#i refuse to stop talking about this. i cannot believe there haven’t been more articles. if you know where to look it’s clear as day my jury

[anthonycrowley]

the neil gaiman sa allegations are wild because i’m sitting here like wow neil gaiman had an incredibly intense impact on me in a variety of ways for at least the better part of a decade like at the very least most of my friends i made directly or indirectly with my connection with gomens and i think it’s fair to say that if anyone has made gomens a personality trait it’s me. and i saw that five separate women (so far) came forward saying at the very least he’s a fucking creep who preys upon women who he holds power over so i went wow that’s disgusting i don’t think i will be supporting this man financially any longer. at the very least. like i will make a conscious effort to not support. this fucking. predator. and then i go onto the wider internet and people i hold in high regard are like neilman sa allegations? what’s that? news outlets i hold in high regard are like neilman sa allegations? what are those? and i feel like i am actually for real going insane. why are you gaslighting me pretending the author of my favorite book doesn’t have active sa allegations against him. why are you making me, a fan, be the one to get this news out to the best of my ability (which i feel like i have to do, because i’m a fucking gomens blog) even though i’d rather stick a fork in my hand than discuss this topic more than i absolutely have to. okay i know why it’s because neil is tied up financially in a lot of projects and you as people i respect don’t want to get on his bad side so you can continue to make bank. but also. oh my god. someone in the science fiction/fantasy world grow a fucking spine and take a financial hit for your morality and if you believe in that sort of thing eternal soul just once challenge.

[tyrannuspitch]

Jumping off @kidrat​ ’s recent post on JKR, British transphobia, and transphobia against transmasculine people, after getting a bit carried away and too long to add as a comment:

A major, relatively undiscussed event in JKR’s descent into full terfery was this tweet:

[image id: a screenshot of a tweet from JK Rowling reading: “’People who menstruate.’ I’m sure there used to be a word for those people. Someone help me out. Wumben? Wimpund? Woomud?”

Rowling attaches a link to an article titled: “Opinion: Creating a more equal post-COVID-19 world for people who menstruate” /end id]

This can seem like a pretty mundane TERF talking point, just quibbling over language for the sake of it, but I think it’s worth discussing, especially in combination with the idea that cis women like JKR see transmasculine transition as a threat to their womanhood. (Recite it with horror: ”If I were young now, I might’ve transitioned...”)

A lot of people, pro- or anti-transphobe, will make this discussion about whether the term “woman” should include trans women or not, and how cis women are hostile to the inclusion of trans women. And that’s absolutely true. But the actual language cis women target is very frequently being changed for the benefit of trans men, not trans women, and most of them know this.

Cis people are used to having their identities constantly reaffirmed and grounded in their bodies. A lot of cis women, specifically, understand their social and physical identities as women as being defined by pain: misogynistic oppression is equated to the pains of menstruation or childbirth, and both are seen as the domain of cis women. They’re something cis women can bond over and build a “sisterhood” around, and the more socially aware among them can recognise that cis women’s pain being taken less seriously by medicine is not unrelated to their oppression. However, in the absence of any trans perspectives, these conversations can also easily become very territorial and very bioessentialist.

Therefore... for many cis women, seeing “female bodies” described in gender neutral language feels like stripping their pain of its meaning, and they can become very defensive and angry.

And the consequences for transmasculine people can be extremely dangerous.

Not only do transmasculine people have an equal right to cis women to define our bodies as our own... Using inclusive language in healthcare is about more than just emotional validation.

The status quo in healthcare is already non-inclusive. When seeking medical help, trans people can expect to be misgendered and to have to explain how our bodies work to the doctors. We risk harassment, pressure to detransition, pressure to sterilise ourselves, or just being outright turned away. And the conversation around pregnancy and abortion in particular is heaving with cisnormativity - both feminist and anti-feminist cis women constantly talk about pregnancy as a quintessentially female experience which men could never understand.

Using gender-neutral language is the most basic step possible to try and make transmasculine people safer in healthcare, by removing the idea that these are “women’s spaces”, that men needing these services is impossible, and that safety depends on ideas like “we’re all women here”. Not institutionally subjecting us to misgendering and removing the excuse to outright deny us treatment is, again, one of the most basic steps that can be taken. It doesn’t mean we’re allowed comfort, dignity or full autonomy, just that one major threat is being addressed. The backlash against this from cis women is defending their poorly developed senses of self... at the cost of most basic dignity and safety for transmasculine people.

Ironically, though transphobic cis women feel like decoupling “women’s experiences” from womanhood is decoupling them from gendered oppression, transmasculine people experience even more marginalisation than cis women. Our rates of suicide and assault are even higher. Our health is even less researched than cis women’s. Our bodies are even more strictly controlled. Cis women wanting to define our bodies on their terms is a significant part of that. They hold the things we need hostage as “women’s rights”, “women’s health”, “women’s discussions” and “support for violence against women”, and demand we (re-)closet ourselves or lose all of their solidarity.

Fundamentally, the problem is that transphobic cis women are possessive over their experiences and anyone who shares them. Because of their binary understanding of gender, they’re uncomfortable with another group sharing many of their experiences but defining themselves differently. They’re uncomfortable with transmasculine people identifying “with the enemy” instead of “with their sisters”, and they’re even more uncomfortable with the idea that there are men in the world who they oppress, and not the other way around. “Oppression is for women; you can’t call yourself a man and still claim women’s experiences. Pregnancy is for women; if you want to be a man so badly why haven’t already you done something about having a woman’s body? How dare you abandon the sisterhood while inhabiting one of our bodies?”

Which brings me back to the TERF line about how “If I were young now, I might have transitioned.”

I’m not saying Rowling doesn’t actually feel any personal connection to that narrative - but it is a standard line, and it’s standard for a reason. Transphobic cis women really believe that there is nothing trans men go through that cis women don’t. They equate our dysphoria to internalised misogyny, eating disorders, sexual abuse or other things they see as “female trauma”. They equate our desire to transition to a desire to escape. They want to “help us accept ourselves” and “save us” from threats to their sense of identity. The fact is, this is all projection. They refuse to consider that we really have a different internal experience from them.

There’s also a marked tendency among less overtly transphobic cis women, even self-proclaimed trans allies, to make transphobia towards trans men about cis women.

Violence against trans men is chronically misreported and redefined as “violence against women”. In activist spaces, we’re frequently told that any trauma we have with misogyny is “misdirected” and therefore “not really about us”. If we were women, we would’ve been “experiencing misogyny”, but men can’t do that, so we should shut up and stop “talking over women”. (Despite the surface difference of whether they claim to affirm our gender, this is extremely similar to how TERFs tell us that everything we experience is “just misogyny”, but that transmasculine identity is a delusion that strips us of the ability to understand gender or the right to talk about it.)

I have personally witnessed an actual N*zi writing an article about how trans men are “destroying the white race” by transitioning and therefore becoming unfit to carry children, and because the N*zi had misgendered trans men in his article, every response I saw to it was about “men controlling women’s bodies”.

All a transphobe has to do is misgender us, and the conversation about our own oppression is once again about someone else.

Transphobes will misgender us as a form of violence, and cis feminist “allies” will perpetuate our misgendering for rhetorical convenience. Yes, there is room to analyse how trans men are treated by people who see us as women - but applying a simple “men oppressing women” dynamic that erases our maleness while refusing to even name transphobia or cissexism is not that. Trans men’s oppression is not identical to cis women’s, and forcing us to articulate it in ways that would include cis women in it means we cannot discuss the differences.

It may seem like I’ve strayed a long way from the original topic, and I kind of have, but the central reason for all of these things is the same:

Trans men challenge cis women’s self-concept. We force them to actually consider what manhood and womanhood are and to re-analyse their relationship to oppression, beyond a simple binary patriarchy. 

TERFs will tell you themselves that the acknowledgement of trans people, including trans men, is an “existential threat” that is “erasing womanhood” - not just our own, but cis women’s too. They hate the idea that biology doesn’t determine gender, and that gender does not have a strict binary relationship to oppression. They’re resentful of the idea that they could just “become men”, threatened by the assertion that doing so is not an escape, and completely indignant at the idea that their cis womanhood could give them any kind of power. They are, fundamentally, desperate not to have to face the questions we force them to consider, so they erase us, deflect from us, and talk over us at every opportunity.

Trans men are constantly redefined against our wills for the benefit of cis womanhood.

TL;DR:

Cis women find transmasculine identity threatening, because we share experiences that they see as foundational to their womanhood

The fact that transphobes target inclusive language in healthcare specifically is not a mistake - They do not want us to be able to transition safely

Cis women are uncomfortable acknowledging transphobia, so they make discussion of trans men’s oppression about “womanhood” instead

This can manifest as fully denying that trans men experience our own oppression, or as pretending trans men’s experiences are identical to cis women’s in every way

[cellsshapedlikestars]

If you are accepting prompts--how about Sansa and Jon being on opposite sides of a political contest? Prime Minister Rhaegar Targaryen is forced to call a referendum for Northern independence, as demanded by the Northern Nationalists party. He is campaigning in the North for a United Westeros, taking his second wife Lyanna Stark and their son Jon along, toshow how hollow all talk if Northern independence is. However, this means that Jon keeps running into his Stark cousins, particularly Sansa Stark, who accompanies her parents to every debate and campaign rally...

I've been sitting on this for a while (and yes, I do see all the anon prompts, I promise!) and I've sort of been writing this on and off since I got it. The thing is, I have no point of reference for these politics, I'm assuming you wanted something like the Scottish independence movement, which I have almost no knowledge of as I am a dumb American who can barely handle American politics without spiraling into anxiety and depression. So, I've sort of talked around the specifics and hopefully I haven't gotten anything too crazy wrong.

Also, you mention his Stark cousins, but... well, I cannot do modern incest. I can handle them being cousins in olden times where it was acceptable & common (I can't even handle the sibling incest aspect in any time period), but I was writing this modern and that's a hard nope for me. I know it's a fairly predominant part of this fandom and if it's your thing, absolutely have at it! There is no kink shaming in this house. It's just not for me and I couldn't write it, sorry!

Also, as usual, this turned out longer than I intended since these are supposed to be drabbles mostly. But 'drabbles' for me always end up like 2k words

.

Jon sits in the window seat of the jet, headphones on and turned up. Somewhere behind him, he knows his parents are sitting, likely talking strategy. He knows dad wants him to join in, but Jon's in no mood to talk politics. It's what got him in this situation to begin with.

That stupid reporter. Jon's stupid response.

Jon! How do you feel about Northern Independence?

I say let them.

It's what he believes, honestly – if the North wants independence, why not? The rest of the SK treats them like shit anyway, why not let them break off, like Dorne did? It's not a naming issue – they're still called the Seven Kingdoms despite losing Dorne decades ago, so what if they're technically only six now? Jon knows it's about more than that – it's economics and politics and... well, pride. The SK can't lose another piece of their kingdom – nevermind that piece has been conquered and beaten down multiple times over hundreds of years. Northern Independence isn't a new concept – it's just been met with military resistance every time and stamped out. But they aren't in the middle ages anymore.

For a moment he turns his head to look behind him – to see mom with her head bowed in conversation with dad and something ugly twists in Jon's stomach.

He knows dad only married mom because she got pregnant – because his political career was just taking off and a mistress and bastard would have ruined him. And mom, she'd been so young, she's convinced herself he married her for love. Jon swears that mom used to be different. She used to argue with Rhaegar all the time about politics, he even remembers her bringing up Northern Independence when Jon was just a kid. But over the years she's had to play the perfect wife for him and somewhere along the way it just... stuck. Mom isn't his mom anymore. No, mom is what Rhaegar's political advisors want her to be.

So even though Jon had wanted to protest this trip, there's also a part of him desperately clinging to the hope that when they get North, mom will snap out of it. When she's home, maybe she'll be his mom again.

Especially since the leader of the opposition is an old friend of hers.

Ned Stark.

Dad doesn't react to much, he's a politician to his core, so seeing him get riled anytime Ned Stark is on TV is notable. In fact, there's a rebellious part of Jon that already likes Ned Stark simply for the fact that dad hates him so much. There's more to like than just that, Jon knows – Ned Stark seems like one of those politicians that's doing the job because they want to make a difference. They're rare, nowadays, but Jon's been surrounded by politicians his whole life and he can spot the do-gooders from a mile away.

He thinks it's partly why dad hates it – Ned Stark doesn't use the same underhanded tactics Rhaegar's used to, and from everything Jon's heard, there's nothing to use against Ned. The only skeleton dad's advisors had ever found tucked away in Ned Stark's closet had been that his wife, Catelyn, had originally dated his older brother Brandon, who died in a car accident. They'd begun dating and married shortly after - a minor scandal that hadn't gained any traction, considering they've been married for over twenty years with five children.

Dad was hoping to get somewhere with the youngest daughter, Arya, who always seemed more wild than the rest of her siblings (except maybe the youngest, Rickon). The problem is that she's never done anything really wrong and the North loves her. The oldest son Robb is as perfect a son as any politician could hope for and Jon sometimes wonders if dad would rather have Robb than Jon.

The other two sons are still fairly young and going after them would only make dad look like the bad guy. Then there's Sansa.

Jon remembers her from growing up – not that he'd ever met her, but they're both kids of prominent politicians and he's seen her in photos since she was old enough to walk. A proper lady, he remembers even the southern press naming her. Perfect, just like her older brother.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his thoughts and he turns to see mom, who motions at him to take off his headphones.

“We're landing in a half hour and your father would like to go over your role,” she tells him with a perfect, bland smile. (She hasn't been his mother for a very long time.)

“I know my role,” he says and he can't help the bitter tone to his voice. “Stay quite, don't talk to the press. Pretty easy to remember.”

“And yet you still managed to nearly undermine my entire campaign with one flippant remark,” dad's voice calls over from his seat, low and smooth, though Jon absolutely hears the annoyance underneath it.

“Oh, he's just a child,” mom says, trying to play the peacekeeper like she always does.

“He's twenty, he's hardly a child,” dad starts, but Jon doesn't listen to the rest. He pulls his headphones back over his ears and looks back out the window and tries to pretend he's anywhere else.

…

By the time they reach Winterfell Castle, Jon is in a bad mood.

Not that he hadn't been before, but he's not allowed his headphones in the limo and so he'd had to listen to dad talk nonstop about his two favorite topics: Jon's failure as a son and how much he hates Ned Stark. And the way mom doesn't even try to defend Ned Stark like she used to infuriates Jon even more.

Jon hates his tuxedo and he hates that they barely had any time between landing and having to get ready for this dinner and he hates that he's going to have to smile and shake hands with a bunch of people who hate him on principle, simply for who his father is. For what his father represents.

When he does step out of the limo, he ignores every photographer and reporter that shouts his name, eager to get any sort of scandal out of him.

He doesn't blame them for this, he's given them enough over the years – not just his apparent support of Northern Independence, but everything else he's done to gain his notoriety. His reputation as a heartbreaker and a playboy that's mostly over-exaggerated, that time he punched a teacher (though to be fair, Thorne deserved it)... Teenage rebellion, they'd written it off as, but he's no longer a teenager and he knows he should grow up and stop doing things to piss off his father at some point.

(His favorite one had been sleeping with that investigative journalist when he was seventeen. She'd been older than him by a good few years and he'd known she was using him to write an article, but he was using her just as much to infuriate his father. His only true regret is that Ygritte's article hadn't done any real lasting damage to Rhaegar's reputation.)

Inside, there aren't any reporters but there are politicians everywhere and that's worse. He does the bare minimum to not cause an issue – he shakes hands and says hello, though he refuses to smile while doing it. They already hate him for being Rhaegar Targaryen's son. They already hate him for being Northern-traitor Lyanna Snow's son.

He keeps an eye on mom to see how she's doing and his heart twists painfully in his chest when he sees her. She has a bright smile on her face and anyone who didn't know her would think she's fine, but Jon can see how pale she is under her makeup. This is the first time she's been back in the North since she married dad and he has a sudden, sharp pang of hatred for Rhaegar – for getting her pregnant, for marrying her, for never letting her go back. For turning her into this.

He can tell the moment Ned Stark enters the room because mom freezes. And sure enough, there he is – beautiful wife at his side, the three adult children with him. Robb, Sansa, Arya. Jon's eyes scan over them – Robb with his perfect hair and smile, an easy way about him that's always come through even on camera. Sansa standing poised and almost too beautiful to believe – Jon's only ever seen her on film and somehow she's even more unreal in person. Arya, who by all accounts hates politics as much as Jon does, stands firmly by her family and Jon gets the sense she only hates the system, not her dad. Not like Jon.

As Jon scans the room, he can see other families here that he recognizes – the Greyjoys, including Robb Stark's best friend Theon. The Manderlys, the Karstarks, the Ryswells, the Boltons, the Mormonts. More families than Jon cares to remember.

There's a sense of someone behind him and he turns just enough to see that dad has come up to stand next to him. For a moment, dad just stands there before turning his head ever so slightly and bringing his mouth close to Jon's ear and he says so low Jon can barely even hear it - “if you do anything to embarrass me tonight, there will be consequences. If you do anything that makes it seem like you support this pathetic independence movement, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

Jon feels blind rage that winds so hot in his chest it makes him shake and his vision narrow. He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath before he can answer, and he grits out, “of course.” Dad nods and moves away, putting on his best politician smile as he goes to greet Howland Reed.

Mom shoots him a concerned look, but Jon ignores her. He can feel it building in him – that rebelliousness the press likes to talk about so much. He wants to hurt Rhaegar. For everything – for his mother, for all the people dad's stepped on and hurt. He wants to embarrass him, consequences be damned.

Just as he's thinking this, his eyes catch on copper hair and bright blue eyes.

Sansa Stark.

Darling of the press. Perfect Northern princess.

It takes root in his mind, against his better judgment. What would make Rhaegar more furious than an affair between his son and the daughter of Ned Stark?

Jon can't imagine Sansa would be amenable to the suggestion, not like Ygritte had been – there is no mutually beneficial agreement here. She would never agree to do something that might embarrass her father (and once again, Jon is reminded of the, pun intended, stark difference between his relationship with his father and the Stark children's relationship with Ned. Jon has never even met them in person and he knows this).

So he can't approach her with any sort of offer or plan. No, he'd have to pretend it was real.

He's going to have to seduce Sansa Stark.

[aethersea]

you know what, I never do these things, but actually I’ve decided I would like to get to know people better! I would like to partake of the mortifying ordeal! I would like to talk about myself for a bit!

ok for the next...let’s say five days I will answer any of these things that people tag me in, or any random personal questions you plop in my ask box. I don’t have an ask meme on hand but just....pick one you’ve seen recently, or make up questions of your own, and I’ll answer. (the answer might be ‘nope that’s private��� but I will answer.) (@ the anon who asked for book recs - I see you, I’ve been thinking of books all day, I’m going to give you SUCH a long answer, I hope you don’t regret your choices bc it WILL be full of gushing)

alright, let’s go!

