away, or if it was just out of ambition (or both).

As I know that Fire and Blood has a lot of problems (even more in the Dance), I understand if I can't do a great analysis on these two. But I would love to know what do you think about them and their attitudes!

Sorry for any grammatical errors and thanks in advance for your response!

First off, and the ask somewhat identifies this issue, one of the major problems in relying on Fire and Blood to understand the personal feelings of any of the characters within that book is that the very nature of Fire and Blood severely limits such analysis. Because we are reading about Corlys and Rhaenys (and everyone else in the roughly century and a half of history the book covers) from the ostensibly objective historian perspective of Gyldayn, a figure who lived and wrote more than a century after Corlys and Rhaenys died, we can only experience these characters at arm’s length. We are not in their heads, nor are we in the heads of any individuals directly interacting with these figures; we can only glean elements of their personality via those historical anecdotes Gyldayn chooses to share, quite the difficult prospect. Although GRRM, via Gyldayn, does sometimes invent more personal moments for his characters despite the absence of in-universe sources for such moments or the practical implausibility of Gyldayn knowing about them - think of, for example, Cregan Stark’s conversation with Alysanne Blackwood - many figures are left frustratingly vague in terms of their internal characterization. 

Consequently, Corlys and Rhaenys are, along with (albeit to varying extents) every other character in F&B, something of an enigma, at least in terms of personal thoughts and feelings. Just as I once discussed with Daemon Targaryen (in the question of his love for Rhaenyra as well as his feelings toward her “Velaryon” sons), there is very little to extrapolate from the (themselves limited) actions we have taken by Corlys and Rhaenys to determine how they personally felt about many of the people and events around them. Corlys, so far as we know, never reacted to the rumor (I think true rumor) that Daemon had his son Laenor murdered (and indeed, given his open bounty on Qarl Correy, I don’t know that Corlys ever knew or suspected as much); moreover, even if Corlys and/or Rhaenys were part of the “court and commons” outraged by the news of Daemon and Rhaenyra’s hasty marriage, this anger could well have been simply the expression of grieving parents shocked at the indecently quick remarriages (to one another) of their sometime children-in-law, and not necessarily also a reflection of any particular suspicion of Daemon. Likewise, both Corlys and Rhaenys obviously acknowledged Rhaenyra as queen following the death of Viserys I - but whether they did so solely because either or both wanted to see their “Velaryon” grandchildren on the Iron Throne, or also (and not mutually exclusively) because either or both wanted to support the claims of a female ruler in lieu of Rhaenys not becoming queen in her own right, is unanswerable. 

On top of this, I think it’s important to note that for Westerosi aristocratic society, love and political ambition aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive. This is a point I made when talking about whether Ned and Catelyn would have allowed their children to marry for love alone, and it bears repeating here; even the parents (like Ned and Catelyn) who most clearly care for and love their children are operating in a socio-political system that mandates marriages be made for the advantage of their dynasties, not simply the dictates of their hearts. Rhaenys and/or Corlys can well have loved their children while also using their marriage arrangements for political advantage - and indeed, may well have seen the latter as an expression of the former, with either or both parents working for the advancement of their children as a way of showing their care for their children. To be clear, I don’t want to say every politically ambitious parent in Westeros is necessarily a loving one - Randyll Tarly had clear ambitions with both of his sons’ would-be or actualized marriage arrangements and is simultaneously a horrible human being, and that goes even more so for Tywin Lannister - only that I don’t think we as readers should automatically equate “ambitious” with “unloving”.  