🌻 Tag 9 people you want to get to know better

Tagged by @booksandchainmail​

Last Song: I’m currently listening to “Falcon in the Dive” from the Scarlet Pimpernel musical on loop. I watched one or two Scarlet Pimpernel movies when I was just barely too young to fully get what was going on, and the story’s held an odd but deep-seated place in my heart ever since. A few years ago I found out there’s a musical and most of the songs are pretty stellar (go listen to “Madame Guillotine” if you like big ensemble broadway numbers, it’s a banger, the bit where he cries out for God has been running through my mind on and off for a few days now haha not like that’s topical or anything), so every once in a while I spend a few days listening to them a lot.

Sometime last year I read the actual book, and got super into the whole concept of the Scarlet Pimpernel for a while. I plotted out Pimpernel aus for several fandoms, I read the entire wikipedia article, and I went looking for bootlegs of the musical. I didn’t find one, but I did find a full radioplay-style recording of the script, complete with full musical numbers, and listened to it like a podcast.

Reader, I was so disappointed. The play adds some scenes, bc a lot of the dramatic tension of the novel comes from internal conflict and that doesn’t stage super well, and the very first scene of this play – a play written in the NINETIES – features our dashing hero rescuing some aristocrats from a French prison, and then saying to the person in the next cell, who begs for rescue but is not an aristocrat, “We have enough of your kind in England.”

Enough! of your KIND! What in the merry frickety HECK my dudes!! The book has some rather unfortunate™ takes but it is from 1905, it’s regrettable but sadly to be expected. This play is from 1997. It has NO excuse. This scene wasn’t even in the book! What! the heck!

I was so disheartened that I lost my excitement for the play, and a couple songs later I stopped listening. It occurred to me just a few days ago that you could actually stage that ironically, with the person in the cell giving the audience a “can you believe this” look, and then the rest of the play could feature assorted non-aristocratic ensemble members constantly looking at the audience like they’re on The Office. And hey, maybe that’s what they did, or something similar – maybe that was never meant to be taken as a cleanly heroic stance, and the play deals with it in a complex way. It’s possible. I wouldn’t know. Kinda doubt it though, based on song lyrics.

Favorite Color: red, probably

Last Movie: I watched that new lesbian christmas movie with my family for christmas, the one with kirsten stewart and the guy from schitt’s creek. it’s very sweet and good and kinda sad, and I really enjoyed it. it also incidentally has the best gay best friend trope in probably anything ever, bc it’s not a trope (I didn’t realize until several hours after watching that it technically fits), it’s just a guy who is the protagonist’s best friend, and they’re just all gay, and then when he Gives Relationship Advice as a gay best friend always does, it’s advice about how to deal with your partner’s hangups around coming out.

actually every part of the gay best friend trope becomes better when they’re just best friends who are both gay. the big dramatic gestures (in this case, driving some ungodly distance in the snow on no notice) go from “haha how kooky” to “queer man will do anything he needs to to rescue his queer friend from an isolating & potentially triggering situation”. the relationship advice isn’t “honey you deserve some self-respect, treat yourself”, it’s a deeply sincere reminder of the vulnerability that is shared across almost everyone’s queer experience, and look I could ramble about this for a long time before reaching a coherent point but I’m INTO IT, okay? I’m into it.

Last Show: you want me to remember what show I last finished???? impossible, cannot be done, it was a long time ago and the adhd has eaten everything that happened before last week. here, instead I’ll tell you about another movie I watched, late at night with my mom in cozy companionship just a couple days ago. it’s called Quigley Down Under and it’s about a cowboy who goes to Australia and kills a bunch of racists, 10/10 would watch again. it’s from 1990 but it feels much older, with the music choices and the cinematography of a 70s Western. the cowboy is great, honorable and fearless and kind, but the breakaway star of this movie for me is the woman who attaches herself to his side and refuses to leave. her name is Cora, and she’s crazy, in the sense that she’s not altogether tethered to reality, but this never for a second diminishes her agency. she’s fierce and clever and compassionate, and she basically never does anything she doesn’t want to in the whole movie. her arc is about overcoming trauma by taking charge of her own fear and facing it head-on, she is never belittled or dismissed by the narrative or the protagonist, and look she’s just so cool. I love her. she’s so vibrantly alive. her story could probably have been handled with a bit more nuance, but honestly for the 90s it’s pretty great. I’m no expert, but I found nothing objectionable in it, just a bit of heavy-handedness.

anyway the theme of the movie is that racism is evil and racists deserve to be shot, and this too could have been handled better (not a single aboriginal character speaks a single line of english in this movie), but it follows through on that message in every way, while still being a fun kinda campy cowboy movie. overall a very good time.

Currently Watching: started showing my sister Hilda the other day, and she’s liking it! I love that show, it’s so incredibly cute. can’t wait to see season 2

Currently Reading: lmao I wish. lately the brain has firmly rejected all attempts to read anything of any length. currently pending, bc I was halfway through them when my brain stalled out, are tano’s fic What Does Kill You Can Make You Stronger, Too, a Toby Daye book - I think it was The Brightest Fell, I got like half a chapter in and haven’t picked it up in over a month, the Locked Tomb series, and probably a few other things too. ooh! also a book called Making Sex by thomas laqueur, which is my fancy academic reading that I’ve been doing in short bursts for the past year or two when I feel fancy and academic. it’s about the development of the concept of biological sex and of gender in Western society, and it’s fascinating. has among other things introduced me to the idea that until quite recently, fathers were a matter of faith. the mother? yeah, you can watch the baby pop out, we all know who the mother is. but the father? how can you know? how can you really know? we have paternity tests these days, but for all of human history up until now, we've just had to take fatherhood on faith. (not to mention we didn’t even know what fathers were contributing to the production of a fetus. clearly it was something, since you can’t get pregnant without a penis getting involved, but we have literally not known what until the past few decades. and that is wild. it has colored ALL of human history, all of our conceptions of society and family and kinship and gender, all of it, and it hadn’t even occurred to me until it was spelled out for me in this book, and it’s just......wow.

Salty, sweet or savory: for christmas my sister and I made seven different types of cookie, most of them involving chocolate somehow.

Craving: no bc I ate so many cookies. unless sleep counts. or maybe pringles, it’s been many moons since last I had a potato chip and I miss them.

Coffee or Tea: no thank you

Tagging: @coloursisee, @krchy-tuna, @sam-j-squirrel, @xzienne, @mirandatam, @viciousmaukeries, @sepulchritude, @elidyce, and @navigatorsnorth bc it’s been a while since we’ve talked, and I’m super hyped that you’re married now. v happy for you!

[press-x-tojason]

Giant Bomb is dead, and I care way less than I thought I would. Probably because 83% of the people who I ever cared about had already left or died, or were already relegated to reduced content roles. 

Honestly, though, the writing’s been on the wall for a bit. They haven’t had anything worthy of paying for premium in several years, and, even though they’ve had well over a year to figure out a plan for the COVID era, they maybe made it a month with their plans to have a series of streams daily. I actually managed to forget I followed them on Twitch at all, for about 4 months, because they only streamed the podcasts and the occasional former Harmonix employee (who was literally paid to make content with their games while employed at Giant Bomb, which was funny because he blocked me on Twitter for making a post, addressing no one, back in 2014, which was asking about the legitimacy of the leaked list of “games “””””journalists”””””” who had taken money from publishers for positive reviews, a list which included him and multiple then-coworkers. I didn’t follow him, he didn’t follow me. He was manually searching the keywords, because he was, and is, a prick.) solo Rock Band stream in the last 8 months or so. Even when Jeff would manage to do one of his 20 streams from home a year, it would be on his own channel. There was just no content. And they’re surprised their “pay for our unique premium content!” model failed. They always “feigned” anger at Dan for “making” them do the Mario Party Parties, and literally never promoted his and Drew’s Metal Gear series after the first game... but I bet that, when only those, UPF, and the ad-free versions of the podcasts were premium features, those two series were keeping them afloat. Well, that and the remaining goodwill they miraculously managed to hold onto for a few years after Ryan died.  Shit, I follow several people who are GB staff-adjacent, and... I can’t think of the last time they mentioned anything that happened on-site. Even the people who’ve been directly supporting them for over 10 years were out. 

But yeah, the site is super dead. They pretended in the announcements like they’re going to make a go of it still, but... you’ve got like 4 content people left, and the only one people give a shit about is Jeff. You just saw 3/4 of the side of the site that was still trying these past several months jump ship in a 3 month span. One of those was, by nearly any definition, a founding member. Of which you had already lost one, and are losing another from the main side. Jeff’s been way less active until the last week or two, probably because he heard they were leaving and was like “oops, should probably check on the ship that’s been sinking for years!” Then you have Jason “The Human Mumble” Oestricher, the charisma vacuum, whose legitimate public-facing reaction to first hearing that all but one of his GB predecessors were going to be gone. was, and I quote, “Hoo Boy.” Ben and Jan are the definition of “fine”. They would have been great, as they are today, as secondary members 8-10 years ago. But carry the site, they cannot. They’re down to, what, 5 named members now? It hasn’t been that dire since the beginning of 2009, before they hired Drew, when they hadn’t even started the P4 endurance run. You know, that surprise massive, internet-changing thing that essentially popularized the Let’s Play concept, loosening its definition and making it something that could be as personality-driven as game-driven, made simply to give them something to put on the website, beyond the rare review and, slightly later, quick look. This kinda illustrates the problem with modern Giant Bomb. When they were figuring shit out, flying by the seats of their pants, they came up with great shit, and they gave enough of a shit to make it happen. 0.000% chance they do a 10 hour Thanksgiving Kinect stream if the Kinect was new today. 0.000% chance the core members would have done an endurance run in the last 10 years if CT and Shenmue (which I haven’t watched) weren’t driven by the younger members. And you could see it in the fact that they never made a real, true mobile app. The number one thing that would have made them indispensable this past decade, an app to integrate premium features, the podcast, their video player, etc. all in one place in a mobile-friendly package, that could sync with the website... and they never even raised the idea publicly. I wonder how much of the innovation was the group think-tank of the first 5 years. Beyond Dan’s couple major contributions, I don’t think they added a single new type of content after 2012, which... still means the last 6.5 years lacked any semblance of innovation. I guess that’s a big part of why I fell off tremendously quickly after late 2014. There was just nothing new, and believe me, I was looking. I wanted reasons to stay watching. I supported them with my dollar. I believed in those brave early days. And I went back yesterday to watch the DP endurance run from VJ again. I still miss that rapport. And really, that hurt, too. Vinny moving back east, less than a year after Ryan passed... short term, it was fine. You had more people than ever to cover the gaps. But the spark was gone. The chemistry made the site. When I think of Giant Bomb, I still think of Jeff, Vinny, and Ryan, first and foremost. Those early podcasts, the NintenDownloads, the crazy tangents that everyone could seamlessly follow up on(well, except Brad, because he essentially slept through most of the podcasts, unless he was talking about the thing he did that week), the weird high-concept GOTY stuff... it wasn’t perfect, but you were entertained. You laughed. You were engaged. It never felt like you were watching them working, even though you could see the work they put in. It felt like, when they released something, you were experiencing a group of legitimate friends doing what they wanted to do anyways.(And boy have I seen enough groups do everything they can to NOT be enjoying doing that, and break up as a result due to hating the jobs that they chose to do). 

Part of me would love to make it as simple as “Ryan died, and so did the original spirit”, and... to a degree, it’s true. If you go back to any retrospective they’ve done about the founding of the site, or the podcast they recorded after Ryan passed, you can’t help but recognize that Giant Bomb never happens if these core members don’t all quit their jobs, led by Ryan,  because they respect their boss/manager, Jeff, and know he’s doing the right things(for them, for the reader/viewer, etc.) ahead of what GameSpot management wants him to do. Jeff could have been left in the wilderness, trying find a spot elsewhere, with the rumor going around between executives that Jeff wasn’t going to help them promote anything, essentially killing their revenue. He would have been done in terms of getting employed by a major site. But Ryan first, and soon after, Vinny and Brad, gave up their jobs to make this fledgling little project go. As much as the ERs brought me in and gave the impression that Jeff and Vinny were the long-standing duo, no, it was Ryan who was Jeff’s partner in crime. And, 8 years later, I can comfortably say... Giant Bomb never recovered from losing him. 

But it was so much more. Everything that set them apart slowly went away,  in time. I don’t think they’ve posted reviews for games in consecutive MONTHS since 2017; 2018 at the latest. They have done one Endurance Run in 9 years. They have not had a meaningful live event in 6 years. Unprofessional Fridays were more formulaic and lesser in volume and frequency after the major players started moving east. The lack of coordination between coasts killed the camaraderie, to the point that I think one of the last 5 true gameplay crossovers was their series of 2016-2017 PUBG shitfests. I remember when Vinny starting GBEast was supposed to be the start of a new era of content, and... it was, but not in a positive way, like it sounded. When half of each side seemed to constantly have no interest in making anything, nothing got made. But I guess that’s what happens when your second in command in one of your headquarters is just a former marketing grunt with an attitude problem, and the guy with the biggest ego on the team is the one who refuses to move to join either side, and just pushes out the most self-important drivel as a header to what were literally just copy-pasted articles from other sites every week while sitting at his desk, dreaming of the days Gawker would pay him to plagiarize political drivel instead, because that’s what really gets the soulless clicks. One of your founding members becomes depressed due to losing his two closest work friends, one for real, one to a 3000 mile separation, within a year, while the other one who is left virtually stopped playing anything but DOTA 2 for 2 years. Suddenly your most prominent personalities are the 2 new guys(one the aforementioned charisma vacuum, the other a walking mark) and your previously-mostly-off-camera producer who is best known to the wider Internet for... blinking. So, yeah, lifeless. And NOW, all you’ve got is old melancholy dad, charisma vacuum dad, and the two ADHD kids whose defining trait is that they choose to exclusively refer to their partners as “my partner” in voices that make it sound like they are embarrassed to have partners, while also talking more about what their partners are doing than what they do.  It’s confounding.

But yeah, TL:DR: RIP zombie Giant Bomb. Glad you’re finally getting taken behind the shed. It took 3 years too long, minimum.

[rhub4rb]

Home is Where the Heart is

AO3

[First chapter] [Previous chapter] [Next chapter]

Thank you to some lovely people on the discord for helping me edit this!

-_-_-_-

"Are you Alfred Pennyworth?" The girl's voice was soft, hesitant. "I'm here on behalf of Master Fu."

A sinking feeling rooted itself in Alfred's stomach at the severity of what this visit could mean. Stones dropping as he wondered why his friend wasn't there himself. Rather than voicing his concerns however, Alfred just opened the door wider and beckoned the girl inside.

He lead her through the halls of the manor, thinking up any possible explanations to give Bruce and the boys. He could gather from the expression of the girl, that this was important, and the lack of Fu's presence confirmed as much.

Miraculous matters would be discussed, he had no doubt about that, but he had no clue what it could be.

Was this tied in to that feeling he had gotten two weeks ago?

Looking back at the young girl behind him, he could only feel worry growing from within him. She was so young. Why was she here in Gotham on her own? Fu wouldn't leave her to find Alfred by herself, would he?

Finally, they reached the room and Alfred opened the door for her, leading her into the kitchen. Wordlessly, he pulled a chair out, asking her to sit, before excusing himself quickly.

As soon as he arrived in the living room again, he was bombarded with questions.

"Who was at the door?"

"Did they leave?"

"Do you know what they wanted?"

Alfred held up his hand to silence the Wayne brothers,  sans Tim, looking at them patiently.

"I am afraid that I cannot tell you," The sounds of their questions grew louder, and Alfred could feel his patience slip. Normally he would be more composed, but whatever the girl had come to talk to him about was important, and he didn't like leaving her alone in the kitchen for too long. "I will explain what I can when I'm done, but for now, please stay away from the kitchen."

With that, Alfred gave the family a final bow, walking back to the young miss in the kitchen. When he stepped inside, he saw her fiddling with something, but didn't get the chance to see what, as she snapped to attention by his entering. She sagged in relief and smiled at him tiredly.

"I'm sorry for the wait miss, I had to take care of some things for a moment." Alfred started preparing tea, glancing back at her before focusing on what he was doing.

"Of course, I understand. Thank you for talking with me," The girl said, bowing politely from her seat.

There was silence as Alfred finished making the tea, before he sat down in front of her, placing two warm cups of jasmine tea down for them.

"I'm Marinette, by the way," She said in haste, probably realizing she had yet to introduce herself.

"It's wonderful to meet you miss Marinette," Alfred said. "You said you were here on behalf of Wang Fu?"

The girl, Marinette, nodded, looking down with somber eyes.

"He passed away six days ago," She said quietly, Alfred looking down as he took in the information that he had feared. "I'm the new Guardian of the Miraculous."

Silence overtook the kitchen for a few moments as Alfred processed.

"I take it you are not here to simply discuss a fellow friend?" Alfred asked, Marinette shaking her head with a serious expression. "I thought as much," He said with a sigh.

She looked apologetic for a moment, biting her lip in hesitance. It seemed she was about to speak up, opening her mouth, but she closed it again and her eyes furrowed. Alfred was about to ask what was wrong as realization dawned in her eyes, and she held up a hand to stop him from talking.

She looked at him, her expression unreadable as she mouthed words at him.

'They're listening at the door.'

Alfred's eyes widened before he quickly rose, walked towards the kitchen door and opened it, blocking Marinette from the view of Jason, Dick, and Tim, who must have gotten up from the Batcave.

"H-hey Alfred! Didn't know you were here..." Tim tried futily, Alfred just raising an unimpressed brow.

"I do believe I instructed you to stay away from the kitchen," His expression hardened as Jason tried to look inside, and Alfred promptly stepped out, closing the door behind him. "Leave."

Tim and Dick were quick to listen, and forcefully pulled Jason away from the door before he got them into any more trouble.

Alfred let out a tired sigh, before opening the door and returning to Marinette.

She smiled at him sympathetically as he sat down in front of her, and Alfred could see that she had calmed down considerably compared to when she arrived.

"So," Alfred started. "Where were we?"

Marinette seemed to consider her words before she spoke, swirling the tea in her hands in thought, brows furrowed. Giving herself what seemed to be a determined nod, Marinette looked up at him again, set her tea aside and pulled something out from her pocket.

"Per request of Master Fu and as the new Guardian of the Miraculous, I ask you to be part of the new order," Marinette bowed deeply, raising up her hands with what seemed to be an amulet resting in her palms. "Help me rebuild the Order," She said, and her voice took on a pleading tone. "Please."

Alfred looked at the girl in sympathy. She was alone with one of the biggest responsibilities in the world, and she didn't even seem that old.

"Please rise, miss Marinette. It's usually me who bows around here," Marinette rose, but her eyes were furrowed. He hadn't taken the amulet. "Tell me, how old are you, miss Marinette?"

She seemed taken aback by the question, but she answered him nonetheless.

"I'm seventeen..."

 "For how many years have you been training to take over as guardian?"

Her brows furrowed.

"Around four years...?"

Alfred mulled over her answers. She was too young to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders alone.

"Then it would be me an honor to become part of the new order," Alfred said, and he saw how her eyes lit up with joy. "I would like you to meet my family as well," Alfred immediately noticed her hesitance.

"I don't know about that Alfred. I've done what I came here to do," Marinette said, confusion ringing clear in her voice.

"Miss Marinette, what do you plan on doing once you leave?"

Marinette shrunk in on herself, not looking Alfred in the eye.

"I don't know..." She whispered.

Alfred sighed.

"I will accept the amulet after you have met them," Alfred stated, cutting Marinette off before she even got the chance to open her mouth. "And after you have taken a shower. You don't exactly smell of roses, miss Marinette."

The young miss seemed to take offense to that.

"I haven't exactly been staying somewhere with running water, you know," She grumbled, crossing her arms. Alfred narrowed his eyes at her, worry forming in his chest.

"Where exactly have you been staying, miss Marinette?" Her eyes darted around, refusing to look him in the eye.

"You don't have to call me miss..." She said instead of answering him.

"Marinette," His tone was hard.

"An abandoned apartment, in Gotham Village," She shrunk in on herself again, shoulders rising. "I don't exactly have any legal documents."

Alfred was torn between prying more information out of her, and simply offering help.

He chose the latter.

"I will help with the documents and you will stay here until then. Understood?" Alfred could tell that she was about to protest, but when he raised an eyebrow at her, she simply sighed.

"Only until we have my documents figured out," She mumbled out, but Alfred took that as a victory nonetheless.

-

"Alfred's keeping secrets," Jason pouted, slumped in his seat with his arms crossed.

"Well, what did you expect?" Damian asked with a raised brow. "He told us to stay away from the kitchen."

The other boys didn't listen, focusing instead on sulking and wondering what was going on.

"Do you think he's quitting?" Jason wondered aloud.

"Alfred wouldn't quit," Dick said with a shake of his head, voice firm and resolute.

"Think it's a family member?" Tim asked.

"He would tell us if it was family matters, besides, does he even have any family outside of us?" Dick questioned.

The group fell silent again.

"This is very out of character for Alfred," Jason said, being the first to break the silence. "He's usually not this mysterious, is he?"

"He seemed distressed when he told us to stay away from the kitchen," Added Tim

"And angry when he caught us snooping. He normally doesn't get angry," Voiced in Dick.

The trio nodded to each other, Damian watching the conversation perplexed. It was like the group just shared one brain-cell at times.

Bruce walked into the room, and upon sight of his three eldest sons, immediately understood what was going on.

"They tried listening in on the kitchen, didn't they?" Bruce asked Damian as he sat down in his favorite chair with a book. Damian just nodded his head, and Bruce sighed tiredly. "Alfred already told us that he would explain as much as he could when he was done."

"Well yeah but-"

Bruce cut Jason off.

"No buts. We will respect Alfred and his privacy in what is clearly something important. He will tell us what he can. Understood?" Bruce's voice left no room for argument, and Tim, Dick, and Jason were quick to start sulking again.

The living room was left in silence after that, Bruce reading his book, Jason playing a game on his phone against Dick, Tim reading an article, and Damian studying. The quiet atmosphere was broken however, by the sound of approaching footsteps and the living room door opening.

"If I could kindly get your attention?" Alfred spoke, and immediately all eyes were on him, before traveling to the petite girl standing beside him. "I would like to introduce you to Marinette. She's the granddaughter of one of my dear friends, who passed away recently."

A pin could be heard drop as Dick stared at the girl wide-eyed, recognition burning within him.

"Master Bruce, if it is okay with you, I would like for Marinette to stay for a while. I do not feel it is very responsible of me to leave her alone in Gotham," Bruce tried to see if he could find answers in Alfred's eyes, but all he saw was a look that said Alfred would explain later.

Bruce smiled at the young girl, noting how she seemed to hold herself like he was about to throw her out.

"Of course," He simply said, nodding politely at the girl. "She can stay for as long as she needs."

It seemed as if the boys would protest, but the swift glare Bruce sent their way shut them up.

"I'll be showing her to a room then," Alfred said with a bow, before heading to the door, Marinette following him, looking a bit like a lost puppy.

-

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Marinette asked hesitantly.

It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the offer. In all honesty, the thought of not having to return to that awful apartment was a relief to Marinette. However, she didn't like this. It felt like she was intruding.

Then, of course, there was her certainty that the family was made up of the very same vigilantes she had run from. The reason she knew who they were wasn’t obvious. In truth, she would probably be the only person to pick up on it.

It was the corrupted magic in the boy with the white hairstreak that gave it away. It was the same magic she had felt in Red Hood the night before. She was unsure of what the magic actually was, but it felt familiar to her, like the Miraculous Cure, but perverted in some way. Asking Alfred about it seemed inappropriate though.

"I will not inform them of the Miraculous or the Order, I understand that it has to remain hidden. If anyone reveals anything about it, it will be you," Alfred stated, trying to reassure her. Marinette just sighed.

They continued their walk in silence, Alfred because he had nothing to add, and Marinette because of uncertainty.

"This will be where you are staying," Alfred said, opening one of many doors, leading her into a room that was larger than the one she had back home. "I will bring you some clothes that I think might fit you, the bathroom is to your left, just come back down to the living room once you are done."

With that, Alfred left, leaving Marinette alone in the rather extravagant room. The walls were a cream color, the doors made of dark wood in contrast. The bed was queen-sized and centered against the right wall, and tall windows took up the back wall, allowing the light of the setting sun to enter the room. Marinette put her backpack down on the bed, feeling the silk covers with her fingers, marveling at the fabric quality. A desk made of dark wood was placed at the left wall, along with a shelf filled with books, as well as a door that lead to what Marinette could only assume was a bathroom.

"Well, you heard what Alfred said Marinette, time for you to shower," Marinette jumped, startled by the sound of Tikki's voice behind her. She hadn't even noticed her kwami fly out of her jacket.

"Geez, don't scare me like that Tikki," Marinette sighed, taking her jacket off and folding it on the bed. "And don't think I've forgotten what you did when I ran into Jon again," She scolded, wagering her finger in her kwami's face. Tikki just rolled her eyes.

"Oh, don't act like you didn't enjoy your date," Tikki said fondly, causing Marinette to stutter a response that was interrupted by a knock at her door.

"Marinette? I believe I have clothes that will fit you," Came Alfred's muffled voice. Marinette opened the door, accepting the clothes from Alfred. "I will retrieve your own clothes to be washed once you're done," He simply stated, before giving her final nod of his head and leaving, Marinette looking at his retreating form.

With a sigh, she closed the door and locked it, before returning her attention to Tikki and giving her kwami a playful glare.

"We're not done with this argument."

"Whatever you say Marinette."

Marinette rolled her eyes and headed to the bathroom to shower for the first time since she arrived in Gotham.

-

It was quiet in the living room as the Waynes watched Alfred and Marinette leave. No one really knew what to say.

Dick was the one to break the silence.

"That's her," He said, voice small and confused. "That's the girl from yesterday."

Bruce furrowed his brows as he looked at his eldest son.

"Are you sure?" Bruce asked. "You said you didn't get a good look at her face."

"I'm sure," Dick nodded his head, eyes still fixated at the door. "The jacket's the same, though her hair is shorter than when I first saw her."

Bruce shook his head. These things seemed more circumstantial than anything.

"How can you be so sure then?" Damian questioned. He hadn't seen the girl himself in person, but Marinette was tiny, and from the brief exchange they just had with the girl, she seemed way too meek to be the one able to beat the vigilantes.

"It makes sense. Alfred says she's alone in Gotham, all of her clothes are exactly the same. Even her backpack's the same!" Dick exclaimed, Tim nodding along.

"I actually think Dick is right about this. I only got a glimpse of her eyes, but I was the one who actually fought her. That's the girl."

It seemed that Bruce was more willing to listen after Tim's input, and suddenly wondered if it had been a good idea to let the girl stay in his home. He sighed.

"Regardless of that, it seems Alfred knows her, or at least knows of her. He'll explain the situation once he gets her situated."

Damian's face scrunched up in disdain at the reminder that the girl would apparently be staying with them, almost like he had bitten a lemon.

"Why did you even agree to that?" Damian asked, looking at Bruce with furrowed eyes. "We don't even know her, and now you're letting her stay in our home? Isn't that kind of risky?"

Bruce shook his head.  Alfred seemed to trust her, and even if he decided that it was too dangerous to allow her to stay, he had already agreed.

"I trust Alfred's judgment. If he starts to believe the girl is a threat, we'll take things from there, but for now, she's a guest and I want you to treat her as such," The look Bruce sent his sons made them stop complaining.

When Alfred returned, so did chaos, as the room exploded with questions once more.

"Who is she?" Bruce asked, voice cutting through the rest, effectively shutting his sons up.

"Like I told you before, Marinette is the granddaughter of a dear friend of mine who has recently passed away," Bruce could tell there was more to it than that, but Alfred didn't say, sticking with the original story. "As far as I know, she's been looking for me for the last five days."

"What was she doing up on the roofs?" Jason asked, raising a brow. "Not exactly where I would look for a person."

"I don't know," Alfred admitted. "But she's not a threat. I still have some things to discuss with her, and I would like to keep her close until we are done."

Bruce didn't seem too happy about the lack of information, but if what Alfred said was true, then he would be fine having the girl stay at least a couple of days.

 -_-_-_-

@constancetruggle @mojos-biggest-fan @lysslovesanime @heredmaquam @luciferge @scribblinggraveyard @thatfandomsgirl @eliza-bich @ki77h3dr4g0n @crazylittlemunchkin @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @skyel0ve @serenacross200 @valeks-princess @thebananathatwrites @aurordraws @nothernbluetongue @bluerosette23 @xxmadamjinxx @graduatedmelon @tritaledkitsune @tinybrie @shamefullove @screechingflapbiscuitpeach @danielslilangel @vivilakitty 

[not-a-red-rose]

Bit of a long read.

Warning: Topics are somehow sensitive, but please read, for this is also a way of education (or maybe you’ll just find out I’m a bad person, that depends lol.) But if you’ve got time, if you can make time, please read this. I accept constructive criticisms, some arguments that do not involve ad hominem, and additions if ever you are willing to say there is.

So, it's been approximately 5 years since I strayed away from being masungit and maldita (mean and snobby), because my Mom and Dad got a lot of trouble because of it (I did get a lot of trouble, too, only I didn't mind, because I really didn't care) and now I love being compassionate and kind

I really do, because I can't also stand an environment where most of the people are mean-spirited and always angry. I wanted to build a soft and light environment, so I tried to be soft and light, too.

Because change starts within, don’t you think?

So I did, and I became very good at it.

It feels great to see and watch people grow comfortable with their own skin around you because you don't judge them. It feels great to see and watch people love themselves more because they can see that you love them for who they are. It feels great to make people feel great and give them the love they deserve, because we are all human, and we don't deserve to always be shut down by people who suffer inside of themselves. So we create bonds, we love people for who they are, we eat with them, we cry with them, we laugh with them, we pat their backs when they are defeated and helpless, we shout “I’m proud of you!” to their faces when we feel proud of them, and we begin being kind.

But now that I have been terribly woken up by realizations, shaped by my experiences, and taught with other's advices, I am also beginning to see the predators in our forest.

I will sometimes think that maybe we aren't always aware that we are being predators, sometimes we are as clueless as the preys and we don't know any better. Sometimes we can be the toxic ones, too, so there is no point in stopping our self-development and realizations. Everyone starts as clueless and inexperienced— oftentimes, a monster isn’t a monster because he is evil, it is because he refuses to change so, even when he knows he is.

Bad people only become truly bad when they don’t care about being better.

I am not perfect, I am not all-knowing, I became a predator, too, for far too many times than I can count, and I am still trying and learning how not to be. But here are some of the things I realized:

• The awful mindset of our society is that if someone's kind, they are supposed to tolerate everything you do. (even and especially gaslighting, guilt-tripping, backstabbing then denying it later, always saying "yes," and being soft even when hurt and angry.)

No. People who are kind do not deserve such abuse and manipulation (we don’t deserve abuse and manipulations,) so please, quit saying, “mabait naman ‘yan si ano e, okay lang ‘yan sa kan’ya!” (Don’t stress about it too much, she’s kind, so that’ll be okay for her!)

And what, you’re going to victim-blame again? You’ll say, “you’re too kind, you’re teaching people to step all over you.” Dude, I’m not teaching them anything like that, really, they are teaching that to themselves because they want to abuse and take advantage of the kindness. If there is no kindness because kind people took your advice to not be kind so people won’t step all over them, then what would become of our world? Common sense, sweetheart.

• Normalize saying no. If you mean no, say no. If you mean maybe, say maybe. If you mean I’ll try, say I’ll try. If you mean yes, say yes. Normalize saying and receiving no, not everyone has to agree and do what you suggest them to do.

Normalize saying no, if no is what you want to say. I don't care if they hail you as a saint and they label you as someone who tolerates everything. Say no if you mean no. Say it firmly. Don't waver. Your voice may shake but say no if what you mean is no.

(“Normalize saying no” doesn't just tackle suitors and people who want to be your lover. This also tackles people you don't want to spend time with, things you don't want to do, places you don't want to go to, words you don't want to say, and etc.)

say no. say it loudly. say it firmly.

• Unfortunately, we are not educated about gaslighting and guilt-tripping, or any psychological/mental manipulations, enough to defend our own selves from manipulators, narcissists, and terrible behaviors of people.

We should be educated.

Please read verified and credible articles about it, listen to classes when it’s the topic, research about it, observe it. You may be doing it, too, so please learn about it.

• We should stay away from "friends" who hurt, invalidate, manipulate, abuse, and force you to do things you do not want to do. I don't care if it makes you alone-- alone is better than being with people who will just use and hurt you.

• Do not try to repaint red flags. Red flags are red flags, unless you are color blind, although please do not be figuratively color blind. If you cannot settle it through peaceful conversations and negotiations, it’s time to cut ties. CUT TIES. No one is important enough, for you to stay with them even when they exhaust and drain the hell outta you. Let them go. If they don’t wanna walk away, then you do the walking away. Don’t stay there. Life is too short to deal with people who take and take and take and take your peace and who obliges you to fix them.

• I do not have any idea how to say this properly— but you cannot expect your romantic partner/ lover to take the heavy weight of your mental messes and emotional baggage just because you cannot deal with it yourself. Stop dropping all the weight to someone and expecting them to fix you because you are broken.

I am not invalidating the love lives of lovers who stay through each other’s destructive jealousies and insecurities— I am only saying that we don’t have to. We aren’t obligated to fix an individual just because we love them. That’s what’s cruel there, when we find someone we can and will love and we would like them to be in our future, but they come across as toxic and draining and destructive, and they don’t want to adjust to be a better person, we gotta let go of them.

It is always your choice if you’re going to stay with them— if you can and you want to, then stay. If you can’t and you don’t want to, then don’t.

This may sound harsh and (even) evil, but normalize leaving people when you cannot deal with them any longer. Normalize leaving people. Normalize people leaving you. Those who can and who want to stay will stay, will always find reasons to come back, and will always stay. Remember that.

• Normalize rebuking and criticizing the ideas of the people who make rape, poverty, mental illness, and anything-that-shouldn’t-be-joked-about jokes. Normalize criticizing, standing up to it whether it came from your parents, a very dear friend, or a romantic partner. Sensitivity shall not be filtered. Respect shall not be filtered. Note that I said “ideas of the people” not “the people” because we should not hate people so easily, maybe they just need a little education, a little more push to leave that mindset and perspective.

Well, if they have been presented with enough and sufficient facts of why they shouldn’t think like that and shouldn’t joke about that, but they still haven’t changed their mind, let us go back to what I said earlier.

Bad people only become truly bad when they don’t care about being better. :>

• Say what you mean and mean what you say (this one is the hardest so far because man, we are reckless with words.) Like what I said earlier— about the saying no. If you say yes, darling, I do hope you mean yes. If you make a promise, do your best to meet it! Treat your words like they represent your dignity, because oftentimes, they do. You believe it or not, words are powerful. It can heal and mend, but it can also tarnish and destroy.

“The words you speak become the house you live in.” ― Hafiz

• We all need healing. We all have wounds we need to heal from. I do not know jack about your problems and you might not know about mine, but we cannot deny that we need healing. Because if we deny, and we think that we’re a-ok even when we are not, the wounds will remain wounds and we will bleed on people who did not cause it. We will punish others because we are experiencing anguish inside of us. Do not let that be you. Be soft on yourself enough to acknowledge that you are hurt and in need of healing— that way, you are soft and tender with others, too.

• What you feel isn’t always what I feel, and what I feel isn’t always what you feel. We have different capacities, different perspectives, different emotional wavelengths. What’s trouble for me can not be trouble for you, and vice versa. However, that does not give us any power to disregard what others feel. We need a lot of understanding in this life, and acceptance towards the diversity of every aspect in our lives. Respect is needed, always respect. Respect should be the default (that being a default, it can also be lost).

(But this^^ doesn’t always apply to all things such as being homophobic and racist, because that perspective and mindset drives one to disrespect existence, and even act out violently, set prejudices and be downright inhumane. That is not what I am talking about.)

This is not all, but if I type all I might accidentally write a book about it, so this stops, for now. Note that your understanding of the words I’ve said depends on how well you interpret it, whether you have prejudices or you do not, whether you will use it for good purposes or for bad.

[himikochan]

SJW Handbook and Advice - CHICAGO-CENTRIC

Hello everyone I’ve been compiling info for protesters and non-protesters for Chicago and I thought I’d share it here. It’s copy and pasted from a few different posts but it’s somewhat comprehensive and draws on a lot of ideas I’ve seen circulating. Not all of this info is Chicago-specific, but I do talk about local laws in Chicago and bail funds in Chicago. 