In that context, I think Corlys and Rhaenys are a bit of a mixed bag. The Velaryons certainly seem to have been willing to betroth Laena at a very young age, first to King Viserys and then to the son of the Sealord of Braavos - and in at least the former case, the apparent expectation that Laena would give birth to children sooner rather than later. I’m not saying that I consider Corlys or Rhaenys equivalent to, say, Unwin Peake (and his (unnamed!) daughter) - but just as I criticized that mega-creep Rodrik Arryn for not looking after his own daughter Aemma’s welfare in marrying her off at eleven to Prince Viserys himself, I think there is room for criticism of any Westerosi parent, Corlys and Rhaenys included, who participates in the disturbing pattern of shoving their daughter into marriage and childbirth at an extremely young age. Likewise, that Corlys and Rhaenys wished to have Laenor marry Rhaenyra despite Laenor’s own, almost certainly apparent unwillingness to do so is a reflection of their participation in that same socio-political system of dynastic continuity, and the unfairness inherent to that system; Laenor was no Loras Tyrell-esque third son whose elder brothers could wed and breed (or, indeed, a Daeron I-esque eldest son who could outsource the production of an heir to a younger brother), but the only male heir of a couple whose royal ambitions predated Laenor’s own birth. Still, while I hesitate to give Corlys and Rhaenys real praise for not marrying Laena to the Sealord’s son, given that the match seemed to be as politically hollow as it was personally disastrous, but I would like to imagine that Laena was more pleased to marry Daemon than she would have been that wastrel Sealord’s son (as indeed, her marriage to Daemon does not seem to have been facially unhappy); in that light, perhaps we can give a crumb of credit to the Velaryons for matching Laena with a more personally suitable husband. Too, I do think it’s worth noting a certain sense of fondness Corlys seems to have had, perhaps less to Rhaenyra’s elder sons as individuals as much as toward their identities as specifically Velaryons: when Jacaerys loftily declared that “[o]nly Targaryens ride dragons" (emphasis in original), Corlys supposedly  “grumbled at this, insisting that the three boys were Velaryons, yet he smiled as he said it, with pride in his voice”. 

Ultimately, and frustratingly, so much of Corlys and Rhaenys as characters is left to the imaginations of readers. Unless (and probably not until) GRRM writes a novella in their POV or interacting directly with them, they remain at arm’s length, sketched rather than fleshed out as personalities.

(Once again, this is not about That Other Show and please do not use this post to talk about That Other Show.)

[ktyekmrf30]

5 years ago I was a little too naive and convinced that you can go to a therapist for 2-3 months and solve most of your life problems that were by your side for the 20 or so years. 2 years and 3 months ago I came to a session with a therapist for the first time after I almost broke down. Next wednesday I'll still go to the next session.

At first I thought that I went to a therapist primarily for myself, to live my best and more peaceful life - and this is mostly true. But then, after some time, I finally realized that there are also motives that I didn't want to admit at first even to myself. I went to a therapist to work through old traumas so that it would help me maintain relationships with my family and mother. I came to this thought for the first time and now I'm ready to admit that I went to heal my traumas for the sake of another person and not just for myself. As if there was something shameful or weird about changing and be better version of yourself for someone. And Q thought about it too.

But excluding this, Q, on the other hand, feels diametrically opposite to me. I believe that earlier, when he first went to therapy, it wasn't his idea, it was his father or the doctors who were seeing him with his sleepwalking and panic attacks, because at that time Q was a minor, teenager with no support system and with a strict father, and it's hard to decide for yourself that you need a therapist, especially when you 15-16yo. So it was definitely his doctor or his father because the doctor told him to. But then Q stopped going and it's been a few years now.

All this time Q didn't see any reason to continue working on himself, his fears, nightmares and sleepwalking for his own sake. But he wanted to do it for Min and he went to therapy with the primary thought that he was doing it for another person. And I actually think he's going to have the opposite situation just like me where after some time he finally acknowledges that, yes, maybe he initially sought help for the sake of another person, but he realized that he really needed help for his own sake in the first place, because several times on the show he had expressed the idea that he was lonely and desperate and was destined to die alone by himself. And that means he actually wanted to fix something in his life for himself, he just didn't dare to think about it or admit it.

Also I think it is so important to represent that no love will magically heal the traumas of the soul, that it is a long process during which you should be supported and not being judged by your loved ones and even after starting therapy nothing will disappear immediately, it is still a healing process, which is built differently for everyone. For someone it can take 4 months, 2 years or 6 years.

And at the end of the episode, Q is not fully cured and he has years ahead of him to get rid of all his demons, which can be awaken even in the most trivial everyday situations but it's still a happy ending. A realistic happy ending where you accept and learn to love the process of life and recovery. It's not about achieve the goal before we'll see ending credits because in real life there is just one chance for ending credits. And we were only shown the middle of Q's path, his happy ending journey during which Min fully supported him and will continue to support him. And there's something special about how Q looks happier and healthier in that last scene compared to what we saw from him before.

[lau219]

You all know I like staying positive and friendly on here, but this PSA must be made…again…

If requests are being fulfilled, then writers should not be hearing crickets!

I don’t know how many times this needs to be said, but clearly it bears repeating yet again:

If you ask a writer for more content (and in my case, I’ve been flooded with inquiries and people begging me for my two recent updates), regardless of whether it’s via anonymous ask or DM, it is not cool to then go silent when your request is fulfilled. Acknowledgement and feedback is standard social protocol and courtesy when someone does something for you.