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SAFETY AND GOOD CONDUCT AT A PROTEST

-Tear gas: the agent in tear gas that's painful, lachrymator, binds to water molecules. It's so effective because it gets into your throat/lungs/eyes and also binds to the moisture on your skin. If you suspect tear gas might be used at a protest [which honestly you should just guess now], you should try to make sure as much of your body is covered as possible- wear long sleeves and pants and try to cover your hair. If possible, have gloves and goggles or sunglasses handy. When you are exposed to tear gas, try to get a wet cloth against your face ASAP- the moisture on the cloth will bind to the lachrymator and prevent it from getting inside of you. Pour water on a bandana or mask and try to keep it as close to your body as possible. Walk away from the cloud of gas ASAP- and before you go inside your home, try to stuff your clothes into a bag [wash them in 4-5 days when the lachrymator isn't as reactive anymore]. Take a shower as soon as possible and try to wash your hair 2-3 times- some people have told me that you should take a cold shower. If you are directly exposed to lachrymator and it gets in your eyes/mouth/nose, rinse with milk or a water/baking soda solution ASAP. Lachrymator is a very unstable molecule and either of those is pretty effective at neutralizing it.

-IF you're in a position to try and take care of a tear gas canister [if you've come prepared with a traffic cone, water, a mask, and goggles- or you're reckless as shit] cover it with a traffic cone. That will trap the fumes. Then pour as much water as you can into the traffic cone, hopefully it will put out the fuse inside the canister. PLEASE BE CAREFUL WHEN ATTEMPTING TO DO THIS- and do some more research on how to do it properly. I have not personally had a chance to use this tactic.

-The cops may have vans with IMSI catchers and/or cell phone jammers: IMSI catchers gather information about you and cell phone jammers prevent you from being able to use your phone. Carry a watch, make an exit plan with a vehicle/public transit OUTSIDE of the area where the protest is happening, and sharpie the phone number of an emergency contact on your body. There may come a time where you want to shut off your phone- even if you don't get detained, knowing there is a friendly phone number you can access will make you feel better. Be careful about taking pictures of fellow protesters’ faces- the police are using pictures on social media to target protesters after the fact. UPDATE: I just saw another post about IMSI catchers/stingray stuff. They suggest leaving your phone at home because turning your phone off is a break in your normal patterns and can be used in a prosecution. They suggest using a burner phone- this might be the way to go if you live in a city where IMSI stuff is confirmed. SECOND UPDATE: Imperfect protection measures STILL DO SOME GOOD. There are plenty of reasons you can be in a position where you need your cell phone on you and turning off your location services and/or putting on airplane mode for a time may still do you some good!!! IMSI catchers rely upon being the strongest signal in an area [cells automatically connect to whatever seems to be the strongest signal carrier]. From what I understand IMSI catchers have a limited range and basically a max capacity of how many phones they can support while still being the strongest signal in a given area. So for large protests, they'd need to deploy a lot of trucks with IMSI catchers to collect lots of data about crowds. IN MY PERSONAL PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE, which is not universal and may be out dated information, the Chicago police tend to use cell phone jammers [which prevent you from getting a signal at all]. This way they can try to stop protesters from calling/texting each other- make an out strategy with the people accompanying you about where to rendezvous if you're separated. Here is a little information regarding IMSI catcher use in Illinois."The law permits law enforcement agencies to use CSS devices only to locate, track the location of, or identify a communications device—in other words, they cannot configure them to capture the content of any communications. [...] Is CPD abiding by state law rules? It is impossible to say without any record-keeping or audits. CPD has not responded to our most recent FOIA request for information about any new policies, procedures, or records on its use of this technology, so we can only assume that it has not developed any."

-That being said: many capabilities of your phone rely upon knowing where you are to work. So IMSI catchers aren't the only thing you need to worry about.

-If you're able, bring water and some first aid supplies [such as gauze, tape, antibacterial cream, saline solutions, gloves, wipes etc] for fellow protesters [and maybe snacks]. Even at past tepid protests, I've seen fellow protesters fall into glass or hurt themselves trying to climb into higher ground just to see. If you don't know how to administer first aid for things like lacerations, ASK FOR HELP. Many protests have people trained to help and we're all in this together. You might want to read this thread on gunshot wounds, it's better to loosely know what you're supposed to do, just in case. Learn to apply a tourniquet- hint, it’s not just putting a belt around someone’s leg.  The snacks are to keep everyone’s spirits up and remind us that we’re in this TOGETHER.

-Running is easier with a backpack than a messenger bag, wear comfortable shoes, and have something to write with. The mood might strike you to change your sign a bit, 

-If you’re protesting in an area that isn’t close to where you live, try and reach out to someone that lives in the area. You may need to get out quickly and no way to get home and need a safe house- in Chicago, the mayor instituted a curfew from 9pm-6am at 9:04 tonight after the city had blocked every bridge and shut down public transit. Protesters are now basically locked into our downtown area with no way to get home and the police are allowed to detain anyone outdoors.

-Check in with other protesters. Do your best to maintain social distancing, but try to make sure that your fellow protesters are not lagging behind due to injury or something else. Solidarity is the goal above all else.

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Lori Lightfoot has kept the curfew in place and Chicagoans are expected off the streets between 9pm-6am until further notice unless they have an "essential job". Public transit has been stopped altogether in many areas- so if you have to go out, book enough time for you to walk there and back.

Here are some important reminders of your rights- if your are arrested, stopped in you car, and what to do with your phone. PLEASE READ THEM FOR YOUR SAFETY. KNOW YOUR RIGHTS.

IF YOU ARE STOPPED:

-In Chicago, the police are permitted to ask your name and address and other questions (to determine if you are involved in a past/present crime). I believe you only NEED to give them your name, regardless of how many questions they ask you.

-You should refresh yourself on how to properly invoke your right to remain silent. Remember to ask “Am I under arrest/being detained?” If they say yes, you HAVE to say “I’m invoking my right to a publicly provided lawyer, and my right to remain silent.” SAY EXACTLY THAT- variations of that phrase are NOT always effective and the cops will use any opportunity they can to undermine your rights and not give you a lawyer. YOU MUST STAY SILENT- otherwise you’re technically waiving your right to remain silent and MUST EXPLICITLY re-invoke your right when you’re done talking for it to apply. 

IF YOU ARE STOPPED FOR QUESTIONING:

-Police may “pat-down” your clothing if they suspect a concealed weapon. The ACLU says do not physically resist, but make it clear that you don’t consent to any further search.

IF YOU ARE STOPPED IN YOUR CAR:

-Upon request, show them your driver’s license, registration, and proof of insurance. In certain cases, your car can be searched without a warrant as long as the police have probable cause. To protect yourself later, you should make it clear that you do not consent to a search. It is not lawful for police to arrest you simply for refusing to consent to a search.

ON THE TOPIC OF UNLOCKING YOUR PHONE:

I haven't found any hard and fast rules about whether or not you have to unlock your phone if you are held by the police. A Vox article from February 2020 says "If your phone is protected by a passcode or biometric unlocking features, there’s a chance cops can’t gain access to your personal data. But that’s not guaranteed. [...] But if your phone is locked with a passcode and law enforcement can’t hack into it, the Fifth Amendment may be your friend. Essentially, the Fifth Amendment says you can’t be compelled to give self-incriminating testimony. [...] Testimony, in this case, is defined as revealing the contents of your own mind. Therefore, civil rights advocates say, the government can’t force you to tell them your phone’s password." But this is still being played out in the courts- there's tons of pending cases and no real precedence for this on either side.

Freedom.press in an April 2020 article says "If you are arrested or taken into police custody, you should verbally state that you do not consent to a search of your devices. A law enforcement agency is only permitted to conduct a warrantless search of your device if a compelling case for an emergency can be made." There's a lot of potentially useful information in their article, which I will link in the comments.

REMEMBER- cops are easily protected most of the time for infringing on our rights regarding being searched if it could be considered "reasonably" legal for them to do so [even if it isn't]. Saying "I want a lawyer, dog" does not invoke your right to an attorney, being silent does not invoke your right to remain silent, if you do not verbally refuse to be searched your silence is taken as consent to be searched. The limited dissemination of information on the legality of searching a phone could protect them if they coerced/forced you to unlocking your phone.

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If you are in Chicago and see a post/event about protesting today or tomorrow [June 1st].  DO RIGHT BY YOURSELF AND MAKE SURE IT'S A REAL PROTEST.

I've heard that some VERY suspicious people are putting together a BLM protest in Chicago tomorrow. These people are NOT experienced organizers, NOT affiliated with BLM Chicago, and NOT known to anyone in the Chicago organizing/protesting communities.

We KNOW that a lot of the rioting and looting in other cities were begun and propagated by the police and white supremacist groups [not by protesters or ordinary citizens]. We do not know if these people are cops, white supremacists, or just irresponsible folx, but it could very well be a trap to escalate violence, incarcerate allies, and justify the Mayor granting more restrictions on the city. 

The source I saw was for the purpose of organizing medics to deal with the inevitable fall out, but protect yourself and your fellow protestors by not going to this sham event.

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Hello everyone- protesting not your cup of tea? That's okay! Protesting is the showiest part of being an active citizen and activist, but it's by no means the most important part.

Below, I'll be posting links for people that need your money AND non-monetary ways you can help.

-If you know people protesting in your area, offer them a place to clean up afterwards and possibly crash if public transit is closed off. If you can safely offer them a shower and a place to change clothes- that can make a huge difference. It could help them evade being targeted by the police on the way home, buy them time to get home without being part of a crowd, and they may need a place to wash off residual tear gas or pepper spray [or the blood of a comrade]

-If there are protests in your area and you have extra supplies [water, pre-packaged snacks, materials for signs, gloves, first aid kits, masks, etc], you can hand them off to a protester OR leave them in a place they'll find them with a note.

-Be wary showing the faces of protesters on your social media or having them saved online. Be mindful about who you're sharing details of a protest or protesters with and try to do your best about sharing accurate information about donations. One of the bail funds in another city recently had someone set up a fake venmo account under the name of the bail fund and many people donated to it, believing they were helping bail people out.

-Your friends with small businesses may want help or need supplies boarding up their windows- most protesters are avoiding small businesses when things turn sour [and in fact, most looting and rioting appears to trace back to undercover cops and white supremacists right now] but it's still a good idea to close up shop if you can. See if anyone needs help securing their business. .-Make fliers about properly administering first aid, basic rights regarding being detained/questioned/arrested, and phone numbers of local communal bail funds. 

-Many people who were on the fence about BLM, police brutality, and protesting are beginning to see the truth of it all now that the pandemic has forced us to confront racial/ethnic and class inequality. We have more allies than we did before- make sure to give them the toolkit necessary to enacting change. 

Protesters need funds in so many places right now: 

-Chicago Communal Bail https://chicagobond.org/

-ACLU Illinoishttps://www.aclu-il.org/en/donate

-BLM Chicago https://www.blacklivesmatterchicago.com/donate/

-The Family of George Floyd https://www.gofundme.com/f/georgefloyd

-Minnesota Freedom Fund https://minnesotafreedomfund.org/

-ACLU Minnesota https://www.aclu-mn.org/en/donate

-The Bail Project https://bailproject.org/

[honestandsincere]

reputation part five

"Of all places for a clandestine meeting, you've outdone yourself, y/l/n."

He speaks in hushed tones, the rasp of his voice barely hovering above a whisper. They're alone, save for the man sat behind a seemingly oversized wooden desk, typing softly on his computer. The air feels cold; the high ceiling looming overhead and the rounded curves of the timber framing leave no room for warmth. Books are packed tightly into glass cases, saved from the damaging effects of exposure and time, and yet the room smells like dog-eared pages and temperate paper.

"I figured we wouldn't be seen," she shrugs, gazing intently at the brass bust of Shakespeare, her fingers itching to run themselves over the intricate carving of his ruffled collar. "Sadly, the gossip forums don't think I'm a reader," Ethan hums, turning to acknowledge the bard. "Yes, that is sad."

He hasn't seen her in almost three weeks, not that he's been counting. It was as if she'd vanished off the surface of the earth the night she had left his apartment in Tribeca. After they had kissed. He knew better than to try and contact her afterwards, he tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach as he came to realise that maybe they would never cross paths again. Y/n had said that she would not let Howard Benson publish her first draft, the article that should have been printed if Ethan Dolan had not read it before it hit newsstands across the city. Y/n y/l/n is a determined woman. Consequently, the ties between them had been cut as quickly as they had been knotted. As their lips left one another's she'd uttered something along the lines of an apology and hurried to the elevator, avoiding his eyes as the metal doors slid closed.

Ethan had received a text message from her this morning, as her name flashed across the screen of his phone his pulse had picked up its pace and his palms became damp. Y/n wanted to meet him in the library, in room 302 of the Stephen A. Schwarzman Building which he later found out was housing the Berg Collection of English and American Literature. He wants to laugh at how fitting their meeting place is, how well she'd thought this all out, but he's occupied with the sheer wonder of being in her presence again.

"Do you know the collection holds the works and manuscripts of 400 authors?" she asks him, not taking her eyes from William's receded hairline. "That's a lot of paper," Ethan says. "Or parchment." "Yes, or vellum." Y/n turns to the corner of the room and points towards a small mahogany table and chair set, papers sprawling over the desk's surface, "That was Dickens'." "Doesn't look too comfortable, does it?" Ethan's eyes scan the thin lining of cushion across the seat. "No, not particularly," she folds her arms and for the first time since he's entered the room, turns to look at him.

Y/n does not know what she was expecting him to look like. Three weeks is not long enough for somebody to change dramatically - unless perhaps they decide to shave off all their hair or tattoo their face in honour of their mother. Ethan Dolan is drastic, but not that drastic. He looks young, in the yellow-toned light of room 302, clean-shaven and as chiselled as ever. His cheekbones are still broad, his jaw still prominent and his brow is pulled into its usual half-furrow. She notes that he's wearing a sweatshirt, Havard University's crest printed on its front. He looks like a student himself. As frustratingly impossible it is to admit, Ethan Dolan is still inexplicably gorgeous.

"I haven't seen you in a while, y/l/n," he says softly. Ethan takes his time to appreciate y/n's familiar lack of change. She's as captivating as ever and it's painful. "I know." "Do you want to maybe sit down? So we can talk?" he gestures to the table set up presumably for researchers to delve into the precious novels and albums of notes, with gloved hands of course. She nods. They lower themselves into chairs opposite one another, she looks at him and smiles ruefully.

"I'm sorry for not contacting you sooner," Y/n says. "Honestly, it's no problem. If anything I should apologise for making things awkward," his hands rest on the soft velvet covering the table, y/n glances quickly at the Cartier signet ring adorning his right index finger. "It takes two to tango," she chuckles lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "I shouldn't have stormed off like that." Ethan shifts in his seat and leans closer towards her, "Listen, y/n, if you didn't want to kiss me that's totally fine. I shouldn't have just come onto you that way, it was really rude and considering the circumstances I-"

Y/n shakes her head, setting loose the wayward wave she'd tried hard to keep from her face. Her eyes are set on his whisky-coloured irises, she sees nothing but integrity which three weeks ago had become familiar. "It's not that I didn't want you to kiss me," she interjects. "Oh." "In fact, I think you went about it rather well. It was just crap timing." "Yeah, I guess."

They sit in silence for a while, trying not to look at each other. Ethan busies himself with twisting his ring slowly around his finger, his mouth opening every now and then to speak before being stopped by his inability to think of the right thing to say. Y/n turns around to look at the librarian, typing away blissfully ignorant to the tension surrounding the other occupants of the room. She clears her throat quietly, "I left because I don't want Benson to publish draft one." He looks up at her, his eyes wide and reminiscent of a disgustingly adorable puppy or a child that's been denied an extra slice of cake at a birthday party. "Ethan, if you and I were to continue our friendship; whether it be staged or genuine, Howard will try and step in. He claims it's for my benefit, for my career, but I know that it's only for the sake of LIFE's reputation." "It sucks," he says. "I know, but it's not as though we were ever going to be more than friends or acquaintances-" "No, y/n," he interrupts her, looking down at his folded hands and shaking his head, "it sucks that you let Howard Benson dictate who you can and cannot be seen with."

Y/n's brows knit together into a disconcerted frown, "I'm not letting Howard Benson do anything." "You are. He's your boss, I get it. He is not in the position to manage your personal life, friendships included." She huffs and pushes forward in her seat, "Do you not understand why I'm doing this? It's for the sake of your image, Ethan! For your sacred reputation, I'm saving your skin here." "And I appreciate that, really I do. It's just that Benson can't print the article without my permission."

Suddenly they're both aware of how their voices have raised slightly above hushed murmurs, y/n looks over her shoulder to find the man at the desk completely unfazed. She breathes a sigh of relief and exasperation. "He will do," she whispers, "if it means keeping the magazine's sponsors." "I can't believe you - of all people - are just acquiescing to these trivial little mind games!" he hisses. Y/n laughs, but it holds no humour, "Screw you, Ethan Dolan. You just don't like being told what to do." "Don't turn on me, y/n," he warns her, a look of businessman severity crossing his beautifully angeled face. "Watch me," she slides her chair from under the table, its wooden legs inducing a hideous screech as they drag along the floor of room 302. The man at the desk looks up and sends her a frown to which she apologises sheepishly and leaves the room.

Ethan can't help but feel a horrible sense of deja vu.

-----------

Grayson Dolan's feet are rested on the desk in front of him, his leather brogues crossed casually over one another. In his right fist is a stress ball his mother had bought him a few Christmases ago and in his left hand is a mug of coffee Carol had handed to him. He gives her a quick nod of thanks before turning to his brother. Sat on the opposite side of their private office, Ethan Dolan wears a scowl as prominent as the Rockefeller Center on New York's skyline. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, his blazer having been discarded hours ago, his hair is dishevelled and he runs his hand through it for the fifth time in a solid minute.

"You're being ridiculous, Ethan." "No, I'm not." "You are," Grayson sips his drink before excusing Carol from the room. "I am not! If anything she's the one being ridiculous." "Who? The cat's mother?" "Shut up."

Grayson Dolan had made the awful mistake of asking his brother why he hadn't been spending time with his fake girlfriend recently. As much as he refuses to admit it, Grayson has missed seeing his brother in the papers or on gossip sites, smiling wildly with y/n y/l/n by his side. Ethan has been nothing but fractious over the past month, refusing to attend meetings and barely showing his face at Dolan & Dolan HQ in Manhattan. There's a permanent frown etched on his pale face, his brows constantly drawn inward and his lips chapped from the constant worrying of his teeth.

"Y/n is literally saving your ass." "I am aware." "So why are you being such a whiny bitch?" Grayson sets his mug down in front of him and begins squeezing the foam ball in his hand, he finds it amusing that perhaps his brother is in more need of it than he is. "Because she's letting Howard Benson walk all over her!" Ethan slams a fist on the table, only to jump slightly at the way his computer shakes violently in the aftershock. "What do you want, E? You want that article out there for the world to see?" "No, of course not-" "Well, shut up then."

Ethan knows his brother is right, he has no reason to sulk. If anything he should be jumping for joy, finally after months of constant apprehension the first draft will be destroyed. He just can't ever see y/n y/l/n again. Now, in theory, this should be straightforward. Y/n and Ethan have never really seen eye to eye; they live in different worlds, in different social spheres and both have completely different ambitions. Their conflict was inevitable, their friendship was unforeseeable and their current circumstances are beyond aggravating. Ethan Dolan does not want to be friends with y/n y/l/n, part of him thinks maybe it's through Howard Benson telling them they cannot associate with one another that makes him want to see her again.

He doesn't want to be her friend, but he cannot help it.

"So I've spoken to McTavish and Abernathy about selling the plots in Brooklyn," Grayson breaks the silence he'd created, his tone lighthearted. He picks up his feet from the desk and begins to type furiously on his keyboard, eyes flicking from side to side as he reads spreadsheets on the screen before him. "Really?" "Of course, I've really thought about what you said, E. We should try different tactics if we want to make a difference in business," the younger Dolan brother chooses his words tentatively. Tactics. "I couldn't agree more."

Ethan Dolan finds thinking about business rather sickening at this point in time. It had always been the focal point of his life; he started kindergarten determined to end up in the city, took extra classes in high school that would set his college resume apart from the rest, worked his ass off to get into Harvard and then played every trick in the book in order to end up where he is now. And suddenly he doesn't want to be here. All those economics lectures, every internship he could get his hands on and every late-night spent researching every loophole in the system mean nothing. It would be naive to say it's because of y/n, romantic even, but this isn't a rom-com. This is real and shitty and a situation so sticky it reminds him of the time he spilt a jar of molasses over his childhood self in his grandmother's kitchen.

Is he changing for the girl? Is the girl really changing him?

"You've gone soft," it's as though Grayson can read his mind, or maybe he's just been observing Ethan's face. "Have I?" Ethan stands from his swivel chair and walks towards the large window that overlooks Manhattan. He's done this countless times before, to think. To look over the relentless pace of the city and realise that every tiny ant-sized figure hurrying through the street below him will never cross paths with him. Lives don't intersect easily, no matter how small the world.

"You have. Ethan, when have you ever let someone or something stand in the way of what you want?" he doesn't turn to acknowledge his brother, but Ethan hangs on each of his words. He tries to think of when he has ever let something stop him, which is hard because it rarely ever happens. Ethan Dolan is a force of nature, inside and outside the boardroom. "Never. The answer is never. Howard Benson is threatening to publish y/n's draft, but when has he ever followed through on one of his intimidations? Again, the answer is never," Grayson pauses and Ethan takes his time to count how many taxi cabs make their way through the hoards of traffic. Fifteen. "Just do what you've always done, stop playing by stupid rules. Go do what you like, he can't stop you." "It's different this time," Ethan rasps, his voice weak from disuse.

It is different, very different. Ethan is not accustomed to being vulnerable, in his personal and in his work life. He's always had the upper hand. It is different this time because he's taking a risk. A big risk. Y/n y/l/n is his friend, despite the odds and their circumstances. She set out to ruin his life, whether it was intentional or not - she claims now that it was in journalistic pursuits and he calms himself by believing her. Ethan Dolan kissed y/n y/l/n and she kissed him back, taking their relationship from enemies to something verging on friendship to something that teeters precariously on the tightrope of awkward friendship that is more than a friendship. Does he want to pursue this? Does he want to drop everything and get to know her? Does he believe that Howard Benson really will print the slandering first draft? Ethan isn't sure and this is a foreign feeling.

"Jesus, you really have changed."

-------------------

There's nothing more terrifying than the unknown.

The concept of not knowing leaves leeway for imaginations and anxieties to run riot, conjuring hypothetical situations in which nothing is ever in one's favour. Of course, you're also setting yourself up for disappointment in the realm of the unknown; if one devises a theoretical scenario that is bitterly different to reality - that hurts.

Ethan Dolan is terrified of the unknown.

His fist clenches around the bouquet in his hand. He's starting to regret buying them, but Grayson had insisted that they were a nice touch. Ethan could do with some nice touches. Being uneasy outside her front door is not a new sensation, he's been nervous before. But Ethan has never felt scared and this is scary. He does not know what y/n might be feeling, he's not certain that she even wants to see him ever since their mild altercation in the NYPL.

Before he has time to process his apprehensions, the door swings open.

Y/n stands before him in some jeans and a white t-shirt, her hair thrown up loosely into a knot. She doesn't look surprised, but not calm either. Ethan wishes he'd been blessed by the gods of telepathy.

"Hi," he says, wanting some kind of response from her. "Hey." Ethan thrusts the flowers awkwardly towards her, desperate for a topic of conversation, "These are for you," he says unnecessarily. "Thank you, Ethan. They're lovely."

Y/n's fingers brush his as she reaches for the bouquet, taking it in her hand and tucking them gently under her arm. Ethan is sure there's some unidentifiable crackle of electricity that passes between them, his hand is left tingling in the wake of her touch. It sounds bizarre but now he knows what the romantics mean by 'sparks flying'. "I uh," he stumbles over his words, his eyebrows rising in confusion at his own lack of eloquence, "I just wanted to apologise for what I said in the Library last week. It was unfair." She purses her lips, cocking her head to one side in a way that makes her look as though she's studying him, "Apology accepted."

Y/n makes no room for him to walk into her apartment, despite their meagre resolution. The orange lilies feel heavy all of a sudden, their scent dizzying as she inhales. There's a large part of her that wants to let him in, make him a cup of tea because she knows he avoids coffee after five in the evening and ask him about his day. Things are different now, circumstances have changes and tension hangs in the air like a thick black cloud of smog. Ethan stands before her, his arms held tightly behind his back, perhaps to refrain from touching her. He's in his white button-down shirt and navy dress pants meaning he's probably not long left the office or maybe is intending on going in to work late. The scene is well-known, she's used to seeing him like this, and yet it all feels so unnerving.

"It's not your job to please Benson and me simultaneously. I know that and I shouldn't have accused you of trying to appease him when you're doing it for my sake." "Thank you," she nods. "But y/n, whether or not Benson prints the article is not in your hands. I don't think we should let him get in the way of this," he gestures to the space between them, "whatever it may be, surely we should give it a chance?" Y/n quirks an eyebrow, readjusting the flowers in her grip, "Our friendship?" "Well, uh, yeah. Yeah, I guess."

His mind flashes to their kiss. Feeling her lips pressed against his, the way she had sighed in contentment, the way he felt alive. The surge of electricity that pulsed through his veins when the childhood sense of excitement and nervousness overwhelmed his sense of judgement. Their friendship. Y/n presses her eyes closed, exhaling through her nose defeatedly, "It is a shame, Ethan. I'd be lying if I said I don't want to carry on seeing you-" "Don't do this to yourself, don't let work get in the way of your feelings." "Feelings?" "You know what I mean, y/n."

She does. She knows exactly what he means and she deeply resents him for it. These burgeoning feelings she has, tempests of undiscovered passions, are having to be pushed aside for the sake of his reputation. Perhaps in a separate universe, y/n would have the opportunity to pace herself, to get to know Ethan and explore the bizarre and unprecedented attraction she feels towards him. If she had a normal job; maybe if she worked in marketing or banking or as a barista in the charming little coffee shop opposite LIFE Magazine HQ everything would not be as complex as it is. Y/n hates Ethan Dolan for being successful, she hates that his face is on every billboard and every newsstand in the city. It's revolting that each time she turns on her television after a long day at work, somehow his name is dropped or his picture is shown. If he wasn't Ethan Dolan and she wasn't y/n y/l/n, life would be simple.

"I like you, Ethan," she admits and he feels his stomach lurch, "I think that maybe if the odds were in our favour, there's a strong chance that I'd want to spend a lot more time with you." Y/n sounds as though she has more to say but she does not continue speaking. Ethan drops his head, his gaze now firmly on his black brogues, unable to look at her without feeling a little hurt. He should have seen this coming, should have prepared himself whilst he wallowed in the ferocity of the unknown. "Your reputation matters," she says, "to you, Grayson and now to me. It shouldn't matter. But it does. I won't risk LIFE ruining your good name. It's not worth it."

There's something about good, selfless people that's agonizingly annoying. Ethan Dolan is struck by this epiphany. As commendable and admirable as y/n's lack of ignorance is, he really wishes she wasn't so nice. Y/n, in an ideal world, would decide to throw up a crude hand gesture towards Benson's empty threat and spend more time with Ethan, whether it is in the public eye or not. Y/n, again in an ideal world, would realise that she shouldn't care about Ethan's name in the business sphere and decide to traverse their flourishing friendship because she actually does like him. Alas, y/n is not arrogant or egotistical or parsimonious. She sees sense, it just sucks that she cares.

"I wish it didn't come down to this," he croaks, then clears his throat, looking up at her with those big whisky-coloured eyes, "Y/n, my reputation doesn't bother me anymore. Dolan & Dolan is changing, Grayson and I have been finalising our new arrangements. If your article gets out and people decide to look into it, they'll find nothing but our newer records - filled with good things." "It's not that easy." "I don't care! We can just say it's a fake, or that someone in the magazine's editorial team threw you under the bus-" "And risk me losing my job?" her eyes are wide with incredulity. "Jesus, y/n! Please, just give me a chance. We can meet in secret if it makes things easier for you? At least until this whole thing blows over. Howard Benson doesn't have to know anything."

She opens her mouth, full lips looking as though they're going to spill the words he's aching to hear. Y/n smiles ruefully at Ethan, he notes the way her eyes dance around his face and feels a pang of hopelessness. This is her taking in every little detail before it all ends, there's a heavy mist of finality hanging around them and it makes him want to cry. It's not even the rejection that's going to hurt him the most, it's losing her. Or at least what they could have had. In Ethan Dolan's world, integrity and honesty are incredibly arduous to unearth, he knows this from first-hand experience. Y/n y/l/n has always been upright and honest with him, he's wanted to tear his own hair out at some of her acts, but he appreciates this beyond anything his wealth could buy him. Ethan no longer cares about his ego or his money or his persona, he cares about y/n.

"Ethan, you know I wish I could say yes."

"Yeah, I know."

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Hello! I'm so so so sorry for my absence over the past few months! Ironically, all my motivation and inspiration evaporates into absolute nothingness as soon as summer (and lots and lots of spare time) rolls around. I know this chapter is really short, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway!

[heyyyharry]

My Girl Series: Chapter 5 - Somebody Else

…in which, once upon a time, there was a girl and a boy, and no one else.

Series description: Y/N falls in love with the older boy next door who doesn’t feel the same, years later they meet again at a funeral.

AU: actor!harry, older!harry, younger!y/n; (4-year age gap)

Chapter 4: Thumper The Rabbit - Harry tries to mend the past, but Y/N wants to let it go.

wattpad link

‘Somebody Else’ bathroom version, you’re welcome

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"Once upon a time, there was a boy and a girl, and no one else..."

Those hot summer days had turned the little town called Holmes Chapel into a heated up oven. Everyone would rather stay indoors where there were fans and air-conditioners, yet the two kids Harry and Y/N refused to abandon their treehouse even for a day.

It was a blazing Wednesday afternoon. In the crooked treehouse, the little girl's voice was a lullaby, with the help of soft summer breezes through the branches, sending the 14-year-old into dreamland. With his eyelids fluttering, Harry heard her say, "don't fall asleep."

"I'm not." He tried to open his eyes and look at her.

"Liar." She scoffed. "Is my story boring to you?"

The little girl closed the pink notebook, looking a bit offended as she crossed her arms.

"No," Harry told her as he folded his arms behind his head. "But I want to hear the good stuff, like sword fights or gun battles or something."

"It's only chapter one. I haven't introduced all characters yet."

The boy thought for two seconds before he asked, "I thought there were just the two of them and no one else?"

"Well, it's just a way of saying. They are best friends, so in their eyes they are the only two people in the world." She furrowed her eyebrows and shook her head at him in disappointment. 

"Is the girl you?"

She nodded.

"Is the boy me?"

"No, it's a very handsome guy."

"Fine." Harry huffed as he turned his eyes back to the ceiling and told her to carry on. He couldn't see that smile on her face when she resumed reading the story she'd worked so hard on. Even if she'd lied and said it wasn't true, the boy was Harry of course.

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Y/N quickly closed the pink notebook on her lap when her phone started to ring. The call was from her best friend Celine, the one Y/N had been expecting to hear from in almost two weeks. Both Celine and Amala had been so busy with their part-time jobs and final exams so Y/N couldn't describe how elated she was to finally receive that phone call.

"Cece, I miss you! How's Boston?"

"Boring as usual. I'm at work right now but I missed you so much. How are you, baby?"

Y/N scanned her eyes around her messy bedroom, at all the papers and clothes lying everywhere on the chair, table, and floor. She was kind of hopeless if she was honest.

"I'm struggling with my work in process. I'm rereading my old stories to find inspiration." She looked at the time and realized she'd been sitting in front of her laptop for an hour now without actually writing anything. Sighing, she went on, "I miss my imagination back then. I used to be so creative."

"Adulthood kills creativity."

"True." She agreed, rolling her eyes. "How's Amala?"

"She's doing great. Maybe we'll video call you tomorrow night. We both missed you lots and lots!" The next thing Celine said was what Y/N had been expecting."Hey, how's it going with the hot photographer?"

"You know." The girl clicked her tongue. "We're just...flirting back and forth."

"Good! Take things slow, but please let yourself have some fun like a normal 20-year-old."

Celine’s advice put a smile on her best friend's face as the girl nodded her head, and soon remembered they were talking on the phone and she couldn't be seen.

"Got it," she said, biting her bottom lip.

"When are you seeing him again?"

"Tonight. He invited me to his exhibition."

"I thought you said he was taking photos for fun."

"That's what I thought! But it turned out he was actually famous, like he shoots for magazine covers and shit. That's so intimidating."

"That's hot! If I weren't gay and taken and your friend, I would eat him up already."

Both girls guffawed at Celine’s remark.

"Shit, I've got to go now! Any more update?"

The first thing that came to Y/N's mind when she heard the word 'update' was actually Harry. She hadn't told her two best friends about them being friends again yet, because those girls had known too much about her history with Harry.

Though a lot had changed in the last two years, she didn't think they wouldn't just believe her friendship with Harry had improved so much just from hearing the words from her mouth. So she decided to keep him as a secret and wait until she saw them in person to break the news. It'd be more convincing if they could see for themselves how much Harry had changed.

"Nope," Y/N lied. "I think I've told you everything, Isaac, my father's engagement..."

As the silence sank in, she heard her best friend exhale. Celine had basically grown up with her and known her father for almost eleven years now, so that news had also shocked the girl a lot. She didn't know the man well to despise him, yet the pain he'd caused to Y/N made it impossible for her to even respect him like she used to.

"I'll call you tomorrow okay?" Celine said, sounding cheerful again all of a sudden, probably to distract her friend from thinking about her father. "Have fun tonight! I'll be refreshing your insta feed!"

"Oh, God!" Y/N tossed her head back, laughing hard. "Bye! Love you!"

"Love you, too!" And just like that, Celine ended the call.

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"So I just ran into Daniel Bullard from Vogue Italy. He was obsessed with your works and he told me—"

As his manager kept on rambling about another magazine cover deal, Isaac failed to focus on what this man thought was important. He couldn't stop the words from going into one ear and out from another while scanning his eyes around the crowded room.

He knew this had been his biggest photography exhibition by far, and he was supposed to be excited that there were many big names here tonight. However, he felt so incomplete that the one person he hoped to see most wasn't there.

Harry wasn't there.

He'd told Harry about this exhibition before anyone else, and Harry had never missed a single special event in his life ever since they became friends. So if Harry decided not to show up, Isaac knew it wasn't because he'd forgotten, it was because of Y/N.

"Isey!" The nickname got the photographer to turn his head, and spotted the cheerful Irish man waving at him from across the room.

"Hey, Lee," he interrupted his manager, who was still talking. "I'm gonna go say hi to Niall, if that's alright."

The Asian man sighed as he realized Isaac hadn't heard a single word he'd said. So he just gave up and told his client to do whatever he wanted. "Meanwhile, I'll be over there, praising you to Daniel Bullard."

"Thanks, Lee." Isaac patted the man on the shoulder and headed towards his friend.

They pulled each other into a tight hug because it'd been nearly four months since the last time they saw one another in person.

"You bastard, why didn't you tell me you were back in London?" Isaac asked, one hand on the other guy's shoulder, smiling widely.

"I wanted to surprise you. This exhibition is amazing by the way! You should shoot my next album cover!"

Niall's suggestion made the blond chuckle. "Only if I got half the profit of every single album you sell."

"Hey, I'm your friend!"

"You made Harry and I buy tickets to your concert, you dick," Isaac exclaimed, hands on his hips as both of them cracked up at the good memories with all three of them together.

Harry, Niall and Isaac had been close friends since they shared a dorm room back in university. Now at twenty-four, they had all become famous and got the lives they'd always wanted, living their dreams. The only thing that hadn't changed was their friendship, so Isaac hoped it would just remain this way.

"Speaking of Harold, where's he?" Niall looked around, squinting his blue eyes to search for that familiar curly head. "Where's the other musketeer?"

Isaac shrugged, not knowing what to say but the truth, "maybe he won't even come."

"Why? Did something happen between you two while I was gone?"

"No."

"Fucking liar. I'll ask Harry then." Niall raised an eyebrow, staring at Isaac and waiting for him to say something, but the guy simply gave him a shrug, lips pressed into a faint smile as he let the awkward silence continue. Niall couldn't take it anymore. He lowered his volume to make sure only his friend could hear what he was about to say.

"Don't tell me he's still upset about the Ruby thing."

"Actually, he handled it better than I thought," said Isaac. "But dude, I almost flew to L.A to punch you for sending us that article about Ruby's engagement. He blocked her on social media for a fucking reason."

"Sorry, sorry, I was just really shocked!" Niall held up his hands like a criminal surrendering to a cop. "I just wanted him to know she's a terrible person."

"I think he knows, but whether he believes it or not depends on himself, not you and I." Isaac shook his head.

Niall opened his mouth to say something else, yet got cut off immediately by his friend's notification. Isaac excused himself and took out his phone to read the text, which instantly got him beaming.

⌲ Smiley: I'm outside. Should I just walk in?

He quickly typed back:

⌲ Yes, just tell them your name. You'll see me as soon as you enter. :)

"Niall," said the blond, beaming as he sent that text. "I cannot wait to introduce you to someone."