This isn’t about writers wanting attention for the sake of attention; this is basic appreciation for doing something you asked us to do.

Think of it this way: if you repeatedly had done a favor for someone that they asked of you, but then they never acknowledged or thanked you for it any of the times you helped them, would you want to keep doing it for them? Probably not.

I’m saying this on behalf of all writers, not just myself. Any flak or hate I receive on this will go unanswered. There’s no debating this topic.

Support your writers or they will lose the motivation to do you any favors. Period.

Ok, back to friendly positivity now. 😁

[lord-squiggletits]

Hostage not in the sense that he/Delphi were physically captured or held under duress, but more accurately described as blackmail: the deal with Tarn, according to Pharma, was explicitly that Pharma would deliver t-cogs and in return the DJD would allow Delphi and everyone in it to continue standing. So it was a literal "do it or we'll kill you" kind of danger that was even worse because Delphi is described as a 'small, obscure little facility on the edge of DJD territory.' So even if they attempted to weather a full on attack, it's unlikely that they would be able to hold off the DJD simply because Delphi is that small, under-supported, and forgotten. I mean, the entire medical staff is literally just three people to support a mine that supposedly has soldiers constantly fighting over it in a stalemate.

We can easily assume Pharma didn't want to do it given that the entire premise of the deal was "t-cogs or we kill all of you," and up until that point (only shown in flashbacks in later issues) Pharma was by all reasonable standards an ethical doctor, and an exceptionally genius one as well, AND was friends with Ratchet and next in line to be CMO. So in terms of personality, behavior, work ethic, skill, and connections, every single sign points to the fact that Pharma was a perfectly normal, non-violent and non-malpracticing doctor.

Canon doesn't really say that Pharma developed a mad doctor personality to cope with the trauma, but everyone in fandom takes that as canon pretty much because nothing else makes sense. Normal doctor -> T-cog deal happens -> Crazy doctor = We can assume that the blackmail deal of being forced to let patients die and then outright kill them probably had something to do with Pharma going fucking nuts. (Plus in fanon a lot of people point out that Pharma looks like he's displaying signs of mental illness, YMMV which one depending on the person.)

And yeah, Pharma does get labeled as a bad person for being a victim of blackmail and torture. It's not like the narrative doesn't establish how horrible the DJD are until later issues; literally in the same issues (4-5) that the Delphi arc happens, we hear gossip from the Autobots that say 1. Apparently just seeing the DJD kill someone can be incredibly traumatizing in the long-term 2. Decepticons would rather die of their wounds than be treated by an Autobot doctor out of fear of being labeled a traitor by the DJD and 3. After Pharma has his freak out moment and shoots/runs, Drift literally tells Ratchet that if Pharma is working with the DJD and they're coming, he wants Ratchet to kill him before they can get to him.

Not even getting into all the issues AFTER the Delphi arc where the DJD only get more and more obscene, overpowered, and terrifying, and every single other time the handiwork of the DJD attacking Autobots is shown, it's stuff like alt-Rewind being a whimpering mess and people going "shhh it's okay" to him or Skids going "the DJD are so powerful and sadistic, can you imagine what it would've been like to be here when this happened?"

But Pharma? No, he's just a mad doctor who made the t-cog deal because he's selfish and only wanted to spare his reputation 🙄 clearly the reason he got trapped in a do-or-die blackmail deal is because he was always secretly a bad person or had something mentally wrong with him (fanon). Or, in terms of canon, "Welp it sucks that Pharma went crazy and started killing patients, he used to be such a good doctor it's such a shame" (never once acknowledges that Pharma didn't just "go insane" randomly and what he did was a direct result of threats of torture/probably actually being tortured).

Unfriendly reminder that out of all the victims of the DJD Pharma is literally the only one who's victim-blamed for not fighting back/calling for help/running when it was obviously impossible for him to do so + is the only one whose traumatic behavior/symptoms are framed as a reason why he's evil and deserves abandonment/death. Because he's also the ONLY victim of the DJD whose trauma manifests as lashing out and behaving erratically/aggressively, because there's no easier way to victim-blame than to pick a victim whose trauma response is ugly and scary and creepy and not uwu tragic sad traumatized

[yay-depression]

god is everyone in my family allergic to fucking normal conversation?? what the fuck??