"Ooh, lemme guess, it's..." Niall paused a bit to think and then shouted out, "Harold!"

Isaac was very confused, at first he thought his friend was joking, but then he heard that all-too-familiar voice from right behind him saying hello. He turned around, and there he found Harry, dressed in a nice suit with his hair pushed back, making his way to them.

The green-eyed man put on a grin as he gave Niall a hug, then Isaac too. He apologized for being late and congratulated his best friend on this exhibition, like their argument the other night about Y/N had never happened. Isaac didn't know how long it would last, but at the moment he couldn't be any happier.

"I'm glad you're here, H," said the blond, who now started to look more like the host of his own event with that elation on his face. Now that the three of them were together again, they could—

"Hey, guys!"

That female voice caused both Isaac and Harry to turn to the main entrance. Two big smiles appeared on both handsome faces as they called out, at the same time,

"Bambi!" / "Smiley!"

Harry looked at Isaac, who looked at Harry, and the men heard Niall mumble "awkward..." under his breath but he wasn't wrong. It was truly awkward for both of them, and maybe for Y/N too.

"Smiley?" Harry furrowed his eyebrows, mouth agape, staring at the girl who shrugged and flashed him a smile. He was hoping the nickname his friend had just shouted out wasn't meant for his Bambi, but as she hugged Isaac and couldn't stop smiling at him, Harry knew it couldn't be anyone else.

Pulling away from Isaac, Y/N turned to Harry and hugged him as well. He didn't know if she noticed, but he held her a bit tighter than he normally would, and when they broke apart, he told her she looked beautiful in the dark blue dress she was wearing.

"Thanks. This thing is two years old already." She looked down and giggled, and for a short second there Harry almost forgot Niall and Isaac were with them.

"Niall, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is—"

"Niall Horan!" Y/N interrupted Isaac, shaking Niall's hand enthusiastically. "I love your music!"

"I like her already." Niall chuckled, eyes on his two best friends. "Which one of you assholes is her boyfriend?"

Both men were left dumbfounded by that one question, but the person who answered it wasn't one of them.

"Neither. We're just friends," Y/N said, red lips curved into a smile, and the satisfaction on Harry's face could not be more obvious.

"So every random person has a nickname for you then?" Niall raised an eyebrow though his attempt to lighten up the mood had his two friends sighing in frustration. "Maybe I should give you a nickname as well."

"Niall, don't even."

"Shut up, Harold, lemme think." Niall held up his hand as he shushed the other brunette.

"In the meantime..." Isaac trailed off, shaking his head at Niall, who was still trying to come up with another nickname for the girl he'd just met. But the photographer never got his chance to finish as his manager Lee appeared out of nowhere and grabbed him by the arm.

"Where's the girl?" Asked the manager, leaving all four people confused.

It took Isaac a second to remember and realize what that meant. So he quickly pointed to Y/N and said that she was the girl.

"Good, good." Lee nodded quickly, holding both Isaac's and Y/N's hand as he laughed. "Blair and Cyrus Archer wanted to see you both."

"The Archers? The twins who shoot for Vanity Fair?" Y/N asked and everyone looked at her in shock, all wondering why she had that knowledge. Shyly, she told them she'd done a bit of research about the industry before she came, so she wouldn't end up looking like a fool.

"Oh, she's smart too! How great!" Lee squealed in excitement as he squeezed her hand. "They are literally obsessed with that shot of you, darling."

"Wait, what shot?" Harry finally spoke up as it seemed like he was the only one there who hadn't seen whatever Lee was talking about. Confused, he quickly followed everyone to another room.

And as soon as he entered, one particular exhibition immediately caught his eyes. It was a portrait of his Bambi. Though the shot was black and white, that beautiful smile on her lovely face was all the colors it needed to radiate joy all across the room.

Harry stood transfixed in shock and disbelief as he heard Y/N whisper to Isaac, "I can't believe you picked that one."

He then replied, "your smile is the brightest in that one."

"Harold?" Niall nudged Harry to pull his friend back down to Earth, but the green-eyed brunette never got his chance to comment on the artwork. Lee jumped right into his mouth, saying he needed to borrow Y/N and Isaac for a moment.

"Sorry boys, networking is key!" said the man as he grabbed the startled pair, pulling them with him towards the twin sisters waiting by the portrait.

Harry couldn't be there much longer. Even though he blamed the overcrowding room for his annoyance, he knew all those people didn't bother him half as much as the happy two standing over there.

"So that's what you two have been hiding from me?" Niall held back Harry's arm as he intended to walk out.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"The girl. Smiley?"

"Bambi." Harry knew Niall made that mistake on purpose to test his reaction, yet he still got irritated, probably because of the nickname alone. "I'll go get a drink, you coming?"

"Then you'll tell me what happened?"

The actor gave his friend a smile, but then brutally killed off Niall's hope with his answer. "In your dreams."

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The love song blasting from the loud speaker really got on Harry's nerves, as he looked around at those happy couples dancing and making out with each other. It wasn't even Valentine's Day yet and he'd already felt like the loneliest person in a room.

The after party at Lee's house was massive, and many of the guests were important people in the entertainment industry. Harry swore he knew most of them and they knew him. Still there he was, standing in the corner with a drink in his hand and himself as his own company, like a geek at senior prom.

Across the room, Niall was flirting with a girl Harry had never met before. Isaac and Y/N were nowhere to be seen, and Harry didn't want to guess what they could be doing right now. As if seeing them together wasn't awful enough.

The actor quickly emptied the glass in his hand and laid it down on the table by his side. Fuck, he thought, I really need another drink.

"Well, isn't this the famous Harry Styles?!"

Harry could've broken his neck from turning his head so fast to the sound of that voice.

There she was, his Bambi, walking towards him with a cheeky smile and asked him why he wasn't dancing like everyone else. He told her half the truth, that he wasn't in the mood to party at the moment without telling her why.

Surprisingly, she didn't ask, and just tugged on his arm as she said, "come dance with me."

It wasn't a question, more like a request, one he couldn't deny. So he let her pull him along to the center of the room to join the dancing crowd, thinking about how they used to dance with each other when they were kids; but of course, with them being adults a lot would have changed already.

Under the flashing red and blue lights, Harry couldn't take his eyes of the young woman in front of him. She was swaying to the rhythm of the upbeat song without caring who might be watching her. Her energy fueled him to also let himself loose.

She grabbed his shoulders, pulling him in, their foreheads resting against each other as he finally found the courage to place his hands on her lower back. If anyone was watching them now, they might think they were in love.

"You dance like a grandpa," she teased, raising her voice so he could hear her over the loud music. Harry couldn't help but laugh at her comment.

"Thanks, that's why I act and not dance."

She rolled her eyes playfully, shaking her head as she cracked up.

"Where's Isaac?" He finally asked.

"Oh, he's talking to some people Lee introduced him to."

"Why did he call you Smiley?" The second question had no relation to the previous one, yet Harry couldn't keep second guessing anymore. He assumed the nickname had something to do with the shot of her smiling, but the answer Y/N gave him was beyond his prediction.

"He called me that to remind me to always smile."

Harry nearly lost his balance on his own two feet when he heard those words. Sure Y/N had never been his to begin with, but at that moment, he realized he was losing her.

"Let's be honest, Bambi is a better name." He scoffed and received another smile from the girl.

"Don't you worry," she told him. "I'll always be Bambi."

Though that seemed far from the truth, it was what Harry chose to believe.

"I can't believe the last time we danced together you still had pigtails," he said, beaming at her as he ran his hands through her hair.

"The last time we danced together I still had a crush on you." That response was beyond his prediction but the next thing coming from her mouth put him up short.

"Don't worry, I'm over it."

Harry stopped dancing and so did she, not because she could read his mind, but because she spotted Isaac heading towards them. Harry turned his head just in time his best friend arrived and asked to steal Y/N for a moment.

"Sure. She's all yours," Harry said. Those words had been the hardest to say by far. "I'll see you later, Bambi."

Without waiting for her to reply, he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek to say goodbye. And not until he was walking away from them did Harry realize, he had never kissed her on the cheek before.

It was rather embarrassing to even try to guess her reaction as he headed straight to the bathroom, and he didn't even need to go. He just wanted a place to get away from all those background noises and human interactions, even though those things kept him free from the crazy thoughts inside his head.

The muffled music from outside had changed to Somebody Else by The 1975. And as he washed his hands in the sink, Harry cursed the one who'd made that playlist. Were they trying to narrate his situation at the moment?

I don't want your body But I hate to think about you with somebody else

He needed to get out of there.

"Lee, have you seen Isaac and Y/N?"

The manager excused himself to the guests as he turned to Harry. "They just left together, he told me he was gonna take her home."

Harry thanked Lee, ignoring what the man had to say next and just walked away, pushing his way through the packed room to find the exit. Now that they were both gone he had no reason to be there anymore.

He was just a few steps away from the door when a familiar figure caught his eyes, and for a second there he thought that girl he saw was his Bambi. From behind she surely looked like Y/N, but she was wearing a different outfit.

The girl turned around, sending Harry a smile as soon as she caught him staring. What happened next was very hazy in his memory probably because the alcohol had finally kicked in.

He vaguely remembered approaching the girl and asking her to dance. He remembered them drinking until his head was spinning in circles. He remembered kissing her on the mouth as they called a taxi to go to his place. He remembered taking off her clothes as well as his own. He remembered having sex. But most importantly, he remembered thinking of Y/N the entire time.

And when he crashed down on the bed, sweaty, all out of breath, Harry remembered the feeling of disappointment. The girl said a lot of things to him, yet his ears automatically canceled out all the other sounds apart from his own heartbeats.

As he drifted off, the face of Y/N from earlier as she pulled him close continued to haunt him still.

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Y/N giggled as she ran up the stairs with Isaac following right behind her. The lift in the building broke again, so they had to walk five floors to get to her flat, and Y/N would've been so embarrassed if Isaac hadn't already known she was too broke to afford better accommodation.

"Don't be too shocked when you see my room."

"I've been in your room before, love," he said, catching his breath as he took the last step to reach her and gave her a tired smile.

The last time he'd been there was actually on the day they first met. After hanging out together from morning till night, he dropped her off at her place and she invited him in for a cup of tea. That was how they woke up the next morning with him spooning her in her bed, fully clothed of course.

"You were lucky the last time because I'd just cleaned it. I haven't done it again since." She chuckled, pulling out her keys as she opened the door. Then the girl was completely frozen in her spot.

Isaac looked around the tiny living room, it wasn't that bad so he didn't get the shocked expression on her face. It was only when she bent down to pick up a white envelope someone had probably slid through her door gap that he realized the real reason she'd reacted that way.

"Is that a wedding invita—Hey!" He shouted out, reaching for her hands but it was already too late. She'd already torn the envelope to pieces and marched across the room to toss them all in the trash bin. She looked at him, he looked at her, neither said another word, both second-guessing each other's next move.

She knew he wanted to ask her why, but he wasn't sure if what he was wondering would be invasive, so he stayed quiet. Anyway, she was glad he had chosen not to question what she'd done.

"Tea?" She asked with a smile.

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"Y/N!"

The way Isaac shouted out her name caused the girl to bat her eyelashes and she finally made it out of her maze of thoughts. The cup of tea she’d made for him had been emptied whereas the one in her hand was still full and had gotten cold.

"What's wrong?" He asked in concern. "You kind of spaced out."

"Nothing. I'm just tired."

Isaac checked the time on his watch and furrowed his eyebrows as he realized how late it'd been.

"I should leave so you can rest."

"Wait!" She stopped him. "We can...We can talk some more...I'm not that tired."

Her reaction made the man laugh as he nodded and shifted a bit to get back to his previous comfortable posture. He looked around the room, at the books and many crumpled up pieces of paper lying all over the floor and on the table between them. It looked like the aftermath of a tornado inside her living room but he didn't have to raise questions for her to give him the answer.

"I'm struggling with my writing."

"Yeah, I figured." He chuckled. "You told me about the book you'd been working on."

"I haven't even edited the first chapter." She rolled her eyes. "But it sucks anyway, so..."

"Can I read it?"

"What?"

"Your first chapter."

"Oh...that...well..." The girl straightened her back, flipping her hair over her shoulders in a nervous manner as she cleared her throat. "I'm sorry but I've never shared my unfinished work with anyone besides my mum and..."

"Harry," Isaac finished the sentence for her, leaving her surprised for a second.

"Yeah." She nodded. "But when it's ready...if it's ready, I'll let you read it."

"I can't wait."

The gentle smile he was giving her had her sitting there with her heart in her mouth. Her anticipation told her he was gonna say something else, so she quickly stole his chance to speak by blurting out, "do you wanna stay tonight?"

"S-Sure." He chuckled, slightly taken aback yet also amused. "If you want me to."

"I want you to," she asserted.

"Okay. Then I'll stay."

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.

Harry woke up in the middle of the night and found himself in his bed with a naked stranger lying by his side. She had her back turned to him so for a split second he imagined it was Y/N though he knew for sure it was not. Y/N's hair smelt like freshly picked apples, not lavender, and she had a little scar on her left shoulder from crashing her bike into a tree when she was eleven. Harry didn't know why he remembered that, but he did. And now he couldn't go back to sleep anymore.

He propped up on his elbows, reaching for his phone on the nightstand to check what time it was. It was almost half past two in the morning. The worst time of the day to be awake. Usually, at this hour, his thoughts would go out of control and he would always end up doing things that he would regret in the morning, like what he was going to do next.

He searched for Y/N's number despite knowing to call her up this late would be cruel, if she had class early in the morning and needed her full eight-hour sleep. However, he missed her too much and desperately wanted to hear her voice. He had no idea what had gotten into him and why he was so needy for her attention. She was his little Bambi. But he seemed to have forgotten that already ever since he got jealous over her relationship, or whatever it was between her and his best friend.

He quietly left the bedroom and made that impulsive move to dial Y/N's number, biting his nails as the beeping on the line continued for what seemed like forever.

But it wasn't Y/N who picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"I-Isaac?" Harry nearly choked when he heard the voice, still he prayed she'd left her phone in Isaac's car or something. Something. Anything. Let it not be what he had in mind. "Is Y/N there?"

"Yeah, she's sleeping. She told me to pick up the phone."

Harry heard noises in the background like someone shifting between the sheets. And he had the squeezed his eyes shut to fight the thought that his worst fear had come true.

"Who's that?" Her sleepy voice was faint but he could tell it was her talking to Isaac.

"It's Harry."

"Great...You talk to Harry, I'm gonna sleep..."

"Mate, she just...dozed off again." Isaac's chuckle drove Harry insane. "Is it urgent?"

"No...uhm...Her dad just asked me to check on her. It's fine." That awful lie was followed by the worst laugh Harry had ever faked, but Isaac couldn't recognize that over the phone so he sounded so indifferent when saying goodnight and goodbye to his best friend.

Harry's heart died down as soon as the call ended. He dropped his arms down to his sides and leaned against the wall behind him, looking defeated. He stood there, pondering for about five minutes before deciding to head back to bed and trying to get some sleep before sunrise.

The girl who looked like Y/N was still sleeping. He kind of envied her now because he couldn't fall back to sleep, so he just closed his eyes and tried to think about anything but the previous phone call.

As he dug through the memory box in the small dusty corner of his mind, Harry found himself going back to that hot summer afternoon in the treehouse and he could hear her voice reading aloud the story in her pink notebook.

"Once upon a time, there was a boy and a girl, and no one else..."

Harry didn't know how that story ended because Y/N had never finished it, or at least never revealed the ending to him. But how wonderful could it have been, if that was the last sentence of the story instead of the first? Now, he could no longer return to the world where there was no one else besides them two.

[sweetpea-cc]

Pieces of Me (Part 1)

Summary: You are Y/N McCormick, the Northside Queen with a knack for defending yourself. Ultimately, too many warnings lead to being expelled from Riverdale High School and you transfer to Southside High where you’re immersed in a completely different life. Slowly, you become closer to Sweet Pea, along with the rest of the Southside Serpents while discovering the missing pieces of yourself. 

Paring: Sweet Pea x Reader (ft. Riverdale Core Four, Toni) Warning: Expulsion, Some language Word Count: 1.7k+

A/N: Your last name is McCormick for reasons which will be explained later. Also, this is a slow burn miniseries. :))

Every high school has a Princess, Prince, Queen, and King. It practically goes without saying and at Riverdale High School, the following roles went to Cheryl Blossom as Princess, Reggie Mantle as the Prince, and Archie Andrews as the King. The Queen? That slot belonged to you and for a good reason too. However, you never quite accepted the role, but merely just went along with the ideologies that everyone had implanted in their heads.

You weren't the clique spoiled, mean rich girl, though that never stopped some people from seeing you as such. You were kind and generous and caring, but you had no problem whatsoever defending yourself if ever came such a time. Despite your 'royalty' status, you still had your daily issues of dealing with hormonal boys and devious girls but then again, who on this planet, never experienced such things in High School? After all, such institute had a reputation for destroying dreams, not to mention self-esteem and also could create some of the cruelest teenagers to ever walk this planet.

Among those hormonal boys, often times, was Chuck Clayton. Usually, it would be harmless flirting and the occasional batting of eyelashes. However, sometimes the boy would come on too strong, and each time you tried to kind rebuff his attempts, he would push back until it wasn't entirely friendly anymore. Currently, you were seated at a large desk from a stern-faced Principal Weatherbee. You were an often visitor, and generally, it was the same issue every single time, yet no effort to make a change ever took place.

"This is the sixth time you've been sent to my office for assaulting a fellow student in three weeks, Ms. McCormick!"

"Well, maybe you ought to teach those fellow students what 'no' means and we wouldn't even be here."

Weatherbee looked over a sheet of paper citing each incident as seen by other faculty members and teachers. You rolled your eyes at the thought, they never saw nor heard the full story, and it was never surprising when your side of the said story would fall on deaf ears.

"Student was seen punching another student in the face, seemingly unprovoked. Student twisted another student's arm behind his back until he cried out in pain. And then there's another report about the defamation of a teacher here at Riverdale. The list goes on Y/N, and I don't quite know what I'm supposed to do with you because obviously detention doesn't work and it's incredibly baffling given the major role that you place in this school."

"What to do with me? You have got to be kidding. First of all, I punched that kid because, after multiple attempts at telling to buzz off as kindly as I possibly could but yet, he refused. As for poor little Chuck, his arm will be fine just in time for the precious football season that you're so worried about. Maybe while he's getting a little pep talk from the coach, you can also squeeze in what 'consent' means. Also known as 'did this person say it was okay to touch them here or there?' if the answer is 'no' generally, I would assume that means back away. As for the teacher, she was a child predator, so no, I didn't 'defame' her, she did that all by herself."

"And Mr. Clayton will be punished accordingly but case in point, Ms. McCormick I cannot ignore that you used physical force on another student. You have been issued one too many warnings. I'm sorry, but I have to expel you, effective immediately." You couldn't believe what you were hearing, he actually dared to expel you but not the boys who broke the rules just as much, even though you were defending yourself.

"This total bullcrap and you know it. But I guess I'm not all that surprised, jocks get away with things more often than not. Don't worry Principal Weatherbee, I'm almost positive you won't be receiving an irate call and possibly a lawsuit from my father sometime in the future." Your response was snarky and perhaps rude but rightfully placed as you kicked back in the seat and stormed out of the Principal's office.

About half an hour later, the bell rang, and the hallways were flooded with students trying to make it to their next class in time. You, however, were clearing out your locker of your belongings and tossing unneeded papers in the trash when your odd group of friends came up to you with perplexed expressions on their faces.

"What are you doing?" Jughead Jones spoke first, leaning against the locker beside yours as he tugged against the strap of his tote bag. His girlfriend, the sweet girl-next-door Betty Cooper, appeared next to him and tucked herself underneath his arms while wrapping her around his torso.

"Haven't you heard? I've been expelled. Apparently, I'm more trouble than I'm worth, so Principal Wetherbee kicked me out." you scoff and roll your eyes as you carelessly toss a stack of notes in the trash.

"What?! He can't do that!" Your eyes land on the King of the school, Archie Andrews in all of his glory as he stood next to his girlfriend, Veronica Lodge, hand in hand.

"He can, actually, he's the Principal, and I had enough reports and complaints against me." You saw all of your friends visibly sulk, and as much as you wanted to cry, you kept up the facade that you weren't all that bothered.

"Where are you going to go?" Betty asked, reaching into your locking and helping you throw away a couple of papers. You nonchalantly shrug your shoulders because honestly, you weren't entirely sure and as of right now, you were having the hardest time getting a hold of your father, seeing as he was away on some urgent business trip that had him on the road nearly eight months out of the year.

"Well, I don't really plan on leaving Riverdale, and there's no way that my dad would go for me dropping out of school completely. So it'll either be Southside or Seaside, which is two hours away from here."

"Jesus, you can't go to Southside! They'll eat you alive just because you're from Northside."

"Well, on the bright side, I happen to be a great meal. Besides, you all know I'm than capable of protecting myself so come what may."

"There's no way your dad would let you go there."

"Well, when you get a hold of him, let me know. As far as I'm concerned, his business deals are more important." You slam your locker so loudly, a few heads turn and among them was the one and only Chuck Clayton. 'What a jackass.' You think to yourself as you give him a stink-eye. The sound of a warning bless ringed through your ears as you gave each of your friends a small smile.

"You guys should probably go, don't want to be late for class." As hard are you tried to hide it, you were actually very upset that you were being expelled, especially over something that wasn't even your fault. On another note, perhaps transferring to Southside would be good, it would offer you an insider look at the so-called trashy school. And you were always someone who enjoyed investigating and reporting things. It was one of the reasons that you, Jughead, and Betty got along so well. It was no secret that you were going to miss hanging out with them in class and joking around before the bell rang.

"Be reasonable, daddy! There's no way I'm driving two hours every day just to go to school!" You were currently sitting in your living room in front of the fireplace as you had a yelling contest with your father over the phone. The man had finally decided to answer your numerous phone calls.

"I am reasonable, I don't want you going to that school!"

"It's a school! That's it, besides you know very well I don't plan on leaving Riverdale so whatever plans you were creating, you can stop. My life is here, daddy and I love it, I don't want to leave." Your father sighed deeply, and you could practically see him leaning over his desk while pinching the bridge of his nose. He was a stressful man, but rightfully so, as an ex-Marine Special Ops turned deadly lawyer, the man was hardwired to be stressed.

"It's a dangerous place, Y/N and if it's anything like it was when I went, there is no way I'm letting set a foot there."

"That's the thing, I doubt it could have gotten worse since you've gone. It's been what? Twenty years? I still want to be able to see my friends and go to Pop's after school, but there's no way I would be able to do that if I'm driving four hours a day just to get to and from."

"I'm guessing with you, I know that you're gonna have it your way or nothing at all."

"Well, I did learn from the best."

"Fine. I'll sign the transfer papers and fax them to the school, but you listen to me, I want you to call every day, and I don't care if I don't answer, leave me a voicemail and tell me about your day."

"Scouts honor, dad." 

Hanging up on your dad, you make your way upstairs to your bedroom and into your closet where you had a secret compartment located in the baseboard of the wall. There, you had a collection of items which you had begun gathering at the beginning of the summer. News articles and photographs and little knick picks which all had one thing in common, the Southside.

It was probably strange, but you were sort of fascinated by the Southside of Riverdale, but your father never allowed you to cross into their territory. It wasn't that he had anything against the Southside like most parents in Riverdale did, it was more that he made a promise to someone decades ago and refuse to break it. You didn't know much about said promise but what you did know, was that sooner or later, you were going to learn precisely what ties you dad had with the Southside and attending Southside High was probably the best opportunity you had gotten in a while, even if no one else saw it that way.

(Part 2) (Part 3)

[classicalafros67]

On Why I Refuse to Talk to My Grandmother

This is not meant to be educational. This is not meant to slander my grandmother. This is only meant to be therapeutic – a way to organize my thoughts and release my emotions in a healthy way. I want to note, before I begin, that I am talking to my grandmother, but only out of necessity, for logistical and business reasons, until we come up with a recompense or I have to cut her out of my life altogether. I’m not even sure that I am going to share this, but I still wanted to write it, so maybe for a time, my anger, bitterness and disappointment can be placed elsewhere.

Recently, I wrote this piece, didn’t really share, but I didn’t finish it either on an example of how my grandmother has treated me and continues to treats me.

“I feel like I’m a pretty outspoken person when it comes to talking about gender expression, sexuality, gender, feminism and activism, EXCEPT when it comes to my family. Living all as a queer and gender non-conforming African-American, living with ones (loosely) religious, judgmental and controlling family members is anything but easy. In fact, it’s fucking hard as hell, and I’m pretty sure it’s the base of all of my mental illnesses. I’ve grown up to be silent and speak when spoken to. I believe that my guardian (grandmother) believes that she must rule with an iron fist and control and repair me at any cost, so I can be properly digestible for society. As I’ve grown older, I’ve begun to heavily resent her as these repairs and plays for control are disguised as concern and unconditional love. Recently, it has gotten pretty rough between us. I resent having to go home, so I go out as often as possible either spending the night with my friends or my boyfriend in the city.

One of her plans to repair me (and by repair, I mean “masc me up”) was foiled this week when I spent most of it in the city with my boyfriend in order to get away from her. The car that we are currently sharing got a majorly avoidable flat tire. I agreed to help pay for a new tire, but she wanted me to watch the tire get changed?? I could always google, but, hey, what do I know I guess? So, like always, she got upset that I had not come home, (mind you, I am 22 years old, recently graduated from college, and working multiple jobs to move out of there) and had started calling up a storm and MARKING all of the locations I was at. (She forced me to get this app on my phone where she can track me. Again, I am 22 years old.) I eventually went home because she was holding the car hostage and refusing to get it fixed until I came back, knowing that I needed it to get to work.

She tells me that we need to talk, but every time I attempt to talk to her about anything heavy, my sexuality, how I express myself, gender expression, ect., it turns into her talking at me and justifying, for herself, how she feels and why she acts a certain way. I have always been bad at having these conversations with family, but I am tired of the way my grandmother treats me. I haven’t been talking to her for the past couple of days because I refuse to go to business as normal and move on like nothing is going on, and I’ve been making a list of reasons why I’m upset with her which has become… extensive.

This list is disorganized and mostly just the tip of an iceberg talking point that we need to settle. It overall encompasses her disguising her homophobia, embarrassment and desire to control and socialize me (i.e. other toxic behaviors) as concern and unconditional love. Her forcing me to get an app that allows her to track and mark everywhere I go is her ploy to keep me under control, yet she disguises this as a way for her to let me know that she is home when I could careless, and she ignores that I am old enough to go where I damn please, don’t do drugs, don’t smoke, don’t party, but “there is too much going on in the world right now, I just need to know where you are.” Ask me… This will also lead me to my next point on how I express myself. I like, no, I fucking love makeup. My fashion sense, as I’ve mentioned before extends from dad to literal queen mom. If I want to wear a suit, I’ll wear a suit, if I want to wear a dad outfit, I’ll work that. If I want to wear sweats all day, girl yes. If I want to wear high heels and a floral top, I will WORK that. And if I want to wear makeup with any of those outfits, I WILL! Can you guess which one grandma absolutely hates? She’s horrible at addressing things too, so she gets passive aggressive. She always has a snide comment about what I wear or my makeup and “how bad it is for [my] face.” Even today, she looked at my Facebook and demanded me to take down my cover and profile picture because I’m wearing a full face of makeup and a floral shirt and my cover photo is the pride flag with the male, female, and intersex signs. It got to the point where I blocked her because I can’t mentally handle all the controlling.

I don’t know. I think I just want her to admit that she’s embarrassed of me if nothing else, recognize that I’m only living here circumstantially, that I am still an adult that she can’t/shouldn’t try to control, and that we should really learn to live with each other.”

We did eventually sit down in the kitchen one late night as I returned home and attempted to express how I felt. I wanted the conversation to be an eye opener for her that she couldn’t police how a grown person could express themselves be it online or in real life. Instead, it turned into an interrogation about, “who molested you?” “where did we go wrong?” and fake tolerance. I just ended up having to face my grandmother, someone who I had deeply respected and revered, someone who helped me through college and through life when I moved out of my father’s house, express her homophobia and internalized misogyny towards me in words disguised as concern and worry.

“Why are you wearing makeup?”

“Boys don’t wear makeup”

“I thought you were doing it to get back at your daddy”

“I’m getting a handle on the whole gay thing. I’m getting a handle on the fact that one day you’re gonna bring a man home. But, now, this makeup is too much! And the clothes you’re wearing. And you’re growing out your hair…”

These are some of the words that were shared with me on that night. It has been a couple of weeks and the conversation still rings in my head back and forth. There are so many petty rebuttals I both wish, but am glad that I didn’t, say. I understand that you care so much about the products I buy and put on my face. I understand that the rules to this binary society so strongly holds on to and polices how one performs their assigned sex at birth. I understand that with that in mind that anything outside that expectation is therefore repaired, most commonly through violence. I especially understand the fragility of masculinity and how anything that easily breaks that line is met with violence.

But I also wish that my grandmother knew that she was and is inciting the violence that she’s afraid will be inflicted on me. Violence isn’t just physical. She understands that as my grandmother, she has a power of influence over me, but instead of using this power and seemingly unconditional love as a force for good, a force to uplift the grandchild and encourage them to be themselves unapologetically while advocating for a better and more accepting world to others, she uses this power to police, criticize and repair my expression, my sexuality, my identity.

Imagine the mental, emotional and psychological damage that inflicts on someone. Every article of clothing you wear – judged. The shoes you wear – judged. Growing, styling or curling your hair – judged. How you talk – judged. What you talk about – judged. Every little thing about you – judged and threatened with getting kicked out of the residence you live in.

“Well, as long as you live under my roof, I don’t want you wearing makeup or girl’s clothes.”

All of this violence inflicted, while the attacker continues to pretend that there is nothing wrong with the relationship, and sweeps everything under a giant rug. This violence which affects so many other queer youths. To tell you how bad it is, I have contemplated being homeless, even at VERY low times suicide, just to be away from her. This is horrible considering that despite the violence, I will love my grandmother no matter what, I would like to mend our relationship, and I feel so guilty for feeling that way. But I cannot possibly see that happening until she magically addresses her own problems and stop projecting her societal desires onto me and my siblings.

So, for now, until I am in a financial position to move out and never come back, I refuse to talk to her unless absolutely necessary. I refuse to pretend to be her friend. I refuse to pretend I can tolerate her being around me. I refuse to pretend that I’m not purposefully avoiding her as much as I can. I refuse to let her involve herself into my life for her to gossip and disapprove. I refuse to let that toxicity invade my life again, and I shall seek help and refuge where I can in continuing therapy and being with the family and friends who accept me and love me for exactly as I am.

Postscript—

I think in terms of making this a discussion, because I could use advice on how else I can move forward. Am I missing something in this situation? I’ve talked about this several times in real life with friends and family, and I keep getting the same answers — “She’s just worried about” “She’s stuck in her ways” “She’s your grandmother, she’s supposed to act that way” But I call absolute bullshit. People can change at ANY age from ANY era, and this situation, I feel is WAY more nuanced than her being worried about me. I’d rather her not die a bigot, so I want to open up ways that I can have discourse with her and show her tools to learn more about the LGBTQIA community.

[yxungblccd]

( ?? ✉ $ ♀✿ ) taren. / katherine. - ( ツ & # @ ✆ ) rae. / adam. ) !!!~!

a SUGGESTIVE text.

{ to katherine → 12.13am } you know i’m watching you, right? { to katherine → 12.14am } if i didn’t know any better – which just so happens, that i don’t – i would say you’re trying to make me jealous with that lanky guy’s hands all over you{ to katherine → 12.14am } you reckon it works? { to katherine → 12.14am } or does it only make you miss mine? { to katherine → 12.16am } think about it !! how much better mine felt, my body against yours, your hips grinding into mine. how much rather you would have my lips all over you again instead of that guy’s frog fingers. can you imagine how clumsy he’d be in bed? { to katherine → 12.16am } i can tell you the end of that without needing the book and spoiler alert, it’s more disappointing than it is satisfying{ to katherine → 12.17am }a single glance, kat. look over, just once, and i’ll get you right out of there, right out of here too if you’d like

a DRUNK text.

{ to katherine 💕 → 3.21am } yure fckn annoyin u know that? always hvae to be right{ to katherine 💕 → 3.22am } and your dumb brothre s too much of a cwoward to step up to his own dad nad stay whree he fucking wants to !! m glad he’s gone, weakling{ to katherine 💕 → 3.26am } i jus dn’t fcking get it{ to katherine 💕 → 3.26am } how can you wnat to know the end? { to katherine 💕 → 3.26am } how can you want to lsoe contorl? { to katherine 💕 → 3.27am } waht if you knew you’d drown? would fihgitng ti even mattre? { to katherine 💕 → 3.27am } i hate losing{ to katherine 💕 → 3.27am } i never wanna lose anything{ to katherine 💕 → 3.28am } i hate nthan so much

an ACCIDENTAL text.

{ to katherine 💕 → 11.56am } i literally don’t give a single shit what you think about what i’m doing. remind me, who the fuck came up with the idea?! the same pretentious moraliser who’s trying to appeal to my conscience now. if you can’t handle your own choices that’s your fucking problem, not mine. and i swear to whatever fucking god that’s out there, if i catch you trying to make it mine, you have way bigger problems than not getting a wink of sleep at night. you’ll never want to close a single eye again because i will be there to make sure you’re never opening it again{ to katherine 💕 → 11.59am } and that was not meant for you{ to katherine 💕 → 11.59am } before you ask: no i am not in trouble. it’s not even worth talking about

a text that WASN’T SENT.

{ to katherine 💔 → no signal. send again? } i meant to tell you. i know it won’t make it any better but i genuinely meant to tell you about the dare and how it stopped mattering, how you started to matter instead{ to katherine 💔 → no signal. send again? } but how was i supposed to?  by the time i realised i should tell you, you already were more than nate’s little sister, more than i expected you to become, more than i planned for you to become{ to katherine 💔 → no signal. send again? } i couldn’t risk it. i couldn’t risk losing you{ to katherine 💔 → no signal. send again? } and now i fucking lost you.{ to katherine 💔 → no signal. send again? }that’s the hysterical part, isn’t it? i fucking lost you still and i don’t know how to deal with that. i don’t even know what to do next. can i even do anything? { to katherine 💔 → no signal. send again? } i’m sorry, kat. i’m so fucking sorry that i needed a dumb dare to actually recognise you, needed a brainless idiot i call friend to tell you the truth, needed your brother to slap some sense into me to realise it had long stopped being a dare. i’m sorry that i need you, kat, that i need you to have loved me so much, even if just for a while, that i wouldn’t do anything different if i had the chance, that i need you still and that none of this is going to be good enough to fix it{ to katherine 💔 → no signal. send again? } so let me ruin it

a HEARTBREAKING text.

{ to katherine 💔 → 6.48pm } i don’t know what you want me to tell you !! that you were different?! that there was more between us than sex? i know you believed that but ‘ believe ‘ is the fucking keyword here !! there just W A S N ’ T !! not from my side, anyway, and honestly, blame yourself for being stupid enough to fall for me{ to katherine 💔 → 6.51pm } you’re a great fuck and always were so eager to get me off. i didn’t plan on taking advantage of you beyond the dare, but you really think i would pass on that opportunity? A place to stay, someone who takes care of me and fantastic sex and all i had to do was pretend{ to white lace → 07.06pm } honestly, it’s fucking adorable that you thought i could change, that you could change me, but i haven’t, and lbr i’ll never change. you’re just another meaningless lie notched in my bedpost{ to white lace → 07.06pm } line* { to white lace → 07.07pm } i’ll happily give you the connections to the sad girls club of broken hearts i left behind, and you know, if you ever get over it and wanna have sex again, you can always call me ;) if not have a nice life or whatever, i don’t really care tbh

a LOVING text.

{ to adam 💋 → 8.21am } i know there’s like an unspoken rule which says not to read articles about yourself, but i saw the one about us and it made me think. it’s weird to be dragged into a world so different to mine. i never thought i would have to worry about being followed by photographers and what insane stories tabloids might try to involve my name or even just my face in. the backlash? the comments i saw? it’s kind of terrifying{ to adam 💋 → 8.21am } but i imagine it’s probably even scarier to be the one inviting me in{ to adam 💋 → 8.23am } i just want to make sure you know i don’t want to be the mysterious redhead by your side. it’s you i care about. it’s always been you. not whatever happens around you and how it could effect me. i like you, like really like you and i just want you to know that you don’t have to be wary around me. it’s probably not easy to do that, considering you and everyone around you seems to watch your every step, but. i don’t know. i wanted to at least tell you, i’m in it for the adam i know, all of him, not only the part of you that gets to be famous{ to adam 💋 → 8.33am } tho, i’ll be honest, it’s pretty sweet that that tall as a skyscraper bodyguard of yours can carry me on his shoulder like i weigh nothing :P

an EXCITED text.

{ to adam 💋 → 9.01pm } GUESS WHERE I AM !! { to adam 💋 → 9.08pm } i know you probably don’t have time to answer, but i’m hoping frank reads them out loud for you while someone paints your face pretty{ to adam 💋 → 9.08pm } prettier* —  you know what i mean, don’t @ me :P{ to adam 💋 → 9.09pm } but back to guessing !! { to adam 💋 → 9.09pm } three hints: third block, second row, somewhere in the middle{ to adam 💋 → 9.11pm } i’ve fact-checked, i’m the only one with red hair in the whole block; what a surprise !! ( frank read this with a bitter undertone now, please and thank you ) NOT. and yeah, blah blah, i know, you’re probably not going to see me but i’m here for emotional support ♥{ to adam 💋 → 9.11pm } maybe for a lil something more after the show if you’ve a couple of minutes to spare ;)

a SCARED text.

{ to adam 💋 → 4.02pm – undelivered. } i need to tell you sth{ to adam 💋 → 4.03pm – undelivered. } please call me as soon as possible{ to adam 💋 → 5.31pm – undelivered. } i tried reaching you through your management but frank won’t let me get to you. i don’t know why. i don’t know if you told him to shut me out but please, adam, it’s important{ to adam 💋 → 5.31pm – undelivered. } i need to tell you in person too{ to adam 💋 → 8.17pm – undelivered. } it’s okay, i promise, it’s okay if you don’t want me around anymore but you deserve to know{ to adam 💋 → 11.56pm – undelivered. } did he tell you? please just message me whether you know{ to adam 💋 → 2.43am – undelivered. } i don’t know what to do { to adam 💋 → 2.43am – undelivered. } are you even getting these? { to adam 💋 → 2.43am – undelivered. } did you block me? { to adam 💋 → 2.44am – undelivered. } please just give me some kind of answer{ to adam 💋 → 3.12am – undelivered. } i need you — and i don’t mean your money, you can keep that !! i won’t even ask for aliment if you’ll only give me five minutes of your time. { to adam 💋 → 3.12am – undelivered. } one minute? i’ll take a single hug if that’s all i can get{ to adam 💋 → 10.09am – undelivered. } he keeps telling me you don’t care, but that’s not the truth, is it? it cannot be the truth. you didn’t lie to me, i know you didn’t{ to adam 💋 → 2.13pm – undelivered. } did you?

a RANDOM text.

{ to babydaddy 👶💋 → 1.32pm } have you told your mom? { to babydaddy 👶💋 → 1.33pm } you are going to tell her, right? { to babydaddy 👶💋 → 1.35pm } maybe it’s pregnancy paranoia but i could swear someone just took a picture of me. i’m not showing, i don’t even think anyone would recognise me but what if they did and what if i’m showing just enough to know i’m hiding something that isn’t there yet? { to babydaddy 👶💋 → 1.35pm }  she can’t find out she’s having a grandchild via a newspaper{ to babydaddy 👶💋 → 1.39pm } adam, please and i mean it, if you haven’t told her yet, please lie to me !! it’s making me tear up to think she might find out because i didn’t pay attention to someone taking a random picture of me and i refuse to let these mood-swinging hormones make me burst into tears in the grocery store

another EXCITED text.

{ to babydaddy 👶💋 → 2.14pm } I NEED YOU TO COME OVER RIGHT ABOUT NOW !!{ to babydaddy 👶💋 → 2.14pm } YOU’LL NEVER GUESS WHAT HAPPENED !!{ to babydaddy 👶💋 → 2.15pm } GO ON, TRY TO GUESS !!{ to babydaddy 👶💋 → 2.15pm } SHE’S DANCING !!!!!{ to babydaddy 👶💋 → 2.15pm } ok, i didn’t give you much time to guess BUT !! i felt her kick me. your song came on the radio and i swear she started dancing. she probably recognised your voice{ to babydaddy 👶💋 → 2.16pm } you need to come sing her something !! { to babydaddy 👶💋 → 2.16pm } you need to feel her move, it’s incredible{ to babydaddy 👶💋 → 2.17pm } she loves you sm 

a MORNING text.

{ to babydaddy 👶💋 → 5.52am } i know you want to be there for all the appointments but you were asleep and i didn’t have the heart to wake you for a minor check up at such ( UNGODLY !! ) hour. { to babydaddy 👶💋 → 5.52am } maybe we can sneak back in bed before you wake up{ to babydaddy 👶💋 → 5.54am } if not i’ll bring breakfast we can at least have in bed !! i’m craving caramel chocolate waffles and apple cinnamon muffins. maybe with ice cream? i think we still have ice cream, and i’ll get chips to put on top !! and some smoothies, the sweet and fruity ones obviously { to babydaddy 👶💋 → 5.54am } you want something as well? jk :P { to babydaddy 👶💋 → 6.02am } good morning btw..?! the baby and i love you ♥  

[taexual]

EXO / Making up after a fight

Request: HI! I have a request for exo if that's okay. Making up after a fight. Doesn't have to be sexual or anything.

Thank you for requesting this, I hope you like it! 🖤

OTHER VERSIONS: GOT7

Warning: some strong language and sexual references

Xiumin

You had locked yourself inside of your bedroom, refusing to talk to Minseok, or even look at him. You needed some time to get yourself and your thoughts together. But although you didn’t want to see him right now, a small part of you was kind of disappointed that he didn’t come knocking on the door right after you ran into the room.

When you finally opened the door of your bedroom three hours later, somewhat ready to start talking again, you found Minseok sitting on the floor next to the door of the bedroom. He raised his head and jumped to his feet when he saw you.

“How long have you been sitting here?” you asked, surprised.

“Ever since you went into the bedroom,” he admitted, looking down. “I wanted to apologize right away but you said you needed to be alone for a while, so I didn’t want to bother you.”

It felt as though his words squeezed your heart, forcing tears to start materializing in your eyes.

“You never bother me,” you told him before throwing your arms around his neck, catching him by surprise.

Once he recovered from the initial shock, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

“I love you so much,” he said. “I’m sorry about everything I said. I didn’t mean any of that.”

You nodded, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck. “Let’s never fight again.”

Suho

You had left in a blind rage. You weren’t used to fighting with Junmyeon and in all the years of dating him, you only fought a few times, and both of those times you made up right away. Which is why, when two hours after the argument started, you two were still yelling, you didn’t know what to do.

You were sick and tired of it, but you didn’t know how to put an end to this completely pointless fight, so you left. You still heard Junmyeon yell as you burst through the door of your shared apartment and headed towards your car, wanting to get away from all of it.

Junmyeon watched you go. He didn’t know why he didn’t stop yelling even though he was panicking now. He feared that you wouldn’t come back to him, but he didn’t know how to tell you this, especially, when he was so emotional about the fight.

He didn’t want you to get behind the wheel when your mind was preoccupied, though, so after a few moments of hesitation, he sprinted across the parking lot of the building and jumped in front of your car right when you were about to drive.

“Junmyeon!” you shouted, opening the door of your car in anger. “What the fuck?! I could have driven you over!”

“Don’t go,” he said, walking towards you. “Please, don’t go. Let’s forget about this. Let’s just go home and just be together.”

“Junmyeon, it’s not that simple—”

“Yes it is,” he nodded, desperation clear in his voice. “In fact, I don’t even remember what we were fighting about.”

You sighed, still not moving and using the door of the car as a shield to separate him from you.

“Y/n, please,” Junmyeon said again. “I won’t be able to take it if you leave right now.”

Suddenly, you started to feel bad for resisting his attempts to make up. After all, you wanted the fight to be over, too.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I just… I didn’t know what to do. We never fought like that before. I guess I just wanted to get away.”

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t even think about getting behind the wheel after our fight. I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you.”

This was all it took for you to take the keys out of the engine and close the door of the car, allowing Junmyeon to securely wrap his arms around you.

He exhaled a shaky breath and brought your body even closer to his. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’d never lose me,” you whispered back, not realizing that the two of you were standing in the middle of the parking lot. You both were too engulfed in the process of making up to care about anyone else.

Lay

You said some things. He said some things back. You tried to leave. He grabbed your hand to stop you. And that’s when you slapped him.

You regretted this as soon as the palm of your hand came in contact with his cheek. But it was too late. Yixing stared at you in shock, his hand immediately touching the stinging pain on the side of his face.

You covered your mouth with your hands. “Yixing, I’m so—”

“No,” he shook his head. “I deserved it.”

“No, you didn’t,” you said, coming closer, to pull his hand away from his cheek so you could take a look at it. “No one deserves to be slapped. I’m so sorry. Does it hurt a lot?”

“It—uh, it stings a little,” Yixing said but you could tell that he only said that to make you feel better.

“Come to the kitchen,” you said pulling his hand. “Let’s put some ice on it.”

Yixing obeyed and followed you into the different room.

You had completely forgotten the reason for your fight, as you opened the freezer to get a bag of frozen peas. Carefully, you sat Yixing down and placed the frozen bag over his wounded cheek, refusing to let him hold the ice and holding it for him instead.

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” you told him for the twentieth time. “I swear I’m never hitting you again. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s okay,” Yixing said, already hurting to see you in so much pain about this. “I provoked you. It’s my—”

“It’s not your fault!” you interrupted him a little louder than you intended. “Violence is never the right answer and I cannot believe I did that.”

“It doesn’t hurt that bad anymore, Y/n,” Yixing said. “So, please, stop beating yourself up about it.”

“I can’t,” you said, biting your lip. “I just hit you.”

Yixing wrapped his arms around your thighs, pulling your body closer to his.

“I love you,” he told you. “And I know you would never hurt me intentionally. You lost control because of the argument that I started. I understand. And really, maybe this was the only way to put me back to my place.”

“No, Yix—”

“Shh, stop, don’t say anything,” he cut you off. “Let’s just forget about this and go cuddle in bed.”

“Okay,” you said, giving in. “Just let me hold this on your cheek for a little while longer, okay? Do you want me to make you dinner after?”

Yixing smiled at this. “I forgot how much I love it when you take care of me.”

Baekhyun

You knew he was doing a collaboration with a new up-and-coming female artist. And you knew that music was the only thing between them and yet whenever you read articles or tweets by his fans, you were becoming more and more worried.

Your worries especially escalated when he got home at 3am one night. When you asked him where he was, he admitted that he stayed for drinks with his singing partner.

“Oh, so you had a date,” you said, not realizing how petty you sounded.

Baekhyun tried to defend himself but you weren’t hearing anything.

“You’ve been out with her more times this week, than you’ve gone out with me in the three years that we’ve been together,” you told him.

“That’s not true—”

“Yes, it is,” you didn’t let him finish. “But don’t get me wrong, I don’t care. The only thing I expected from you is to just tell me if you lost interest in me.”

“Lost interest in you?” Baekhyun half-asked, half-laughed. “Is that what you think?”

“Well, the only interactions between us these past few weeks were about the weather,” you stated angrily. “So, forgive me for starting to think that you’re no longer into—”

You didn’t get to finish the sentence because Baekhyun was suddenly pushing you against the wall, knocking all breath out of your chest.

“Baby, if you say that I’m not interested in you one more time,” he said in a deliciously threatening tone. “I might just have to punish you for spreading lies.”

You raised your eyes to meet his and bit your lip, forcing his gaze to drift down. “I’m sorry, I just got the feeling that you no longer want me.”

Smirking at your obvious challenging tone, Baekhyun pushed himself closer to you so he could whisper in your ear. “Cancel your plans for the next few days, baby girl. I’m about to show you how much I want you.”

Chen

Every fight left you both stressed. It could have been a small argument about whose turn was it to do the grocery shopping, and yet both of you got scared that the other one would want to break up.

So, you two rarely fought. You tried to solve every argument with as little yelling as possible. However, that proved to be more difficult with time. The number of those civil arguments grew greatly, and both of you reached the point in your relationship where you disagreed about something at least five times a day every day.

The realization that your relationship was going south scared both of you so much that one day the two of you decided to just sit down and talk it out.

Both of you agreed that maybe the reason why things haven’t been going so well lately was because you bottled your emotions up instead of actually letting them out, whether in the form of yelling or maybe even throwing things around the room.

“So, do you want to flip over a table or something?” you asked, forcing Jongdae to laugh for a good minute.

“Not really,” he said once he recovered, brushing the tears away from his eyes. “But, really, though. I think we’re both adults and I think we can handle a fight or two because I’m sure we love each other too much to let it get out of hand.”

You nodded, agreeing with everything he said. “You want to do a practice run?”

“What do you mean?” Jongdae asked, a little confused.

“Well, it was your turn to go to the store this week…”

Jongdae groaned at this. “Now I do kind of want to flip a table.”

Both of you laughed at this.

“We can go shopping together,” you said, then. “Oh, crap, did I just solve the argument before we got a chance to yell at each other?”

Jongdae laughed at this again. “Finding a compromise is a good way to end a fight. We can throw furniture around later. Maybe when we’re doing something else.”

“What do you mea—” you started to ask but then realized, and felt the warmth spread to your cheeks. “Oh.”

Chanyeol

When Chanyeol was on tour, you guys rarely fought. The peaceful part of your relationship continued the next few weeks after he came back from tour. However, as soon as you got used to each other again, the arguments began.

You were frustrated because he was never home. He was angry because there was nothing he could do about that. Both of you were left upset after you realized that this was a fight with no solutions.

You sat on the different ends of the couch, refusing to look at each other but not wanting to leave yet in case one of you came up with another argument to prove your point.

“I am going to leave again soon,” Chanyeol said quietly, breaking the silence.

“I know,” you replied.

“Will we have this same fight after I return?”

“Probably.”

Silence settled in the room again.

“Do you think we’ll ever figure out what to do so we wouldn’t have the same fight over and over again?” Chanyeol asked a few minutes later.

“Probably not,” you said, sighing. “The only option to prevent this from happening again is to brea—”

“Don’t you dare say it!” Chanyeol said, jumping up from the couch suddenly, and forcing you to flinch. “I don’t even mind the fighting as long as we’re still together.”

“Well, that’s it, then,” you shrugged your shoulders. “We’ll keep fighting about the same thing because we’re too stubborn to put an end to this relationship.”

“I’m fine with that,” Chanyeol said, sitting back down on the couch. “And we’ll figure out what to do eventually. Because I don’t think breaking up would be the solution to this problem.”

A small smile appeared on your face. “You don’t?”

“Of course not,” he said, scooting closer to you on the couch. “In fact, I think breaking up would cause even more problems because then I’d be suffering without you. At least, now I get to suffer with you.”

You laughed, realizing how messed up his logic was, but still choosing to roll with it because you loved each other too much to let this go.

D.O.

“Oh, so now you’re going to ignore me?” you yelled at your boyfriend who was on his way out of the room.

“Yeah,” he replied. “You have a problem with that?”

“I do, actually,” you shot back. “How about you stop acting like a child and actually sit down to talk to me like an adult?”

“I can’t talk like an adult,” Kyungsoo said, crossing his arms. “I’m a child.”

You groaned. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Oh, I’m so many things!” Kyungsoo said, his voice rising a few octaves so he could imitate you. “You’re such a child, Kyungsoo! You’re unbelievable, Kyungsoo! You’re a pain in my ass, Kyungsoo!”

“You are all of those things,” you said, glaring at him. “And you’re a huge asshole on top of that.”

“You know,” Kyungsoo’s voice returned to normal, but his pupils were now dilated. You watched carefully as he made his way towards you. “That is not at all what you said last night.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh? Well, let me refresh your memory then,” he said, stopping dangerously close to you. “You told me how good I made you feel. You told me how good I was to you. No, actually, if I remember correctly, you told me I was the best you’ve ever had. And I think our neighbors can vouch for that.”

You watched him with your jaw clenched. “Fuck you, Kyungsoo.”

“Yeah,” he said, slowly licking his lips in anticipation. “Fuck me.”

Kai

He had locked himself in your bedroom, purposefully locking you out. But this wasn’t the first time he did that. He tended to always give you the silent treatment whenever you really pissed him off. And most times, you were just as pissed off, but this time you realized that the fight was your fault. You caused it, you provoked him, and you made him slam the door of the bedroom right in your face.

So, you waited for a little while – giving him a chance to cool down – before you knocked on the door.

“Let me in, Jongin,” you said, knocking again since he didn’t react to the first knock. “I’m sorry. Please, talk to me.”

Silence.

“Jongin, come on,” you continued. “I miss you.”

You heard shuffling behind the door. He must have stood up from the bed but he still hadn’t come to the door. This was a good step forward, however.

You decided to continue. “Baby, please let me see you. I don’t even remember what you look like anymore.”

Silence again.

“Jongin,” you said. “I said I’m sorry. Please, let me in.”

“What’s the password?” a childish reply reached you from the other end of the door.

You smiled despite his immature approach to this situation. You knew very well what the password was.

“I love you,” you said.

You heard the lock of the door turn and finally, you entered the bedroom to see Jongin standing in front of you with a small victorious smile on your face.

“I love hearing you say that,” he said, letting you know that the anger he felt after the fight was already gone.

Sehun

The first fight you had with him was the most stupid thing on the planet and yet as you stood outside of the shopping mall, you couldn’t help but feel angry.

Sehun had forgotten you at the store. He literally got into his car and drove away while you were stuck looking for him all around the shopping mall, thinking he got lost or something.

Sehun, however, found this hilarious. He laughed the entire ride back to the mall after you’d called him in distress.

When he finally came back to pick you up, you were fuming. You climbed into the car, tied the seatbelt, and refused to even look at him.

“Baby, come on,” Sehun said, still trying to control his laughter. “I’m sorry. I swear I don’t know how this happened.”

You glared at him. “Yeah, and you feel really bad about it.”

Sehun bit his lip, feeling a little guilty for wanting to laugh at a situation that obviously upset you so much.

“Come on, tell me what to do so you’d feel better,” he asked.

“How about remember that you have a girlfriend?”

He had to grip the wheel tighter so he wouldn’t start laughing again. “Y/n, come on, seriously. Do you want to stop by for ice cream?”

“So you could forget me again? No thanks,” you shot back.

“I’m sorry!” Sehun exclaimed. “I swear this will never happen again. Now let me know how I can make it up to you.”

“First of all, stop fucking laughing,” you said, after having noticed that he was biting his lip to prevent laughter. “I swear, I’m never going shopping with you again.”

“No, Y/n, come on, I said I was sorry,” he said desperately.

“You don’t look sorry.”

“What, you want me to beg you for forgiveness?”

You stayed quiet for a second longer than necessary and that was enough for Sehun to actually realize that maybe he underestimated your anger.

“We’re going to the animal shelter,” he decided. “I’m getting you a dog.”

“Sehun, you can’t get me a dog every time you fuck up,” you said, groaning.

“Yeah?” Sehun glanced at you and he could find excitement in your eyes, despite your hardest attempts to look unfazed. “Watch me.”